The Hectic Attic

How makes me suffer, your words with no sound
They do not come from your mouth, but from the heart
My thoughts make me blind, give me pain
I feel the anger of hypocrisy, love is lost
Storm of consciousness, see the hunger vanish
Confused feelings, see the hunger pray
We should face the cruelty
Hold hands, dig, dig and sow
Yes, sow bread plant love
Facing the selfishness to stop the pain
Telling to the winds of lies – that keep on destroying the truth-

You! Selfishness, go find something else to do!

Let the love come and the truth emerge
Do not let shadows be your life
Nor the joy of life be lost
Let out aloud, what is in your mind
Scream and say
Life without life is a punishment
If you dare receive my kiss

See! Humanity embracing love!
Then we would never hear soundless screams
I wonder
Have you ever heard a lost cry flying?

by Aline Martins

Can you hear the strings vibrating?
It is the sound of someone’s heart
of someone who loves but can’t wait
the remaining seconds before the next kiss

Can you hear that wonderful sound?
Believe, it’s me, dreaming
of you holding in your hands, the harp of life
The strings are vibrating with a passion, with the love

If the sound had smell, it would be the smell of love
the scent of a rose, which comes from you
in the garden of life
where you are the most beautiful flower

Do not deny you love me, I can feel it
in the tenderness of your hands
In your body, like the sound of the harp playing
Sweetness, is to be embraced in your burning kisses
Listening to the harp and your poetry under the moonlight
The day will have more light, I see it eventually (in my dreams)

Listen to the strings vibrating, shaking the body as it comes and goes
As the bee and flower, honey sucking the sweetness the garden possesses.

My Tattoo

Aline Martins

Today I am sovereignty,
I am Morrighan, Bouddica, Macha … I am woman
in my body, is the ancestral blood
In my mind, the ultimate inspiration
in my soul, the energy of all those who marched my breeding ground, and walked not in vain

Today I am woman,
I am the one who collects the spoils of battle, who fertilizes the earth, who curses the unworthy … I am Sovereignty
in my body, the smell of lust
In my mind, memories of dancing moments
in my soul, a mixture of energy, light, passion

Today I am a druid,
I am the one who walks among the cries of war, amidst ancient forests, between worlds … I am inspiration
in my body, seeds of creation
In my mind, the light of Awen
in my soul, magic, strength, gratitude

Today I AM….

Aline Martins

From which races, I am, was and will be?
Which colors and creeds, which luck?
How many lives lived and will live?
Died and will die of how many deaths?

How many loves and dreams and hopes
How much faith, how much pain
was I Mom or Dad, of how many children?
how many torments, and horrors?

How many children have I cried, in so many wars?
How many children have I raised and was happy?
How many bodies, how many waters, how many lands
did I touch, kissed, love and was root?

And how many times yet, to give me?
How many lives still to be reborn?
How many mouths, yet to be kissed?
How many deaths, yet to die?

Yet, conformed, I sing the song
The march, the mission, the pain that screams
And I got butterflies by my side
Made, like me, of Love and Land! …

Aline Martins

One day, I lived a divine life
I lived among Gods, all around and inside me,
but this life proved to be too easy to a complex mind,
So, I went down, to live a less real life, but,

Arriving there, I found an enchanted life,
not so visible, but enchanted,
I lived among unicorns and fairies, in the midst of forests and rivers.
But that life was too ethereal for a body as physical as mine.
So, I walked … to live a less magical life, but more palpable.

Arriving there, I found a house of great splendor,
a palace, but magical,
I lived among kings and princesses, inside great halls and festivals,
But this life, was too cold for a warm heart.
So, I danced … to live a less noble life, but more palpable.

Arriving there, I found a battle field,
where I could feel the cold war and the heat of the bodies,
I lived among heroes and traitors, in the midst of swords and spears,
But this life, was too gray for someone with hope.
So, I run… to live a less heroic life, but more palpable.

Then I found the “hut”
Simple, where the moon shone silver, and the smells were as the feelings within me,
I lived between the divine love and the cold war,
however, this life proved in its colours and pain that my love and difficulties were worth to be experienced.
So, I died … the arms of the one I love
to live more real, magical, noble, heroic and divine life.

And then I met you …

We can’t deny stories may guide our lives in ways we can’t explain, and I have to confess, the one that have been following me for a long time, is not a very happy one, but I find in it some elements that make my life magical and inspiring… so,if I could choose a poem/ fairytale, as a favourite, I would choose:
“The Lady of Shalott”, which is a Victorian ballad by the English poet Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809–1892). The poem talks about the Arthurian subject based on medieval sources.

What is it about? (Especially for those too lazy to read a good poem!)

The Lady of Shalott lives in an island castle in a river, which flows to Camelot, but the local farmers know little about her.
She seems to be a magical and Her business is to look at the world outside her castle through a mirror, and to weave what she sees into a tapestry/loom. She is forbidden by the magic to look at the outside world directly.

She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

The farmers who live near her island hear her singing and know who she is, but they never see her.

The Lady sees ordinary people, loving couples, and knights in pairs reflected in her mirror.

One day, she sees the reflection of Sir Lancelot riding alone. Although she knows that it is forbidden, in love, she looks out the window at him.

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell’d shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn’d like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot

The mirror brakes, the tapestry flies off on the wind, and the Lady feels the power of her curse.

Out flew the web and floated wide-
The mirror crack’d from side to side;
“The curse is come upon me,” cried
The Lady of Shalott.

An autumn storm suddenly arises. The lady leaves her castle, finds a boat, writes her name on it, gets into the boat, sets it adrift, and sings her death song as she drifts down the river to Camelot. The locals find the boat and the body, realize whom she is, and are saddened. Lancelot, in Love, prays that God will have mercy on her soul.

Lord Alfred Tennyson’s Inspiration

This is one of Tennyson’s most popular poems. The story of the Lady of Shalott is a version of “Elaine the fair maid of Astolat”, from Thomas Malory’s Morte d’Arthur. Elaine’s naive love for Lancelot was unrequited. She died of a broken heart (committed suicide). Her dead body (with a suicide note between her hands) was floated down the Thames to Camelot.

Some late authors wrote about her, or inspired in Tennyson’s poem, such as, Agatha Christie that wrote a Miss Marple mystery entitled “The Mirror Crack’d From Side to Side”.

Other forms of art were inspired by it, like, The Pre-Raphaelites Brotherhood painters. Where a good example is Waterhouse who made three separate paintings of “The Lady of Shalott”. I have a copy of one of them hanging above my bed… LONG STORY!)

CLICK TO ENLARGE

Even in a modern world, we have the exquisite work of Loreena Mckennitt in the following song:

and finally:

The Lady of Shalott – 1842 version

“On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro’ the field the road runs by
To many-tower’d Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow veil’d,
Slide the heavy barges trail’d
By slow horses; and unhail’d
The shallop flitteth silken-sail’d
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early,
In among the bearded barley
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly;
Down to tower’d Camelot;
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers, ” ‘Tis the fairy
Lady of Shalott.”

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair’d page in crimson clad
Goes by to tower’d Camelot;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror’s magic sights,
For often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot;
Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
“I am half sick of shadows,” said
The Lady of Shalott.

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro’ the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel’d
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter’d free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon’d baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armor rung
Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell’d shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn’d like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro’ the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, burning bright,
Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow’d;
On burnish’d hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow’d
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
“Tirra lirra,” by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look’d down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack’d from side to side;
“The curse is come upon me,” cried
The Lady of Shalott.

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower’d Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And around about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river’s dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance –
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right –
The leaves upon her falling light –
Thro’ the noises of the night,
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn’d to tower’d Camelot.
For ere she reach’d upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And around the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? And what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, “She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott.”

I have been thinking about some dreams lately. Dreams people had and also my dreams. My random, sometimes interesting reveries I’ve encountered in Dreamland.No, I am not only talking about dreams I have when sleeping

Today I concluded the 2nd out of 3 steps to my first BIG plan… and I am very happy. In a way I never thought I would. Better than this only having a True love, and having my Brazilian and English family in a single place- I miss them a lot, especially right now. (Guess my heart will always be partially broken).
After all:

“-What power would hell have if those imprisoned here would not be able to dream of heaven?”
Dream to Lucifer and the citizens of Hell, in Preludes and Nocturnes by Neil Gaiman

I decided to keep dreaming, but this time, with my feet on the ground! And things seem to be working!

All this reminded me of a movie I watched a while ago… it talks about dreams, inspiration, Love, eternal life…

“-People think dreams aren’t real just because they aren’t made of matter, of particles. Dreams are real. But they are made of viewpoints, of images, of memories and puns and lost hopes.”
John Dee, in Preludes & Nocturnes. By Neil Gaiman

“Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber’d here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
if you pardon, we will mend:
And, as I am an honest Puck,
If we have unearned luck
Now to ‘scape the serpent’s tongue,
We will make amends ere long;
Else the Puck a liar call;
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Robin shall restore amends.”
Puck in A Midsummer Night’s Dream: Act 5, Scene 1
by W. Shakespeare

but from today’s dream… I AM CELEBRATING, for this one is coming true!

Aline Titania Martins

Of love and land – by Aline Martins

From which races, I am, was and will be?
Which colours and creeds, which luck?
How many lifes lived and will live?

Died and will die of how many deaths?
How many loves and dreams and hopes
How much faith, how much pain
I was Mum and Dad, of how many children?
how many torments, and horrors?

How many children have I cried, in so many wars?
How many children have I raised and was happy?
How many bodies, how many waters, how many lands
did I touch, kissed, love and was root?

And how many times yet, to give me?
How many lives still to be reborn?
How many mouths, yet to be kissed?
How many deaths, yet to die?

Yet, conformed, I sing the song
The march, the mission, the pain that screams
And I got butterflies by my side
Made, like me, of Love and Land! …

I had many many bad experiences in my birthdays: deaths, arguments, loneliness… So, I had no hope for a special birthday.

I spent most of my day being greeted by my friends on line (while in PJs, still in bed). Got a single phone call. And thought my dinner with friends was going to be only my brother and I. I have to say I have not enjoyed knowing some people didn’t go to my dinner because they were going to watch Harry Potter, but now I know where I can find my friends.
I had a simple, small and very happy dinner with my Brother and some friends.
Good Japanese food, lots of laugh, some pictures.

(Thank you Andre, Mariana, Sabino, Beto and Hiro)

Oh! Yes… there is a Stereo in the Attic.

My father still has many LPs and I lived years encountering Stairway to Heaven several times a week in my life.
The song that popped into my head at my birthday this year was a catchy little tune: Over the Hills and Far Away. It evokes a certain yearning for the open road of life that appeals to me. We never know exactly where the path ahead will lead, but, if we let them, our dreams and imagination can help guide our steps and give that final destination a more pleasing shape.

Over the Hills and Far Away by Led Zeppelin
Hey lady, you got the love I need
Maybe more than enough
Oh darlin’ darlin’, darlin’
Walk a while with me
Oh, you’ve got so much, so much, so much
Many have I loved
Many times been bitten
Many times I’ve gazed
Along the open road
Many times I’ve lied
Many times I’ve listened
Many times I’ve wondered
How much there is to know
Many dreams come true
And some have silver linings
I live for my dreams
And a pocketful of gold
Mellow is the man
Who knows what he’s been missing
Many many men
Can’t see the open road
Many is a Word
That only leaves you guessing
Guessing ’bout a thing oh…
I really ought to know, oh…
you know I should…

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“Inspiration must mean just this, that the speaker or writer is uttering something that he does not wholly understand – or which he may even misinterpret when the inspiration has departed from him.” T.S. Eliot

I think Eliot and all of us doubt if the word “inspiration” has any meaning. If you are a religious believer of any denomination you know, or at least you have words for, where your inspiration comes from, however mysterious it may seem; But for many there is not much language to talk about inspiration without beginning to sound a bit mystical or relying on a Powerful source that can’t quite be named but can’t quite be ignored, and yet inspiration is a word no one is shy of using now, even though they are not that keen to explain how it might work.

I can’t answer the inspiration question well because I’m inspired by almost everything. I read as much as I can and try to always keep my eyes and ears open. Today in a brainstorm I was inspired by the Powers of Life and what in bring to us as experience.

Ultimately my belief is that anything can be inspiring.

So when I think about inspiration, I think about understanding that anything can be inspiration. Most of us grow up believing that learning must be boring. A teacher must stand in front of the class and teach us through some incredibly dry textbook (and as a teacher I must say: if the teacher is not inspired to teach, the pupil wont be inspired to learn). We get so much more out of those times when we’re engaged in an activity.

Inspiration is the kind of magic that people like to believe in, perhaps especially now, in a culture where money can buy virtually everything else of value, and science and technology can create or invent the things we most need. But, it reassures us, or at least reminds us, that some of the best things about us are beyond our control.

Inspiration may not belong to us, but it is only we who can be inspired. (and it is only we who can spoil it   )

I think (and my opinion may be very disturbing here) we have glamorized inspiration, idealized the artist possessed a special vision of the world, in a way we don’t see it.

Just as you can’t try and have a dream, or decide beforehand what it will be, inspired work, just happen based on the person’s life per se.

When Keats wrote that poetry must come as easily as leaves to a tree, or Picasso said, ‘I don’t seek, I find’, they were both reminding us, that inspiration is beyond the realm of calculated intentions.

I think, all we need it to be receptive to the unfamiliar; and we need to be able to wait, without certainty, for the thing we want. This, in a sense, is the faith of the believer in artistic inspiration.

{Inspiration} lays in my mind
As a patchwork of colors.
I see it. Recorded in pieces of life,
a complete work made of moments.

If it is beauty, it´s innocence.
If it is body, it´s lust, temptation.
If I´m thirsty, it´s a spring
if I have hunger, bread.

It gives me agile fluency
If the paper wants to be empty.
It is a muse of emergency.

It comes in the night, sometimes in the day;
it’s inspiration that creates the cadence.
If it doesn’t come … the poetry is gone.

Aline Inspired Martins

PS: apart from my faith, books, music and love…there are other things worthy sharing…these things really inspire me…

When I dance (Aline-Brazil- 2008)

My cats and nature in general (Dana and Her babies 2007)

My friends (here only the girls gathered for a Tea Party, but love them all!)

My Parents

and my only Brother and Best friend Andre

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