on Dzubas

Aurora, 1977, Friedel Dzubas

Sorry for the bad poem; my styles in Portuguese and English are very divergent at the moment, (thank god, it took me so long to get to this point), but that also means they don’t get a lot of interrelational textures and can’t enjoy proper translations. Besides, I haven’t been feeling my best, which justifies my silence among other blogs I enjoy. I’m not quite sure when I might return to my best, but for now, I won’t be as present, and I do apologise.

The poem was (obviously) inspired by Dzubas, although this was very sensorial to me, as it is abstract art. I just wrote what came to my mind, and I had some verbal assistance from the album Aurora, by the Sensible Soccers, most stressed in the expression “como quem pinta”, “as one who paints”, which for some reason, is a phrase that I really liked, and a song that I enjoyed even more.

Anyway, thank you, dear person,
I’ll see you when I see you! (it should be soon)

Published by João-Maria

A tick clinging to the bristles of a purple boar.

51 thoughts on “on Dzubas

  1. Sorry to hear you are not feeling great, João-Maria… sending hug. Lovely to read your letter, and of course the inspiring poem, which of course is anything but bad, unless in the way of “c’est terrible,” as the French sometimes say; that in slang means it’s great. :))

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Thank you so much, Lia. You’re so sweet. I’m sure it will pass; I’m already accustomed to these doldrums.
      Regarding the poem, eh, it just feels like it isn’t too inventive. It’s the same thing I’ve done here or there. I hate the feeling of non-evolution. But you’re amazing for saying it’s “térrible”, and I picture it with a gorgeous french accent.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. This is what you call a bad poem?

    You craft the perfect subtleties in imagery with such strong command of language, it really blows me away. This is not a bad poem, my friend. This is absolutely amazing and brilliant. You have a beautiful, meticulous prosody that delineates itself as profound and mesmerizing in your poetry and prose pieces.

    Now for my analysis on this beauty, I’m thinking it’s rather evocative to one hiding within themselves, thus the tones of abandonment. This can especially be germane to a poet, writer or artist as they express their pain through different mediums and styles.

    It seems that it also refers to hiding in their creativity, or perhaps crafting their all from their sweat, blood and tears from what they feel inside or from what they feel is missing inside of themselves.

    I sincerely hope I didn’t butcher the meaning of this poem! I can be entirely wrong, of course. However, I enjoyed reading this so much, I had to analyze the imagery and meaning here and what they could possibly mean.

    This is an amazing poem.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Lucy, you blow me away with how you find such rooted meanings in all that I write, and I always feel so terribly stupid when I inevitably disappoint you, haha. I ought to filter out all comments and leave just you, and I’d be convinced that I’m Melville or Yeats.
      I wrote it from memory, since there was a derelict pavillion right next to where I lived when I was very, very young. It was an abandoned carpentry shop, and as I a child, I’d just go there and be alone. Touch things, find things, imagine what it once was or what I could make with it. For some reason, looking back, it felt auroral, because I was bursting with silent colours and charging all of myself into that empty space. And, effectively, that’s what we are when we occupy and conceive of a space, we’re just occupiers and conceivers, balls of flesh and dreams; we are the silence, the nagging ineptitude, the isolation. But that’s just what we are; it is not precisely what we must be, when we let our cogitations loose among auroral colours.
      That’s what I meant with the poem, I suppose! It isn’t quite as grand as what you said; turns out its rather meek, but I like to root my poems on subtle concepts. Anything too big makes me feel too small!

      Liked by 1 person

      1. So, wait, you’re telling me that you’re NOT Melville or Yeats? 😉 I’m shocked. Hahaha.

        Oh, wow, that is such the inspiration for the poem. That’s highly intriguing, especially when thinking of things of the past and what their potential is in the future. That is just an amazing meaning and I thank you dearly for explaining it all to me.

        I also love your thoughts on what we are, occupiers and conceivers. The way you describe it is like pure prose. And I agree with you greatly on that.

        I think it is grand! All of your poetry is, in my opinion. I also hope you feel better soon! ❤

        Liked by 1 person

  3. As one who paints… you touch the rust… you are the abandonment.
    I think I get the desolation (and “fruitfulness”) of this hidden place.
    Anyway, thank you, dear person

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I have this commitment to a weekly publication of these in another website and honestly just penned it down for the sake of having it done. I’m not even quite sure if it means anything or tries to.
      You’re too sweet, Bruce. I’m sorry.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I took from it quite a bit – the grub inside; the dark place; sort of a montage… etc etc. Intended or not João-Maria I thought it was starkly evocative! I could relate to it better than I could to the abstract!

        Liked by 1 person

      2. I’m really fond of Dzubas but I’m also unsure why, since I don’t really like abstracts all that much. I don’t know if it’s his colour, line or construction, but it really tells me a lot, I “vibe with it”.

        Liked by 1 person

  4. Wow, wonderful wordsmithing, “a grub within you feeding on the vapors of tears” and “hiding place…abandon…slips” – powerful imagery all. I hope you feel better. Sending you good vibes and blessing for abundant good health. An enjoyable read. Thank you.😊💖🙏

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I’m actually rather happy I decided to put them side-by-side, as it does give people the ability to look at both and explore how the two languages touch and diverge. And it’s aesthetically pretty, I find.
      Thank you, Carrie, I’m always happy when you decide to comment.


  5. Love “there’s a grub within you / feeding on the vapor of tears / that you don’t fee yourself shedding” and “you are the abandonment/ the tear / the grub.” So much else I’d have to quote the whole thing! “cut architectures of skin…” so good.

    Liked by 2 people

  6. I can’t speak for the Portuguese but I felt that the English poem had such traction. It was satisfying to read aloud. I’ll have to lookup more works by Dzubas.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you, Conor. It’s funny that you say that considering the poem has the word “aurora” twice, and I don’t think there is a less attractive word, sonorifically speaking, in the English language. English was simply not cut for words like aurora and tergiversate.
      And Dzubas is very much your run of the mill abstract painter; I have an affinity for him that I can’t quite explain, but I maintain the opinion that he wasn’t all that exceptional, at least among his abstract peers. But I do urge you to see more of his works!

      Liked by 1 person

  7. Writing poetry in two languages must be like playing two games of 3D chess; something possibly coherent to those fluent in the poetry of both languages. Yikes … I just have the English version to comment on, that the violence of painterly expression finds verbal measure here in rough metaphors: An angst which you keep measured and composed til the end then let fly. Well done.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. In this instance (as it becomes quite apparent with the usage of substantives), I translated the Portuguese version into the English one. I didn’t actually compose a poem with two languages in mind, though I have done that in the past, and I suppose it isn’t all that difficult if said languages have unified roots, such as English and Portuguese have Latin as a parent and share the Latin alphabet.
      Thank you, Brendan, it means a lot. I don’t quite think this is a good example of my creative potency, but if you find it well done, I’m incredibly thankful and happy. Especially since it comes from someone as talented as you (truly).


    1. Doldrums are a part of any worthwhile voyage. I’m unsure if writing helps, these days, but it certainly perspectivises aspects of the pain.
      I’m always grateful that you read me, it really means the world.


    1. Obrigado, Catline. Eu não prefiro a versão Inglesa meramente porque eu abuso os substantivos nulos/subentendidos e, em Inglês, tal coisa não existe, tendo então que expandir tudo com “you”. You isto, you aquilo. Tudo tem de ter um substantivo, em Inglês, e as traduções sofrem sempre essas sevícias.
      Fico-te grato, no entanto, por gostares seja de que versão for. Muito obrigado.


  8. The first stanza (first 7 lines) touched me where I have been living the past few days. Beautiful and true. Our understanding of pain turned to poetry connects us and helps us want to “shed the vapours” — maybe even to “kill the grub”. Thank you. Truly lovely as always — more spare and appropriate for a poem on pain. Shalom, Jane


    1. Thank you so much, Jane. Spare and appropriate are compliments my poems have never received but, somehow, always yearned for. I try my best to edit down, and I’m glad it’s bearing fruits.
      Your presence is always marvelous, thank you, thank you!


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