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The Long Pond Exhibition by Brad (Neil Bradley)

South London Community Matters

Open Book - Students' Creative Writing

At Open Book

I discovered, by hook

and by crook

At the age of 59

a talent

very valiant

To make things chime

And rhyme

 

Often in strange ways

I make these poetic forays

 

They麓ve suggested I do it in some other languages I know

So, let麓s have a go!

 

Starting with Portuguese

If you please!

 

Bom dia

da Ademia,

Ou mesmo perto

de ai, isto 茅 certo

 

Moro em L么go de Deus

Numa vivenda

De tr锚s sub-pr茅dios

com v谩rias atividades e vizinhos pertos

Uma aldeia

Bonita, n茫o feia

em Eiras,

Uni茫o das freguesias de Eiras e S茫o Paulo de Frades

Numa zona com algumas madres

nos arredores

com telhados

vermelhos nas suas cores

E, por agora, adeus!

 

Translation

 

Hello

From Ademia

Or, at least, from close to there

That much is certain

 

I live in L么go de Deus [literally, the Place of God],

In a villa

Consisting of three sub-buildings

With various activities and neighbours nearby

 

A pretty, not an ugly village, in Eiras,

 

In the 鈥淯nion of the Parishes of Eiras [a word which means 鈥渢hreshing floors鈥漖 and St. Peter of the Friars鈥

In an area with a few mothers

On the outskirts

with the roofs

red in their colours

And for now, goodbye!

From George Meredith鈥檚 poem Lark Ascending.  The two lines that I chose are:

鈥楢ll sight of sun, her music鈥檚 mirth

as up he wings the spiral stair.鈥

鈥楾he joy of living, soaring, flying

up to the heavens

gliding the air waves

free from all that trammels

and restricts movement.

My spirits soar with the wings

of the lark

as I reflect his light, joyous movement,

I feel a spring in my step,

transformed by the bright

movement of the winged lark.

Black are my steps on silver sand

as I drag my feet

uphill through the dense, dark trees

in mid-winter.

The winds coldly blow

whistling through the bare branches,

an eerie sound heard around

as I steadily make my way

to the top of the hill

towards the castle ruins.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

A bird calls but none visible

to me, the solitary pedestrian

fighting uphill against the howling wind

towards the castle ruins.

Open Book 鈥 Students' Artwork

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