The Prophet

I had never read anything by Kahlil Gibran before. I have to admit that I am quite illiterate in regards of poetry written in English, or in most other languages, as I don't think you can grasp all the emotion that poetry should convey from a translation. Coming from a translator this sounds like a joke.

Going back to Gibran, I loved this book. A mother's day gift from 2009, It had been in my night table waiting for five years. I am not a religious person, but its spirituality reached me. I read it aloud in the hopes that the baby in my belly can hear it too, and in this way, the rhythm of the verses made it sound as a meditation chant, the kind that brings you peace.

Each one of its "sections" could start an hours long philosophical discussion. But there is so much kindness and respect in his words that if you read it alone, it can only give you calm, and make you smile.

There are two quotes that I highlighted:

"And to love life through labour is to be intimate with life's inmost secret". (p. 26)

This quote resonates with me, as I have never felt as alive, as womanly and as powerful as I did when I gave birth to my second son. The energy that fills the room when you are laboring is impossible to match or recreate, and having a man put this in writing in 1923 is just amazing. I will keep his words next to me when the time comes, and that energy returns to me for the birth of my third son.

"Your friend is your needs answered.

He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving.

And he is your board and your fireside.

For you come to him with your hunger,

and you seek him for peace". (p. 58)

Also seeing friendship among the basic things of life is rewarding. I wouldn't be who or where I am without my friends, who listened to endless evenings of love hits or misses, cheered me up when I needed it, pushed me or stopped me when it was called for. They are still there, some far away, someclose by, and I keep meeting more of them, and I will never be grateful enough to all of them. 

Before the hormones take over, I will just recommend that you read this book, this beautiful edition by Knopf in thick cream paper, with illustrations by the author. Read it, digest it, discuss it, as there is so much in such a little number of pages... 

Tennyson

Over the years, I have accumulated a fair amount of books that await to be read, taking up a whole bookshelf in my house. A few arrived in the form of gifts (most people are afraid of giving me books, something I don't understand since they are my favorite thing in the world), most I brought from Spain, some I bought here. At any time in my life I'm reading several books: at least one poetry book, a light narative one I carry when I go out to read on buses and coffee shops, the big novel by my bed and the literary theory/critic book on my desk. At this point in my life, they come in all sizes and colors, and both in English and Spanish. Now that being pregnant gives me a great excuse to rest during Little Pb's nap, something I will never do again once I have my third boy, I'm set to go through at least part of that bookshelf. And I may blog about it. Since I'm better at reading than at blogging, I'm not going to make big promises. But I would love to write a bit about each book I finish. I don't intend for it to be serious critic, although my career, in perpetual hiatus, is literature. I will just write my impression of the book.

I will start with something light, like Tennyson. This book was given to me by my husband at least six years ago. I know because it was purchased from my beloved and extinct Borders. He gives me a poetry book for every birthday and Christmas, and it doesn't matter what comes with the book, be it an IPhone, hat or bag, I will always like the book better. It is a beautifully done little pocket anthology, with no introduction or editor notes. Pure and simple poetry. Reading it aloud, in the hopes that the baby on the belly is listening, has helped me appreciate the craft needed by older authors to try to achieve perfection according to the standards of their times. Normally, having to abide to the rules of rhyme affects the feelings transmitted by the verses, as form trumps content. Just a few authors can maintain a balance between the two, and Tennyson is one of them. With his beautiful language games, he can transport you to gardens and battles of other times, and make both equally appealing. And although I normally favor raw, blunt contemporary poetry that cares more about the punch than the rhyme, I really enjoyed reading this classic.