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 Re: THE AFRICAN MUSIC BIOGRAPHY (Re: Yaho_Zato)
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الاخ ياهو زاتو
مشكور جدا للمعلومات القيمة في خصوص موسيقي الجالوا
واهدي اليك بالمقابل هذه الكلمات العميقة للشاعر
والاديب الانجليزي و الافريقي الاصل مارتن كارتر
Poem of shape and session
By Martin carter
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I was wondering if I could change this session,
Just as I want it in solid fire,
I was wondering the strange compositions of my days,
The tension of the world inside me
And the strength of my heart were enough,
I was wondering If I could stand this cold,
While the tied of sea rose in fields,
If the sky would recede as I went,
or the earth would emerge as I came,
or the door of the morning knocked against the sun.
I was wondering if I could make myself,
nothing but fire, pure and incorruptible,
If the wound of the wind on my face,
would be healed by the work of my life,
or the growth of the pain in my sleep
would be stopped by the stripes of my days.
I was wondering if the agony of years could be traced,
to a seal of an hour,
If the roots that spread out in the sum,
run to deep for the issue of the flower,
I was wondering If I could find myself,
all that I am and all I could be,
If all the populations of stars would,
be less than the things I could utter,
And the challenge of space in my soul
be filled by the shape I become.
I walk slowly in the wind
Watching myself in things I didn’t make,
In jumping shadows and limiting cripples,
Custom the earth and the house’s site,
With thickness deep constant pain and dream without a sleep,
I walk slowly in the wind,
Hearing myself in the loneliness of a child,
In a woman’s greave which is not understood,
In coughing dogs when midnight lingers long,
in the stones, on the streets and then,
in echoing stars that burn all night and suddenly go out.
I walk slowly in the wind,
Knowing myself in every moving thing,
In years in days and words that mean so much,
Strong hands that shake,
Long roots that walk,
And deep status in themselves,
And all this words and this life to live,
I walk slowly in the wind,
Remembering bones and necked men and huts of iron ripped to earth
All huts of iron stand up on this earth like rust in prisons,
Each wall is marked and each wide roof is spread like some dark wing,
Casting a shadow of our living course,
I walk slowly in the wind to lifted sunset,
Red and gold and green,
Along Brown River sank into an ocean,
A fishing boat,
A man how can’t drawn,
I walk slowly in the wind and
birds are swift and sky is blue like silk
From the big sweeping ocean of water,
an iron ship rusted in brown, anckered itself,
and the long brown river, run silent and smooth,
I walk slowly in the wind
I hear my footsteps echoing down the tie,
Echoing like a wave on the sand,
Or a wind on the wing,
Echoing … echoing ……echoing
A voice in the souls…. a laugh in the funny silent,
I walk slowly in the wind,
I walk because I can’t carol or fly
Martin carter
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فيس بوك
تويتر
انستقرام
يوتيوب
بنتيريست