Cascais Portugal
Cascais, Portugal.
First day of summer both winter and spring, full of rain; we are visiting her mother’s
resting place, a hole in a wall with a glass door that has a flimsy lock; easy to break in to
but who would want too? Her mother, born in Kinshasa, Congo, but upheaval forced
her to leave; now she rests in Cascais, Portugal far from her native land. The bible on
top of the coffin is full of tiny holes soon the book will be a pile of dust
While my wife pray I go for a walk, beautiful day and Cascais has a lovely bay. There are
sailboats and a few yachts in the bay one of them belongs to Prince Albert of Monaco,
he likes Portugal, the local paper enthuses. Indeed, aren’t we lucky? She joins me, says
“I don’t like boats and I don’t like the sea, my first husband took me on a sailing trip in
lake Lugarno, I was so sick they had to set me ashore.” We turn our back to the bay,
her mother and walk back to the car.
I remember a winter night in the North Atlantic Ocean, giant waves came crashing on
deck taking the railing and lifeboats away. Three ships sank that night with irrelevant
cargo onboard. No survivors. “Yes dear, the sea is a monster if it doesn’t takes your
body it takes your soul.”
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Related quotes
For My Gran (Vovo Lucia)
Once upon a time
A beautiful woman
travelling over many seas
exotic and mysterious
strong and willful
came to stay in a land far away
She lived a full life
Passionate and determined
she made her way
became a mother
a grandmother
a matriarch
but still the sea beckoned
and back she went
to Portugal
the land of her birth
her roots
She had lost plenty
her husband, her son
and everyone said
her new life's begun
and in the Winter of her fears
a lifetime of over ninety years
she could not stop the tears
She fell silent on a Summer's day
Over the seas and far away
to another world
a heavenly place
where once again she would smile
the smile of a young woman
in the arms of the angels
who would greet her
at the pearly gates
her husband, her son
everyone
Her last breath a gentle sigh
and on her mouth she wore a smile
poem by Chantelle Ribeiro
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There was a Young Lady of Portugal,
Whose ideas were excessively nautical:
She climbed up a tree,
To examine the sea,
But declared she would never leave Portugal.
by Edward Lear from A Book of Nonsense (1846)
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Anchor Song
Heh! Walk her round. Heave, ah heave her short again!
Over, snatch her over, there, and hold her on the pawl.
Loose all sail, and brace your yards back and full --
Ready jib to pay her off and heave short all!
Well, ah fare you well; we can stay no more with you, my love --
Down, set down your liquor and your girl from off your knee;
For the wind has come to say:
"You must take me while you may,
If you'd go to Mother Carey
(Walk her down to Mother Carey!),
Oh, we're bound to Mother Carey where she feeds her chicks at sea!"
Heh! Walk her round. Break, ah break it out o' that!
Break our starboard-bower out, apeak, awash, and clear.
Port -- port she casts, with the harbour-mud beneath her foot,
And that's the last o' bottom we shall see this year!
Well, ah fare you well, for we've got to take her out again --
Take her out in ballast, riding light and cargo-free.
And it's time to clear and quit
When the hawser grips the bitt,
So we'll pay you with the foresheet and a promise from the sea!
Heh! Tally on. Aft and walk away with her!
Handsome to the cathead, now; O tally on the fall!
Stop, seize and fish, and easy on the davit-guy.
Up, well up the fluke of her, and inboard haul!
Well, ah fare you well, for the Channel wind's took hold of us,
Choking down our voices as we snatch the gaskets free.
And it's blowing up for night,
And she's dropping Light on Light,
And she's snorting under bonnets for a breath of open sea,
Wheel, full and by; but she'll smell her road alone to-night.
Sick she is and harbour-sick -- O sick to clear the land!
Roll down to Brest with the old Red Ensign over us --
Carry on and thrash her out with all she'll stand!
Well, ah fare you well, and it's Ushant slams the door on us,
Whirling like a windmill through the dirty scud to lee:
Till the last, last flicker goes
From the tumbling water-rows,
And we're off to Mother Carey
(Walk her down to Mother Carey!),
Oh, we're bound for Mother Carey where she feeds her chicks at sea!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Pigeons
There are many pigeons in the Cascais evening park and
see one I remember, the one that trips stylishly around
looking for crumbs, it looks at me, to see if I´m eating.
In May it was a baby on my terrace trying out its wings,
one day it succeeded and flew off.
A pigeon doesn’t remember its childhood, so it doesn’t
has the burden of remembering infancy, blames no one
when things go wrong. Two women come and sit on my
bench, talk about offspring who will not listen; pity they
have not understood, like a pigeon mother, to let go.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Mother India
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You are the paradise on earth
Where things are not in any dearth.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
In Your Lap live men and women
Of every caste and religion.
You rain your love and affection
On them all without distinction.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You have got a peculiar trait
Due to which you are very great.
You adopt the foreigners too,
Who like to live and die for you.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You are beautiful, all perfect;
You are rich in every aspect.
In the ancient times, we have heard,
Aliens called you ‘a golden bird’
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
The mountains guard your honour here;
The ocean washes your feet there.
The rivers contain sweet water
Which for us is just like nectar.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
Our culture is ancient and high,
We are respected that is why.
Culture has bound us by and by,
With a chain of pure love and tie.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We are sorry here live some men
Who are not loyal, but still then,
Pose as lovers of this nation,
Whom we do not like to mention.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We are sorry here live some men;
Fire of hatred they ever fan.
Freedom, we fear, may not be lost,
Which we have got at a great cost.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
Let us be wise not to be tool
Of selfish powers which befool
Those who do not well understand
Their aim which is behind their stand.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We will be lucky, if we die
For you, O Gracious Country High!
We’ll give them a fitting reply,
Who see you with a slanting eye.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
poem by Aziz Ahmad
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Mother India
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You are the paradise on earth
Where things are not in any dearth.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
In Your Lap live men and women
Of every caste and religion.
You rain your love and affection
On them all without distinction.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You have got a peculiar trait
Due to which you are very great.
You adopt the foreigners too,
Who like to live and die for you.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You are beautiful, all perfect;
You are rich in every aspect.
In the ancient times, we have heard,
Aliens called you ‘a golden bird’
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
The mountains guard your honour here;
The ocean washes your feet there.
The rivers contain sweet water
Which for us is just like nectar.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
Our culture is ancient and high,
We are respected that is why.
Culture has bound us by and by,
With a chain of pure love and tie.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We are sorry here live some men
Who are not loyal, but still then,
Pose as lovers of this nation,
Whom we do not like to mention.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We are sorry here live some men;
Fire of hatred they ever fan.
Freedom, we fear, may not be lost,
Which we have got at a great cost.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
Let us be wise not to be tool
Of selfish powers which befool
Those who do not well understand
Their aim which is behind their stand.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We will be lucky, if we die
For you, O Gracious Country High!
We’ll give them a fitting reply,
Who see you with a slanting eye.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
poem by Aziz Ahmad 'Aziz Moradabadi'
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Saturday Morning 1961
Jane climbed off
the Saturday bus to town
her black hair ruffled
by the wind
her eyes
looking over at you
her mother close by
you standing by the wall
having climbed from the bus
a few moments before
your mother stood
and spoke to others
you watched as Jane buttoned up
her coat against the winter cold
her fingers turning blue
then she moved over to you
and said
I saw you by the water tower last night
as we drove by
my father visiting
a parishioner in the village
I was watching the sun
moving beyond the Downs
you said
like some giant moving
away to sleep
she smiled
and surreptitiously
she touched your hand
her mother's head
looking the other way
talking to your mother
of her husband's work
of church or of weather
or whatever
you gazed at Jane's eyes
the turn of head
the smile on lips
the way her hands touched
oh to be with her
away from others
to talk and walk
and capture each moment
with her closeness
but then her mother
moved away to shop
and Jane followed
just behind
and as she walked away
you painted her figure
and beauty
in your mind.
poem by Terry Collett
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The Black Ships Were Low Laden
The black ships were low laden
And to portugal home bound
They rose with that deep ocean swell
Slowed by the riches they had found.
Those black ships were a portent
Of a far more deadly trade
Of human traffic taken
And transported as mere slaves.
Deep within those black ships' hulls
And flaming on their sails
A thousand souls were crying
Like a chorus in those gales.
The winds were blowing backward
Each venomous black boat
The weight inside each one of them
Fought against them being afloat.
God he blew storms of madness
And sought to turn them back
The sea churned like a mystery
With the sky a vicious black.
The captain stood amongst them
Standing firm upon his deck
He made a pact with Lucifer
With the devil and with death.
The cargo was a sacrifice
The holds were emptied till
The ships could sail full forward
And then the sea did still.
So fill your ships with slavery
But of our pact you must not tell
My mission on this earthly place
Is to create as many hells
As i can find by seeking
The weakness in men's souls
And the emptying of principles
Lies in man's keen quest for gold.
poem by David Keig
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Travel With Bambi
Travel with Bambi
I was going to Seville, it’s not far an hour`s drive- I live
in the south of Portugal- had no one to look after my dog
she came along too. It was winter she sat inside the car
resting when I walked into galleries looking at paintings
visiting churches, yet keenly aware of her left in the car.
Guiltily bought a roasted chicken with chips, she ate it all
but what she really wanted was to go for a long walk.
Walked we did through roads no one knew existed, empty
houses broken down walls what history they held; the dog
was quiet but her little tail wagged.
We saw rats, cats and stray dogs which she quickly put
in their places; finely she was tired, I had lost my way let
her lead the way back to the car, where she curled up in
the back and snored. It was late I was hungry but could
only find a grotty pizza parlour still open.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Future's Request
I'm a child who's not yet born
Hoping for mercy
For a sunrise sight
Not a land of calamity
Oh mother! Oh mother!
Would you leave a little please
A piece of bread, a home
Even just sights of blue seas
I want to experience life
With mountains to climb up
With waves hard crashing
With no one who could stop
Oh Mother! Oh Mother!
The land I wanna see
With the sky of only hope
Of the birds flying free
The circle of life
I still want to be in
Life's up and down moments
I don't want to be missin'
Oh Mother! Oh Mother!
I beg you my mother
Nature, Humanity
They can't take it any longer
I don't want to be unborn
I want to use the time given
Search for the master's plan
For my life not to be taken
Oh Mother! Oh Mother!
Cross not the line finish
Remember the one's next
Don't force this land to perish
poem by Lorena Lalen Cruz
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Rocking on the Bay of Bengal
Standing on the sea-board,
I stared out to the bay
and got gripped into the fears
as the frothing waves were lashing against
the boat, arranged for our trip around.
When a strong wave was surging,
our fisher-folk lugged the boat into the sea,
and called us all to jump into it.
The sea was calm to them being tamed,
but the waves were hissing at us.
We were holding tight a rope
that moved the boat straight over the waves.
The engine at the back
gave momentum to the tiny vessel
and succor to our hope of easy sail.
We were heading towards the open sea
sailing across the thoughts of wonder.
Some sea-urchins were hovering around us
But we were warned not to touch them
as it would cause itching all over the body.
Our boat went off a place of swirls.
“If we get into it, full fathom five
we will go down and lie”-they smiled.
We pleaded them to turn back.
They stopped the engine
and the boat was rocked
on a blue expanse of water.
I felt how could I have fallen asleep
When my mother swung me in the cradle
tied at the branch of a Neem tree in our garden,
singing songs of folk and myth.
Tears welled from my eyes!
“ We would dropp anchor in the bay
and kip for a while on the boat at night
dreaming dreams of wonder and horror”,
Our fisher-folk said and brought us ashore.
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Mother In Law
(a. toussaint)
Mother in law, mother in law
Mother in law, mother in law
The worst person I know
Mother in law, mother in law
She worries me so
Mother in law, mother in law
If she leaves us alone
We could have a happy home
Sent from down below
Mother in law, mother in law
Mother in law, mother in law
Satan should be her name
Mother in law, mother in law
To me theyre about the same
Mother in law, mother in law
Everytime I open my mouth
Steps in trying to put me out
How could you stood so low
Mother in law, mother in law
Mother in law, mother in law
Come home with my pay
Mother in law, mother in law
She asks me what I made
Mother in law, mother in law
She thinks her advice is a contribution
If she would leave that would be the solution
Dont come back no more
Mother in law, mother in law
Mother in law, mother in law....
song performed by by Huey Lewis And The News
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Emigre
I have lived in this foreign country long, perhaps longer
then I should. Many seasons I have seen, my hair is grey
brow wrinkled from seeking understanding. I know their
culture and sing their songs. But I came here as an adult,
I have read Fernando Pessoa, know Fado and can talk
about my favourite singers. Yet, this culture is not in my
soul it does not echo in my heart. I wanted to be a part of
my new Iberian country, but when I remember a lullaby
my mother used to sing a cold Nordic winter night; when
guests have gone home and the party is over, I know I’m
forever a pretender. I have lived here long, too long, but if
I go to back to the old country I will be a stranger walking
in a town where no one knows my name and I’ll dream of
my mythical Portugal.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Tanya
Cold and dreary, dark and alone
Wind wailing thru the icy night
Dragging on and on
So reluctant to leave
Mad and angry to be forced to go
One last storm, one last night
Winter steals her away
Winter likes to go alone
Goodbye winter
Now all seems calm
But it's just the silence of the ones
Left struggling in your wake
Trying to put to rest
Winter
And carry her memory through spring
Goodbye
Winter
Your price was too high.
My Real Goddess
Today my mother
Came to my house
With lots of blessing
And full of good wishing
To live long
Happy and healthy
Progressive and wealthy
My mother
My sweet mother
My beautiful mother
My loving mother
My real goddess
My ever goodness
My first lady I loved
My life my mother
My soul my mother
My God-gift my mother
My pride my mother
My aim my mother
My teacher my mother
My friend my mother
My preacher my mother
My daughter's face look-like my mother
My daughter my little mother
O the Absolute Almighty
Give me my mother
Again and again
And again and again
My mother
Only my mother.
poem by Dr. P. K. Verma
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My Mama, My Lovely Mother
When at infancy, I wee inside her food
She never stop eating
my mama, my lovely mother
When am ill and sad, healthy and happy,
She keep praying for me
my mama, my lovely mother
When I started crawling,
Tears of affection made her eyes heavy
my mama, my lovely mother
When I walk, her fear increases,
That I might go the wrong way
and get hurt
my mama, my lovely mother
When she look at me,
Her gaze always ask me,
How are you my child
my mama, my lovely mother
When am sick, it brings out
The doctor in her
my mama, my lovely mother
I never grow old for her tender love,
Oh! God bless my mother and make
Her proud of me
my mama, my lovely mother
poem by Michael Odor
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Demise Of My Horses
Demise of My Horses
I had been away for a few days,
visiting the aunts of Cascais,
and found my three stone horses gone.
Just cheerless holes
where they had been tethered.
Widening the road, they said
and for that beauty must go.
When a road is enlarged more
cars will fill the space until
the bigger road is too small and
they decide to build a motorway.
The other side of the road will be
impossible to cross and neighbours
will become strangers.
Sun or rain endlessly stunning my horses were
before turned into grit.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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As A Day Passes
As The Days Passes
The cemetery on the hill, facing the blue bay, looks inviting in spring sun.
A burial procession is coming up the road, the last one before lunch,
the priest has folded his hands and think of food. As soon as the coffin is
lowered, three the gravediggers go to work.
Kisses, hugs, tears and sober handshakes, the group of mourners break
up, the bereaved needs to eat too. We are because my wife’s mother is
in a hole in the wall with glass door, she came to change the cloth that
covers the coffin, but has forgotten the key.
I think of my mother, she has been dead a long time, memories of her
last years are bleached bones in the human wasteland I have a picture
of her when she was young and can now see, she a woman too, I cherish
my memories of that time. She had a difficult life, enough said.
Why do people drink? I drink to ease the yoke of my own mortality and
the whispering voice that mocks me. After a bottle of wine the evening
floats by, like a pink cloud on the sky, the scornful voice tires itself out
and falls silent, and softly now life is beautiful and full of dreams.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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At Last
O mother, open the window wide
And let the daylight in;
The hills grow darker to my sight
And thoughts begin to swim.
And mother dear, take my young son,
(Since I was born of thee)
And care for all his little ways
And nurse him on thy knee.
And mother, wash my pale pale hands
And then bind up my feet;
My body may no longer rest
Out of its winding sheet.
And mother dear, take a sapling twig
And green grass newly mown,
And lay them on my empty bed
That my sorrow be not known.
And mother, find three berries red
And pluck them from the stalk,
And burn them at the first cockcrow
That my spirit may not walk.
And mother dear, break a willow wand,
And if the sap be even,
Then save it for sweet Robert’s sake
And he’ll know my soul’s in heaven.
And mother, when the big tears fall,
(And fall, God knows, they may)
Tell him I died of my great love
And my dying heart was gay.
And mother dear, when the sun has set
And the pale kirk grass waves,
Then carry me through the dim twilight
And hide me among the graves.
poem by Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal
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Pray For Peace
I pray for peace.
They require me to kick into high gear.
We may as well have our ph.d.s.
Might we compose
Was never taken into account.
I pray they let out or talk it out.
She would give me a wink across the room.
I wouldve made a really good lawyer.
I had a really good strategy
For putting things back on the wall of the world.
Thank God it was the goddamned wall.
I would have to hide all my valuables.
Who would calm my mother down?
Who would calm me down once I talked her through it?
My mother and I were the official peacemakers.
It was a full-time job.
I would send my mother directly to bed, yeah
Dont collect 200.
Wed talk about it till 5 a.m.
When Id come visiting her 5 years later.
We would pray for peace.
It was most comfortable and familiar.
song performed by by Alanis Morissette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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