Waking Up With A Poem Inside Me & At The End Of The Day I Still Liked It
January 20 — I don’t often wake up and write poems. Even less often than that do I think they are good. This morning I did.
Let me run my fingers through your hair as if to make sure every strand is in place
Let me fix your collar that doesn’t need fixing and sweep something imaginary off your shoulders
Let me fix your coffee and prepare your things as you get ready to leave for the day
Let me do all these things to be close to you
Have your cologne with me
Allow me to be part of your day
And if you should wish to see me I’ll be waiting for you at the end of a long day
And should you choose not,
Then I will kiss your pillows and make myself a memory should you wish to find me there
I dug right into work this morning because I have plans this afternoon to go on a street art walking tour and learn about the graffiti in town. Setting boundaries for myself to make sure I weave in a personal life has been both good and challenging.
It’s good because I’m working faster and not drawing things out I don’t enjoy or simply because I can. My writing is actually way ahead of schedule now which changes how much time I need to edit and can re-think my thoughts for clarity much better. The challenges are deciding whether or not to share my experiences or go alone. Something I was not expecting.
Tours aren’t usually my thing but these aren’t museums we’re going to. I don’t know the significance behind what I’m looking at. I was supposed to go with some of the others to Tango tonight so that could have been my group outing. However, I thought it would be good to let others know I was going. Another Roamer joined me. I’m glad.
We had a good time and I was able to learn more about her and just talk. The tour itself was very informative and historical. It was also very political. Something I was trying to escape today. I don’t enjoy politics in art. Art is what takes me away from all that is wrong in the world. Like movies. The last thing I want to watch is blood, guts, gore, and physical violence. If I did I would simply turn on the news. I want to laugh so I watch comedies.
Street art (graffiti) isn’t my thing either. I have complete respect for the artists and their craft. A couple of artists in particular caught my eye because of their skills to incorporate so many things into their work and have it be cohesive. It is like cooking with 20 main ingredients. It shouldn’t work but it does. My favorite piece on the tour was no surprise.
It was done by a fine arts trained artist. It is quite beautiful and literally next to the co-working space. I have been good to walk on on different sides of the street and on different streets. However, I haven’t gone past my destinations even by a couple feet.
The size and scale of their work is also extremely impressive. I can’t begin to imagine how you scale a thought 20 stories high. The actual physicality of the work and the conditions brings in an entirely new dimension. Then when you learn the work was done in a day or three days it is mind blowing. With no delete button and no new canvas to work off of they create.
While the political presence in the art was way too much for me I did appreciate the history that came with the tour. A history which plays out during the timeline of my life. From 1976–1983 Argentina was under a brutal dictatorship. In that time 30,000 people disappeared for questioning and never returned. Including 500 pregnant women.
After that rule ended and Argentina was given freedom. The value of their peso was equal to the US dollar and they began to travel and experience things. MTV was now part of their culture so someone here could enjoy the same music as someone in the States or another country. If you don’t think MTV is a big deal to have in common with someone you have your head in the sand. This era was short lived, less than 20 years. Not even a generation.
When they experienced their financial crash in 2001 those with any kind of money in the bank lost 75% of it. Their president quit and left the country by helicopter. Argentina went through five presidents in two weeks. Riots broke out and 39 people were killed.
It’s all making more sense now. The distrust. Living in the moment. Being able to have such a vibrant nightlife. We’ve had our own crashes and recessions in the States but we didn’t switch out our nation’s leader at the time. We didn’t pile uncertainty upon uncertainty.
The country itself is still recovering. Of course it is. It’s only been 40 years. My lifetime. There is a great healing process still taking place. Argentina has also established DNA testing to learn about family bloodlines. Children who were adopted or orphaned during that time period are having their DNA tested to see if their mothers were part of the 500 abducted. So far over 100 tested were found to be children of those pregnant women.
Something I find very moving was local women coming together to try and recover their lost. Bring back and find out what happened to those 30,000. No military intelligence. No violent protests and no perceived power. Simply women getting together every Thursday at 3:30pm to walk circles around the plaza in rows of two because they couldn’t be talking to more than one person at a time. They walk to this day and sadly I won’t be able to see them due to meetings and interviews.
So how does graffiti play into all this? Who was doing it? Well, it came about to bring beauty back to neighborhoods that were dark and gray. It wasn’t done by the poor. Rather the middle class which doesn’t surprise me at all.
We are usually the largest class. The weight of the world is often carried on our shoulders. We feel the burden of taking care of the poor while serving the rich. I have no hard feelings to either the rich or the poor. What I do have hard feelings toward is how we are always the class to make up the gap for the government’s shortcomings and big ideas. Sure, the rich have to protect their money, but they have more options. The poor don’t have time to think of how they are being supplied with daily necessities, they are too busy trying to survive.
Graffiti became a calling card of hope. Something beautiful to look at in the midst of pain and bad memories. Here it is revered. Even the government commissions artists. There is also a lot of respect for artists and you don’t see others tagging or ruining it. It is a symbol of value and the cost of a house or apartment could be much higher depending on who painted it.
The final stop of the tour which was to be the grand finale was an overload to my senses. It was like someone screaming at me. The art was screaming from inside the artist’s mind. Defiled thoughts. Political thoughts. Exploits. Guns. War. Death. Destruction. It was on every wall.
My place is not to say what it beautiful. The art I enjoy finds a different kind of beauty. It doesn’t expose the literal anger. It creates something new, provides another perspective, from a place all their own. Nothing ripped straight from the headlines.
After the tour I was exhausted. It had taken everything out of me and I was drained. I decided to take a nap before Tango and instead got caught up in the news as Trump gets sworn in today. Protests are happening here in Argentina, as well as back in the States. While I knew I should change the channel (I couldn’t even understand because it was in Spanish) I didn’t.
I did not end up taking a nap and decided not to go to Tango which makes me sad. I simply had no energy nor felt in a very Tango mood. My moment now is of uncertainty and unrest. This is what I’m living in. Dancing doesn’t seem appropriate. At least not today.
My end of day gratitude:
- With everything going on I’m still so very thankful to be an American. I love my country.
- To be awaken with a poem inside me.
- To love my poem now more than I did this morning. Usually, as the day goes on I like them less.