Kenia's Wednesday Challenge

The House of Times Past

I knocked on the door of times past, no one answered.
I knocked

a second time and then another and another.

No answer.
The house of times past is halfway covered with vines
the other half is covered with ashes.
The house where no one dies and I am knocking and calling.
Just for the pain of calling and not being heard.
Just only to keep knocking. The echo brings back
my anxiety of opening these frozen steps.
Night and day mingle together in the waiting
in the knocking and knocking.

Times past certainly do not exist.

And the empty building has been condemned.

Hello there toads! It's Kenia here and today I start to introduce you to my favorite South American poets and writers. I've chosen to begin with a fellow Brazilian, Carlos Drummond de Andrade, who lived in the same State I live in. He was born in 1902 and died in 1987 - I was nine years old then and vividly remember going to an exhibit of poems and photographs of his.

On vacation in Rio de Janeiro, one can find a bronze statue of Drummond sitting on a bench on Copacabana sidewalk (vandals have stolen its glasses five times so far this year).

Drummond made use of free verse, and never depended on a fixed meter. His work is one of the most unique in contemporary poetry, his poems are often described as humorous, full of movement, self-knowledge, and appreciation of the transitoriety, his central concern is primarily metaphysical.

Don't Kill Yourself

Carlos, keep calm, love
is what you're seeing now;
today a kiss, tomorrow no kiss,
day after day tomorrow's Sunday
and nobody knows what will happen
Monday.

It's useless to resist
or to commit suicide.
Don't kill yourself. Don't kill yourself!
Keep all of yourself for the nuptials
coming nobody knows when,
that is, if they ever come.

Love, Carlos, tellurian,
spent the night with you,
and now your insides are raising
an ineffable racket,
prayers,
victrolas,
saints crossing themselves,
ads for better soap,
a racket of which nobody
knows the why or wherefor.

In the meantime, you go on your way
vertical, melancholy.
You're the palm tree, you're the cry
nobody heard in the theatre
and all the lights went out.
Love in the dark, no, love
in the daylight, is always sad,
sad, Carlos, my boy,
but tell it to nobody,
nobody knows nor shall know.

In the Middle of the Road

In the middle of the road there was a stone

there was a stone in the middle of the road

there was a stone

in the middle of the road there was a stone.

Never should I forget this event

in the life of my fatigued retinas.

Never should I forget that in the middle of the road

there was a stone

there was a stone in the middle of the road

in the middle of the road there was a stone.

(For those willing to get to know more of his style, PoemHunt.com has a selection of his poems. Make sure to read Seven-sided poem and the great pain of things that will happen.)

CHALLENGE:

The existence and the essence of reality in its multiple aspects are considered to be the major themes of metaphysics, which investigates the foundations, causes, and the intimate relations of all things, questioning why they exist and why they are what they are. My challenge this week is philosophical. Pick a common metaphysical question and work on a thoughtful, poetical answer to it. Click here for a list of questions for inspiration or just in case you can't think of any you find good enough.

Link your poem, leave a comment and provide a link in your blog toReal Toads. Have fun!