Tag Archives: Dream

Impresiones/Impressions, a poema/poem de/by Rafael Ayala Paz

Impresiones/Impressions, a poema/poem de/by Rafael Ayala Paz

impressions

Impresiones

La memoria está en la yema de los dedos
Los colores están en los ojos
La infancia está contenida en la columna vertebral
Los mundos nacen en cascarones rotos
Siempre habrá un signo en todo objeto
Una señal desdibujada en el horizonte
Un presagio de infinito en la noche
Un destello suspendido en la frente
Un viejo olor bajo los guijarros
Un sol rojo detrás de las colinas
Amaneceres en los parpados
Globos flotando en el cielo
Aldeas insospechadas en la planta de los pies
Anémonas gigantes en las nubes
Seres que caminan de cabeza
Soles como pupilas
Buzos ahogados en un vaso de agua
Náufragos de la desesperación
Locomotoras exhalando un enjambre de moscas
Árboles que entienden lo que decimos
Un reloj con brazos y piernas
Una torre sumergida en un charco
Ojos llorando aves
Sueños que conducen sus autos en la noche
Balsas que atraviesan las arterias dejando una estela de estrellas
Canciones buscando la luz
Cielos tensos como codos y brazos
Ciudades edificadas en mi mano izquierda
Soles entre los dedos
Mareas de oídos sordos
Pedazos de playas en la retina
Insectos acuáticos
Mapas de lugares remotos como las galaxias
Discusiones sobre asuntos que pronto olvidaremos
Islas que son sonidos nidos
Impresiones de todo lo soñado
visto
olido
escuchado
presentido
sentido
de gustado
olvidado…

Impressions

Memory is in the fingertips
Colors are in the eyes
Infancy is contained in the backbone
Worlds are born in broken shells
There will always be a sign in every object
made vague in the horizon
An infinite omen in the night
A sparkle suspended on the forehead
An old smell beneath the pebbles
A red sun behind the hills
Sunrises on the eyelids
Balloons floating in the sky
Villages unsuspected in the soles of feet
Giant anemones in the clouds
Beings that walk on their heads
Suns like pupils
Divers drowned in a glass of water
Shipwrecks of desperation
Locomotives exhaling a swarm of flies
Trees that understand what we say
A clock with arms and legs
A tower submerged in a puddle

Eyes crying birds
Dreams that drive their cars in the night
Rafts that navigate the arteries leaving a trail of stars
Songs searching for the light
Skies tense like elbows and arms
Cities built in my left hand
Suns between fingers
Tides of deaf ears
Pieces of beaches in the retina
Aquatic insects
Maps of remote places like galaxies
Discussions over matters that we will soon forget
Islands that are nests of sounds
Impressions of everything dreamed
seen
smelled
heard
sensed
felt
liked
forgotten…

— Rafael Ayala Páez, Zaraza, Guárico, Venezuela

Through the vague, yet intricately woven mysteries of the Internet, I virtually met Rafael Ayala Paez in September of 2012 when he wrote to me via Facebook. He found me through my author listing on the Poets & Writers website, read some of my work, as well as reviews I had written, and invited me to write a brief preface for his forthcoming collection, “La levedad de la materia/ The lightness of matter”.

He also asked if he could translate and publish a few of my poems in Venezuela through the online journal “Negro Sobre Blanco”. I was a little taken aback, because while I’ve had my work published over the years I’m not exactly well-known in the US, let alone Latin America. Yet, he sincerely enjoyed my poems and made it clear that the offer was not one of quid pro quo for writing the preface.

After immersing myself in the deceptively unadorned language of his manuscript I agreed to both requests. His book was published shortly afterwards; two of my poems appeared in the Oct/Nov 2012 edition of “Negro Sobre Blanco” in as translated by Rafael and Brooklyn-based poet/writer/activist Emanuel Xavier.(http://issuu.com/negrosobreblanco/docs/periodico_oct_nov on page 8)

In my preface to “La levedad de la materia/ The lightness of matter”, I wrote:
“Rafael Ayala Paez has the enviable ability to write about the heaviest and deepest of matters —love, sex, death, longing —with the lightest of touches. His is a voice that informs without hectoring, seduces without cloying, convinces without shouting. In La levedad de la materia/ The lightness of matter, his images alight on the page; we can’t help but turn to see where they will lead us next. “

Rafael Ayala Paez’s work is a natural choice for me to include in my week of Virtual Dream Residency here at Ione’s Festival of Dreams; his poetry often seems imbued with the imagery of dreams. Unexpected metaphors and discursive word play accrete only to give way to a suddenly crystallized image imbued with pure though unsentimental emotion.

The Venezuelan poet Gregory Zambrano says of “Impressions”:
“In the poem there are worlds in movements that go from sleep to wakefulness and back, appealing to the confusion of the senses, finding sound and word play, revealing from apparent diversion, a great unease.”

With Rafael’s permission, I’m happy to direct you to a link where you may download a free e-book edition of his 2012 collection; I hope you will read, enjoy, and perhaps reach out to the poet who continues to live fully as a poet and writer despite a less than hospitable national climate of political upheaval, violence (25,000 murders in 2014 alone) and economic pressures.

Once you reach the site, click on the book cover for “The lightness of matter” for the free download.

http://www.poetscoop.org/free.htm

~Maura Alia Badji

The poet: Rafael Ayala Páez was born in Zaraza, Guárico, Venezuela in 1988. He studied at the Universidad Nacional Experimental Simón Rodríguez (UNESR), and was a founding member of the Municipal Writers Network of Zaraza.
His collections include Bocados de silencio and The lightness of matter (both 2012), and his work was featured in The Blue Hour Anthology – A collection of poetry, prose and art (2013).
His poems have been translated into English, German, French, and Hebrew.

The translator: Roger Hickin (b. 1951) is a New Zealand poet, visual artist, book designer, and publisher.
Roger is the director of Cold Hub Press which publishes poetry in several languages, including bilingual chapbooks of poems by two Chilean poets: Juan Cameron (with translations by the celebrated US translator Cola Franzen) and Sergio Badilla Castillo (with translations by Roger Hickin and the author).

Painting: The Reality of Dreams by Carlos A. Soli, Venezuela, 2012

In Sleep You Search Out a Door by Karen Craigo

In Sleep You Search Out a Door

 

A breath or claw disturbs your
clothes.
In dreams it always lumbers
near.
You run or freeze, you hold
your pose.
Some breath or claw disturbs
your clothes
and it’s the animal you chose.

its hundred eyes and funk of
fear.
A breath or claw disturbs your
clothes.
In dreams it always lumbers
near.

-Karen Craigo

Karen Craigo’s first full-length poetry collection, No More Milk, is forthcoming from Sundress Publications in 2016. She teaches writing in Springfield, Missouri

Find Karen on
Twitter: @karenkawrites
Blog: http://betterviewofthemoon.blogspot.com/
Website: http://http://www.papercranewritingservices.com

Art: The Dream Door by QueenBee47, DeviantArt.com.

Poem & Image originally featured in Maura Alia Badji’s Dream Residency at IONE’s 21st Annual Dream Festival. 

Craigo
Dream Door by QueenBee47

Alyn Wambeke : Wordwood Dream

Alyn Wambeke
Wordwood Dream by Alyn Wambeke

Alyn Wambeke is that rare bird–a true Renaissance man with just the right balance of confidence and humility. I asked him to contribute art for Ione’s Dream Festival and he sent me “Wordwood Dream” today.

Alyn Wambeke is a writer, artist, worrier, hoper, gardener, civil-rights agitator, and advertising veteran in Atlanta who’s choosing to look on the last few years of unemployment as early retirement. He’s very fond of Oxford Commas and arugula

 

*This was also a featured post for my Virtual Dream Residency for Ione’s 21st Annual Dream Festival.

 

invocation : a poem by jo reyes-boitel

invocation

 

invocation

distant voice heard at the corner         blame it on the wind
front door blown open                            can’t keep accusing the weather

giggles behind you
the spirit in you knows
Eshu must be fed first

hungry as a child bring some candy

mischievous man pour rum greedily at any crossroads

old now light his cigars

omi tutu, axé tutu, onã tutu, ilê tutu, tutu Laroyê 1

quick now, keep up
Eshu works all corners, all doors, all paths
pour palm oil greedily
wherever two streets come together

and if you are lucky
days later
your dream will have you in the kitchen making café
walking out with small white cups of espresso
while Eshu runs between your steps

there is a party happening tonight
and Eshu is happy about it, has come early

look down
grab a hold of him
marvel at his wild face near yours
love the wilderness living within him
let him wrap his legs around your waist
let him hug you hard
his hand possessively at your neck, fingers in your hair

if Eshu is with you none are against

welcome Elegua welcome

  1. * fresh water, the spirit is fresh, the way is fresh, the home is fresh, Eshu is fresh.

–jo reyes boitel

jo reyes-boitel
writer, motivator/supporter, mother, daughter to oya and obatala, rabid music listener, percussionist and lover. texas transplant, by way of minnesota | florida | mexico | cuba. jo works to actively connect everyday earth activities to the heaven that surrounds.

Ingrid Lucia–Dreams Aren’t Only for the Young

Dreams Aren’t Only for the Young–Ingrid Lucia– Live@ Snug Harbor, NOLA, Filmed by Kristen Fouquet

Ingrid Lucia is a jazz vocalist and musician based in New Orleans, LA; she is the leader of the Flying Neutrinos, a band founded by her parents in the 1980s.

Ingrid Lucia
INGRID LUCIA

Of their first CD, “I’d Rather Be on New Orleans”, the Washington Post said, “There are times when Ingrid Lucia and the Flying Neutrinos’ album I’d Rather Be in New Orleans is enticing enough to make even a staunch New Yorker feel homesick for the Big Easy. A sultry, behind-the-beat voice, a combination of sometimes languid, sometimes syncopated rhythms, and lots of evocative brass all conspire to make this a picture postcard of an album.”

Ingrid Lucia and Kristen Fouquet have collaborated on projects before, most recently ” The Shotgun Sunday Series” postcard collection. See Kristin’s site Le Salon for more information.

 

KRISTIN FOUQUET

Kristin Fouquet is a writer and photographer in the lovely city of New Orleans. Her short fiction and fine art and street photography have been published widely online and in print. She is the author of Twenty Stories (Rank Stranger Press 2009), a collection of short literary fiction, Rampart and Toulouse (Rank Stranger Press, 2011), a novella and other stories, The Olive Stain and other stories (Hammer & Anvil Books, 2013), an e-chapbook, and the print version, The Olive Stain and other stories (Le Salon Press, 2013).

Her virtual home is http://www.fouquet.cc/kristin/LeSalon.html

~Maura Alia Badji

Reading in bed: Oh, for a book and a cozy nook.

Oh, for a book and a cozy nook.

bed

Maybe it’s a holdover from being read to sleep as a child, but I love reading in bed.

Is reading, all cozied up in the covers, part of your pre-sleep ritual? Does poetry or prose help send you off to the land of dreamy dreams? Did you ever make blanket forts when you were a kid?

If you answered yes to one or more of these questions, have I got the perfect cozy-book-nook-blanket-bed-fort for you, right here:  http://www.buzzfeed.com/danieldalton/the-password-is-scotchy-scotch-scotch#.lg8wwX5kX

I stumbled on British writer Daniel Dalton’s excellent DIY bed-fort how-to/ ruefully funny tale of a broken heart last year and promptly shared it all over creation.  I also book-marked it, saving it for that hazy future day when I must, simply must have a bed-fort. Since my very comfortable bed currently resides on the floor without the bed frame necessary to anchor the bed-fort of my dreams, that day will remain hazy just a while longer.

My future bed-fort shall differ from Mr. Dalton’s excellent but somewhat stylistically austere design in one important way: in addition to the hearty but not too glaring reading lamp bulb, mine shall feature fairy lights.

bed

Lots of fairy lights.

b
Did I mention fairy lights?

May your dreams be sweet and your book nook cozy.

 

Persephone Under the Dream Sea

dream

 

Persephone Under the Dream Sea

When I was a youngin of about 4 or 5, living in the frozen tundra of Buffalo, NY, (Hi, Lisa Klossner! ) I developed an inexplicable crush on Jacques Cousteau.

PERSEPHONE UNDER THE SEA dream

I dreamed that I went to live with Mssr. Jacque under the sea, but we had to break up because I could not abide by the giant fish that kept creeping up on us while we were enjoying our underwater playground and singing French songs.

persephone dream

Also, I refused to eat any of the polka-dotted chicken fish he kept trying to feed me. In hindsight, I think I saved myself from an oceanic Persephone scenario. I had this same dream repeatedly for several years.

Persephone dream

Could this be why I’ve ended nearly every male/female relationship I’ve had? The thrill of an escape to freedom? I’ll not eat your pomegranate seeds or your polka-dot chicken-fish, Monsieur!

PERSEPHONE UNDER THE SEA dream

Hmmm. I blame the French Canadian tv I was exposed to at a tender age.  All that Chez Hélène, sorrowful art films from The Children’s Foreign Film Festival, and repeated viewings of Jacques’ Undersea World apparently took a toll.

persephone under the sea dream

It could have been worse. At least I wasn’t made to watch Hee Haw or The Lawrence Welk Show.

Do you have any dream stories to share?

http://www.iflscience.com/…/watch-divers-swim-along-massive…

A Brief History of Dream Interpretation

dream door__1_by_jkemeny-d85ma5i

 

Good Morning Dreamers!

Do you have any dreams to share?

As I’ve focused on the world of dreams and dream interpretation this week I’ve wondered how long we humans have been examining the wanderings of our sleeping brains. A simple Internet search of the reveals we’ve been at it for quite some time, dating back to 3000-4000 B.C. when dreams were set down on clay tablets.

I imagine that our preoccupation with dreams goes back even further and that from the time we were able to communicate which each other, in however rudimentary a form, human beings have been enchanted with the dream world and have strived to understand them.

While some primal societies could not distinguish between the everyday and the dream world, for some ancient societies the dream world, was seen as not only an extension of the waking world, but as being a more powerful realm.

dream

The ancient Greeks and Romans believed dreams were direct messages from the dead, the ancestors, or the gods. Dreams were interpreted as predictions and forewarnings of the future. Temples and shrines were built where people could sleep in order to receive dream messages.

So strong was their belief in the power of dreams that the actions of rulers and military leaders were often dictated by them. Dream interpreters accompanied generals into the battle fields in order to help advise on strategy. That is not a job I’d recommend to anyone.

dream

In ancient Egypt, priests acted as revered dream interpreters; they were looked up to as divinely gifted. They too advised rulers and military leaders. Dreams were documented in hieroglyphics. Those people who had extremely vivid dreams were believed to be blessed by the gods.

dream
dream

Some cultures, such as the Chinese, believe that the dream world is an actual place that our spirit or soul visits nightly. As the soul leaves the body for this nightly journey it is believed that one should not be suddenly awakened because the soul may fail to return on such short notice.

Some African, Aboriginal, Native American, and Mexican societies held the belief of the dream world as another dimension, separate from the waking world and inhabited by dead ancestors who could provide dreaming visitors with messages, guidance, and information about one’s path or purpose in life.

Dream

Many in of these societies also believed that the spirits of the ancestors could inhabit plants, animals, water, and living humans in order to deliver their gifts, warnings, curses, or information. Many continue to hold these beliefs today.

This is by no means an exhaustive look at the history of belief in dream interpretation, but even briefly tracing back into history reveals a long-standing pull to glean information and guidance from our dreams. For instance the Bible and Koran are full of dream references; both religious texts include the story of Joseph and his role as an interpreter of dreams.

How do you approach the interpretation of your dreams? Through meditation? Consulting a dream dictionary? Do you regularly share and discuss your dreams with others?

~Maura

Dreamtime: Stories of Aboriginal Australia

Dreamtime: Stories of Aboriginal Australia

The Dreamtime is the phrase for the animist framework,  symbol system, and oral history tradition of Australian Aboriginal mythology.  It’s also the way Aboriginals organize their understanding of the world, its creation, and its greatest stories.  The Dreamtime also encompasses the belief that Reality is actually a dream we are all dreaming.

 

Dreamtime

Dust Echoes is a series of twelve beautifully animated Dreamtime stories from Central Arnhem Land, telling stories of love, loyalty, duty to country and aboriginal custom and law.

Dreamtime
Warrior of The Dreamtime

Tom E Lewis: ” Dust Echoes is one way that we are bringing everyone back to the same campfire – black and white. We are telling our stories to you in a way you can understand, to help you see, hear and know. And we are telling these stories to ourselves, so that we will always remember, with pride, who we are. “

Dreamtime
Tom E Lewis, Dust Echoes

Dust Echoes

Living Her Dream

Dream

Something happened.
I stopped.

Her dreams are full
Of brushes, colors,
A woman painting.

I really do love painting.

Sooner or later
We have to take responsibility
For who we were born to be.

–Jill Mellick , “Coming Home to Myself: Reflections for Nurturing a Woman’s Body & Soul” ,
Marion Woodman & Jill Mellick (Conari Press, 1998); Chapter 18, pg 171.
Art: Living Her Dream, MAB,2015 (watercolors, ink, pencil, cardboard, collage)