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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=497847" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Write, Write, Write</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Write in the language you dream in.<br>But this had never made sense <br> as far as I remember, I’ve never dreamt in nouns and verbs, <br>but always in huge boxes, <br> or dark abandoned malls, <br>or long flights <br>where my slippers are lost and my baggage, <br>missing.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Perhaps i should write in the language <br>that wakes me<br>That keeps me restless, <br>that feeds my hunger, <br>that reminds me that <br>i am alive. <br>it’s a matter of hearing <br>the heartbeat of one’s words</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I can’t wait for more writers to write <br> Perhaps if the work of critics and teachers <br> will eventually bear fruit, <br>it will not be too far off that the streets of my town <br>will one day be filled again<br> with the lyrical lilt of my own language</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> I also can’t blame those<br> who continue to write in English<br>and live <br>in English</div><div style="margin:10px 0">which is easy to dismiss as snooty<br> and elitist, <br>and alien—<br>even if it is the same village street, <br>the same home <br>that is being woven into words. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>A tongue only becomes alien<br>when we keep it at the gate, <br> at the door. <br>The stranger is only as strange <br>as when we do not know his name, <br>and he does not know ours.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> the job of the writer is not really<br> to master his language, <br> but to make it his own. <br>Not just to study its syntax <br>and shape but <br>to invite it into his home. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">To kidnap bored English from the court offices <br>and banks <br>and schools, <br>and bring it to our beautiful messy rooms. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">To tell it our stories, <br>whisper into its ear <br>our dreams, <br>and if the timing is right, <br>and the intention is clear, <br>then to show it our hearts <br>and we’ll begin to write.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Really really write. <br>Without guilt.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>* reflections by L.L. YPIL</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ric+S.+Bastasa">Ric S. Bastasa</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=497847" data-title="Write, Write, Write de Ric S. Bastasa" data-description="Write in the language you dream in.
But this had never made sense 
 as far as I remember, I’ve never dreamt in nouns and verbs, 
but always in huge boxes, 
 or dark abandoned malls, 
or long flights 
where my slippers are lost and my baggage, 
m..."></div>
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