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The Long Pond Exhibition by Brad (Neil Bradley)

South London Community Matters https://southlondon.co.uk/lifestyle/brad-at-the-long-pond/

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´ve suggested I do it in some other languages I know

So, let´s have a go!

 

Starting with Portuguese

If you please!

 

Bom dia

da Ademia,

Ou mesmo perto

de ai, isto é certo

 

Moro em Lôgo de Deus

Numa vivenda

De três sub-prédios

com várias atividades e vizinhos pertos

Uma aldeia

Bonita, não feia

em Eiras,

União das freguesias de Eiras e São 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 Lôgo 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 “Union of the Parishes of Eiras [a word which means “threshing floors”] and St. Peter of the Friars”

In an area with a few mothers

On the outskirts

with the roofs

red in their colours

And for now, goodbye!

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

‘All sight of sun, her music’s mirth

as up he wings the spiral stair.’

‘The 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 – Students' Artwork

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