Thursday, December 29, 2016

Xmas Present Visit

I spent Xmas with an older Portuguese lady.

She has spent years in the US.

She discovered a box of books in the basement, left by the previous owners.  She gave me a book with gold leaf edging from 1895.  Because it was in good condition.  Literally judging a book by the cover.  She had not even read the title.

We had a discussion on how I should ask for a raise.  And how, since I'm eating vegetables, I should try that diet that Marie Osmand went on.  On tv.  It worked for her!  This was not so much a discussion as free advice.  From her.

What we did get into a heated discussion about was facts.  And how something she had heard was something she understood to be true.  For instance, she had heard there was 7 women of every man.  And if it was not true now-although you must admit there are more women in government and in colleges now!!  If it's not still true, it was true once.  When she heard it.  I asked her if it might have been true about just the senior population.  She seemed puzzled by a confusion of the facts.  And why more words would make a statement more true.

I remember having a difficult discussion with her son when I was 14.  I said that I was in the middle of literally 100 books.  He said, "Literally?"  and fought me like all teenage boys do, with forceful logic.  (Think Hendrik in Little Night Music)

She said that he called her, so that she could speak to her grandkids for Xmas.  All she told us was how mad she was about her daughter in law.  She was on the phone with her for half and hour and the girl didn't even introduce herself!




Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Massa Souvada Poetry

Is itself a kind of poetry.

Handed down across generations, echoing, always slightly different.

Maybe that is why my mom is so afraid for us/me to make it.

It will not be her mother's. And that is painful. 

But the newer version will be different, and glorious in its own way. Merely because it exists.


Monday, October 31, 2016

Minneola, Long Island

Another Portuguese community, near NYC, which I've never heard of.

Because it is not Azorean!

A friend brought back pasteis de Nata.
Which tastes amazing, no matter which region they come from!! 

Friday, September 30, 2016

Losing One's Sight

My mom was just diagnosed with Macular Degeneration.

I want her to see ALL the paintings and art and scenery as possible in the time she has left.

I want to bring her to Pico again. 

She seems fine with it. 

As if she had seen everything she has needed to see.

Sunday, August 7, 2016

Old Friend


My cousin's friend.
A random meeting outside of Newark, on New Jersey Transit.

She's still family.

Sunday, July 31, 2016

Mom's Performances in My Plays

Whenever I am able to do a play in Concord, especially about the Transcendentalists, I give my Mom a line or two.

In SENSE, she read my aunt's poetry.

In Thoreau vs Schultz, she read the line "I came to the woods because I wished to live deliberately" in Portuguese.  I was proud to find it in my Portuguese version of Walden, As Vida Nos Bosques.

And my latest idea is to record people who know different languages to say something in their native language. And record it, and edit it all together.  To show how international (and American, by the way) Walden really can be.

Sunday, June 26, 2016

Latest Round of Portuguese Books

Adding to the Portuguese library in Waltham!!

Barnacle Love by Antony De Sa

A Barrelful of Memories
Pauline Carreira Stonehill

A Quest for the Story of Antonio & Maria
By Doris Machado

Saudade 
Fado & Other Stories
Mariana
by Katherine Vaz

Tuesday, May 31, 2016

Lua

We always sing together.

Every time there is a full moon, we sing.

A Brazillian Bossa Nova song, sung as a lullabye. 

I'm surprised other mothers & daughters don't have the same ritual!

Monday, April 25, 2016

My Painting in a New Santa Maria Arts Space

I posted some pictures on my other blog and wanted to share the post here (below).

There will be more pictures of the painting in its new space in future!

http://atelierfreitasleandres.blogspot.com/2016/04/espaco-em-cena-in-santa-maria-azores.html

Tuesday, March 29, 2016

My Family in Santa Maria: Poetry Reading

Lost in translation
I dreamt I swam the waves, a few days ago
Somewhere between my bed sheets and the Atlantic
I was gently rocked

I saw a picture of Luis’ new piano, an upright with history
my paintings on his walls,
the ones that can be seen from the streets
Of cobblestones
My new favorite Portuguese word
Parallel ippipedos!!!

Through the giant picture windows
I spent the summer painting views, flowers & people
Such simple subjects
Which cause such longing in me
I'm still there

(I imagine living in his house as an old lady,
Or running the museum of my past loves
Building a cushion of work and community
And finding a room where nobody asks me to do chores

I suspect they love me
In any language,
Especially the words spoken by the ocean
Translations lost to the waves
And every flavor of food
Eaten at the round table in the kitchen

My gay cousin that my mom wants me to marry
My divorced cousin who thinks he's James Bond,
But who needs his mom to keep him fed.

Miguel& I played modern American hits
Which I would hate in America
on the radio in the cheap euro car
The yellow dragon
Gliding past glorious fields in the haze of sunset
Awkward conversation yielding to jokes
Everything ending with a dip in the ocean,
If the waves cooperate
We can swim
And only once was it calm enough
And we were brave enough to touch the white buoys
Which look yellow when you squint from the shore

Too much beauty to turn into art
They don't need my alchemy

I have confusing dreams today
Where you can go back to the starting point
Start the scene over again
And play out both choices
In whatever language you want

And I love the idea of the modern “SHARING” economy
Which implies all the benefits of socialism
And all the drawbacks of capitalism
We will share everything and have nothing.
I know I should FIGHT for a house of my own
For my own physical things
But I believe the fewer things I have
And the more art that I can give away
Or SELL on a good day
Strengthens my value in this world.
And then I wake up, and like a big girl, I pay my bills
And cry.

Read this poem in NYC, on March 20, part of the Argonaut Series from Golden Fleece, in Times Square, Studios 353, West 48th st.

Friday, February 26, 2016

Song: "A Moleirinha"!!!

My mother would sing to me as a little girl.  She named me "Tammy" after the song sung by Debbie Reynolds in the movie of the same name.

She was a DJ on Ases do Atlantico, on the island of Santa Maria in the Azores.  She was the first to play the Beatles in the Azores.

She'd sing "Listen, Do You Want To Know a Secret?" and I always eagerly said that I did!!!

She loved American songs, "Button Up Your Overcoat", "Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree".  Songs from WW1 & II, sung to her by her father.  Things to tell a little girl as she is your captive audience.  

She'd sing Portuguese songs as well.  "Lua, O Lua" which we still sing to this day whenever we see a moon in the sky.  I learned MANY years later that it was a Brazilian samba, and not a lullabye-as I had always heard it.

There was another song which she sang to me as we drove home from her sister's house.  It was my favorite until I asked her to translate.  From then on, I cried when she began the first few words. It is essentially  mournful tune about your love going away and the train never coming back.  Years later, I heard it Neil Sedaka singing it on an old cassette tape of my roommate's in Manhattan. I was shocked and scarred.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NLQdC-3XuEA


And my favorite, "A Moleirinha", which she also sang to my father when he was in the hospital.



https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n83wrG_OkQw&ebc=ANyPxKr4BfBG9WGSiCjKIL_IwVobDwBOR8FKoA4-f0HGkBrvP4AFUjXAnegpTn_9_upD_oIJMlrDXHBwQd52AC8lwY0W9t1U0A

Here is a recitation of the poem that it comes from, I think.



Tuesday, January 26, 2016

"O Desterrado/The Exile" A Poem Remembered by Agar, Translated by Fatinha, Typed by Tammy

My grandmother learned this by heart in school and probably recited it in public.
(Found among our papers in Waltham, randomly, 5-31-1983)




O Desterrado/The Exile
Como sao brancas as flores/ How white are the flowers
Deste verde laranjal/ Of this green orange grove
e doce a sua fragrancia/Its fragrance is sweet
como a deste roseiral/Just like the rose garden
Mas tem mais suave aroma as rosas de Portugal.
But the roses of Portugal have a better soft fragrance

O solo destas florestas/The soil of the forests
o lerilhante e ouro evcerra/Have the spark/shining and gold
sao imensos estes rios/These rivers are immense
imensos o vale e a serra/And so are the vales and the hill
porem nao tem a befasa dos campos da minha terra-
but they don't have the beauty of the fields of my homeland.

These stars are more beautiful?
Their starlight is more beautiful
But they sparkled in the sky of exile
I don't love them the same way
Oh stars of my motherland
Wish I had your bright light

Of loves inebriated
The dove sights here
With these strong perfumes
Everything loves and laughs
But, oh! More charm has the land where I was born

There, the moon was prettier
More for the eyes were the flowers
The spring nights
Are there for lovers
And in the woods of the salgueiros*
There are sweet singers

Oh! No, not as pretty is the place
Of any sorry forced retreat
Where everything, all the time
Tells me I'm outcast
No, there is not prettier lands
Than that of my homeland.




===

Notes
*Salgeros- a tree that grows close to the ocean

Both the title and the theme are VERY common in the Portuguese culture.
A brief Google search leads to the following video is of a statue with the same name, sculpted by Antonio Soares Dos Reis in 1872:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=61Bd-8mhW5o