“Paper Napkins” Milton Nascimento
This song (above link) with the lyrics (below) perhaps best exemplifies the feeling and the experience of writing (for me, and i presume many other writers), especially the poetry.
Paper Napkins
(translation)
In my town there are poets, poets
Who arrive without drums or trumpets
Trumpets and always appear when
Less expected, guarded, guarded
Between books and shoes, in dusty chests
They leave with hidden places, in the air, in the airs
Where live with their peers, their peers
Your peers and live with ghosts
Multicolors of colors, of colors
That you paint the eyes of the eyes
And they ask you not to cry
Their illusions are divided, departures
Departures between dead and wounds, wounds
Wounds but resist with words
Confused, merged, fused
At your sad slow pace
Through the streets and avenues
They don't want glories or medals, medals
Medals, are satisfied
With crumbs, crumbs, crumbs
Of songs and games with your
Cropped, scattered verse
Obsessed by the search for submerged treasures
They make four hundred thousand projects
Projects, projects, which are never
Reached, tired, tired none of it
It matters while they write, write
Write what they know they don't know
And what they say they shouldn't
Poets, poets, poets, poets walk the streets
Like comets, comets, comets
In a strange sky of dumb stars
And other and other
Whose glow without noise
Dress your crooked tails
In Montevideo pens, pens, pens
Slow in thousands, thousands, thousands
Of words going backwards confused, confusing
Confuses, in slender napkins
Made inconclusive flies
Walk in the streets writing and seeing and seeing
That they see they tell us, saying
And being they poets of truth
While they are talking and pyramiding
Don't get tired of talking
What they swear they didn't see
Look at the sky these poets, poets, poets
As if they were bezels, bezels, playful
Launched into space and the whole world
Whole, whole, to be seen for
Then back to Montevideo
Trace, glad to hear you like : )
I want to frame this one! XO