ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Feb 16, 2015 18:33:46 GMT -5
Enough
no more well-intentioned kumbayas, no more hopeful dirges 'we shall overcome'
out of our darkness light and life will emerge
Roma fight for the right to be free, you and me
no more waiting at table for the glox to fling us crumbs
our pain, inflicted on our people a thousand years, will be over
Roma with cam will cast off the chains of their slavery, and in their joyful desrobireja sing and dance our yekhipe
our flamenco, our djilia, will chant our new freedom; our Roma hip-hop, Roma rap, beats out the drum of our liberation
watch out, you baro rey: we're breaking away!
no more of your barbed wire: our souls are on fire
Opre Roma! Amaro yekhipe!
(glox means 'boss,' desrobireja means 'emancipation.' baro rey means like the power structure, opre Roma means Roma arise and amaro yekhipe means our unity and cam means love
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Feb 16, 2015 18:35:25 GMT -5
My Identity
who am I, brown-skinned, with my long dark hair, my tall, powerful body, my aching eyes? I am Roma, a toiler in the fields, a servant to the ones for whom we labour to make their unholy bestipen, the chains we wear our only gemstones, the whip of the glox all that makes us know we still exist out of our servitude we fashioned our brigaki djilia, our gypsy blues, our spirituals our names abandoned, whispered only in secret, answering to our gauji handles I am Linda: but I also have a Roma name that is my true self, my real identity our lives of unremembered sweat, our toil and pain too long unrecognised, lost in the dustbin while others walk in the light, rightly recount their sorrows, but never spare a word or thought for us we also served and suffered, we also were enslaved; so let our song be told: our backs still bear the scars of countless whippings, our ankles ache with the weight of manacles, so let our voice be heard I am Linda: I have been Linda all my life; I married as Linda, to most of the world and even most my friends I am Linda yet I am not only Linda: my Roma name is my true self, my real identity
Author notes
Thousands of Roma gypsies were enslaved between around 1400 and 1800 and our tale is hardly known. I've used a few Romani words - bestipen means 'riches,' glox means 'boss,' brigaki djilia means 'sad songs' 'songs of sorrow,' and gauji means 'non-gypsy.'
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Feb 23, 2015 17:40:12 GMT -5
Djelem, djelem
When I hear djelem, djelem sung I feel alive, blooming like a flower warmed by the sun, my lips taste sweet as if I'd kissed our people's flag
and djelem, djelem pulses through me like a thousand orgasms,
and all my people, Cale, Kalderash, Lovara, Vlach, Roma, Sinti, posh-rats, diddakai, walk hand in hand and side by side
our struggle for freedom and justice will never die, we will fight on till the gadje are enlightened, our labours of love, bringing a shared illumination to everyone
let the light of our love shine out from all the people of the world and the oceans of course sing in their seaspray djelem, djelem
[Author's note - djelem, djelem is the anthem of the Romani people. It's title means 'I am wandering.' Gadje of course means non-gypsy and Cale, Kalderash, Vlach, Lovara and so on are various tribes of our Romani people. A posh-rat (I'm one) literally means 'half blood' - half gypsy, half non-gypsy; a diddakai is someone with some gypsy blood in them.
Hope that answers any questions!]
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Mar 7, 2015 19:36:00 GMT -5
The Runaway Bride
it's our tradition that when we get married we elope; only then do we tell our parents so it was we went to the registry office and made our solemn vows then we went back and told our parents the day itself was quiet all the fireworks came later! his family were incandescent with rage, told him he'd married beneath himself, said 'how can you marry a dirty gypsy? can't you see she's just trash? she only wants you for your money, she's a promiscuous whore,' and even though we've been married sixteen years now, had two children, his mum still always leaves my name off the Christmas card she sends to the family
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Post by Deleted on Mar 30, 2015 15:54:44 GMT -5
I wrote this when I was a student at university!
All in the Days
I should like to make an existential proposition to you - But it wouldn't be me; and - would it be you? Gazing for the first time at an original Old Master That I've seen perhaps a hundred times before, And watching the man who never removes his cap Eat a wing of chicken with his fingers Are nothing new to me.
Could I be the one to revolt you? You would only come back for more - sooner or later. First you wrap yourselves around each other, And then a cryptic crossword around what's left.
The man in the can was Oedipus Rex in disguise Though he'd never tried killing his father; The disease in his head seemed totally unaware That syphilis can destroy a great man, let alone him.
Your progress is slow But the seeds in your head are growing, And I can be The epitome Of simplicity.
Today I looked Van Gogh in his sunflower eye - The agony of waiting for you to discover That you cannot really sympathise.
Rain, steam and speed - Captured in the National Gallery - An artist's emotion, throwing itself with open arms, But you were not there to catch it, To sift the feelings of a lonely impression.
I should like to make an existential proposition to you - But somehow it wouldn't be decent anymore.
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Apr 3, 2015 10:41:15 GMT -5
Slightly ahead of myself as it's not quite Easter yet but I felt like posting this poem I wrote for an Easter contest last year on the poetry site I belong to.
For the Risen Christ
The sky shut its eyes in shame, the ground beneath Heaved up its sighs; then all was still at last, Only the wailing of the watching women Breaking the awed silence. Later, in a tomb Christ was laid in a winding-sheet of white, And a heavy stone rolled before The entrance to the tomb Three days passed, and the earth shook again, The wind swung violently and tore the air And the stone rolled away from His burial place, And all around was filled with sudden light And Mary, come to weep and to anoint His body, found the sight that met her gaze Like dew on a parched flower at early light, And Mary saw the living hands and feet And felt as stunned and awed as if the stars Had been uprooted from the sky And hurled down to the bottom of the ocean. Stilled the crimson blood That flowed once, yet again He breathes, He speaks And out of that day we live, Our wounds, our sins, healed by His sacrifice. Through His atonement, our at-one-ment.
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on May 13, 2015 17:07:57 GMT -5
Be Strong:
now it's all over at last and our dream of freedom past, we must hold fast, be strong, work hard to right the wrong
though our oppressors think they've won and bask in a self-congratulatory sun our day will come: the people's voice will scream, turn out the fat cats who've stolen all the cream
it's not about the rising pile of food banks, or endless speeches by a bunch of planks; it's about taking charge of our destiny so that we're ruled by the likes of you and me
all we can do is fight on and be strong: one day we'll find a way to right the wrong
---------------------------------- This is one of two poems I've written about the recent General Election result which has saddened and angered me deeply.
The scum are in unchallenged power now and we need to break them.
We need a British equivalent of the Tea Party but without the archaic, authoritarian and religious trappings.
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on May 15, 2015 15:13:36 GMT -5
After the Election:
from the moment we heard
the exit polls announced
we knew it meant doom -
however absurd
my heart almost flounced
into grief's silent tomb
it was night-time, and we stared
at the television screen
in utter disbelief and anger.
Our glazed eyes glared,
nourished by cigarettes and caffeine,
but our country's in danger!
it's a double attack
on our once proud nation
from right and the so-called left
as they eagerly ransack
and engage in a mutual castration
and unbridled theft
caught in the crossfire
of two rival Mafia gangs,
the Scottish Nazi Party
and the equally dire
bloodthirsty fangs
of the disciples of Astarte,
otherwise known as the Conservative Party,
but that's another Tory,
a tale devoid of glory
liberal values cast aside,
greed and callousness and pride
rewarded and praised;
Britons must be quite crazed
to let the traitorous scum
rise unchallenged to the top.
Almost numb,
into the chair I flop
honour, decency and care
all vanished in the midnight air;
freedom, tolerance, compassion
thrown away as out of fashion
no chance the scumbags will be fair:
already they assault the air
with their attacks on human rights,
rewarding non-dom parasites
and all the rest of the slimy crew;
well, that's all Tories ever do
they screw the poor and hurt the weak;
evil's in every word they speak
and every action that they take:
surely there must be some mistake!
how could the people of our land
allow this group of underhand
traitors and clowns, tyrants and knaves
to turn us into a bunch of slaves?
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on May 15, 2015 15:14:32 GMT -5
Placid:
sheep stand in line,
patiently shorn of their wool;
the shepherd assures them they'll be fine:
'you'll be nice and cool
without that muggy wooly coat'
and off he quickly goes to gloat
cows stand in line,
patiently robbed of their milk;
the farmer tells them they'll be fine:
with words as soft as silk
he says 'I'll lift your milky weight
and thus my wealth accumulate'
people stand in line,
patiently voting for their own destruction,
while the politicians tell them they'll be fine,
with the most banal techniques of seduction
they lure the lemmings to their doom,
then feast in the living hetacomb
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on May 15, 2015 15:15:39 GMT -5
Jakob's ladder:
you built yourself a ladder of aliases
out of a single name;
Jakob you were in Central Europe,
Iago among the hills of Snowdon,
Giacomo in the Italian landscape,
Diego when you walked in Spain,
Jaime among the Basques,
Jimmy in England
the lie of you began early:
the only survivor amoing your family
of the death camp at Auschwitz, you travelled
and though most of us Roma have
a gadge and a gypsy name
with you, identity switch
was your budjo
yet it was not for gain,
nor any wish to trick the gadje world
out of sheer malice or greed,
but, violated by death as a child,
somehow an inner sense of selfhood
never fully formed inside you
in Spain and the Basque country
you strove mightily against Franco,
a warrior for ETA
I, as a child,
listened to your poems and your music,
teaching me the ways of the brothers,
teaching me my language and heritage
you died too young:
I was only 22 years old
when you passed over.
at the funeral I said my prayers
in English and Romanes
and every year I pay a visit
to your grave, to honour and remember you
you loved the sun
but also the snow;
we walked together among mountain,s
climbing both physical and spiritual space
thanks to you
I still follow the law of the brothers
as best as I can in our gadje world;
thanks to you
I celebrate the life of our people
and fight for their rights
against those who hate and persecute us
miri nano, me cam tu!
not always a good man, but to me
a great man.
Author notes
A tribute to my second cousin who I always called 'nano' - uncle; 'miri nano' means 'my uncle.'
I hope the rest of the poem is self-explanatory.
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on May 15, 2015 15:16:45 GMT -5
Whiteness:
On my wedding day
I wore a dress of white
when I met his parents
with my jet black hair
they said to him,
Good God, you're mad,
don't make us let her in,
for dark brown
is the colour of my skin
all the same, on my wedding day
I wore a dress of white
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on May 15, 2015 15:18:47 GMT -5
Even after the fire:
out of us all -
family, tribe, people -
we own no tangible earth,
born always to fail,
creatures of myth and fable.
never invited to share your hearth
our simple needs
are far too great
for them to be allowed:
freedom, a road to walk, some shade
to shelter from the wind and rain, delight
ourselves with nature's bounty; much too hard
so in a time of trial
our courage only led us to our death;
we were a nation yet without a state
defiantly loyal
even as we vanished to a wraith
beneath our murderers' hands, crushed by their might
our music never ceased:
even when we were cast into damnation
our voices trilled our freedom to the air;
wafted on a kindly breeze
they sang the tunes of love and of compassion,
accompanied by hope's pure lyre
what are we now?
romantic fancies, picturesque visions
of a dead past, or, worse,
thieves, paedophiles, whores, deserving to undergo
legal discrimination, violence, condemnation,
monsters at worst: at best an anachronistic farce
Author notes
Even after centuries of discrimination and the appalling tragedy of the Porajmos - the gypsy holocaust where we were murdered by the Nazis - we still face prejudice, discrimination and are always outsiders. Some people see us as some romantic Bohemian hippy types; more as vile criminal scum.
To us Romanies, gadge society - non-gypsy society - is the enemy; it's the problem and not the solution at all.
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Post by annaj26 on May 17, 2015 12:49:32 GMT -5
Thank you, Lin and Mike. I enjoyed these poems.
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Post by Deleted on May 19, 2015 18:28:19 GMT -5
Thank you for your kind words, Anna. Lin is really the poet but I try from time to time and used to write more frequently in my lost youth!
Here is a humorous piece that I hope you will enjoy:
Philosophic Dog
To urinate or not to urinate, that is the question; Whether 'tis nobler in the cortex to suffer The sights and sounds of outrageous stimuli Or to cock the leg in a sea of responses, And by responding, end them. A collar, a leash; No more, and being leashed shall end The fouling of the hearthrug, and the thousand other places Doghood is heir too; 'tis a constipation Devoutly to be wished.
But leave me now O idle meditation: For yonder lies the lamp-post that shall end my speculation!
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ladylinda
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Post by ladylinda on Jun 4, 2015 17:24:55 GMT -5
Will you not love me?
I am the cold, the dark, complicated, sometimes selfish, guilty of many crimes
will you not love me in spite of what I am? will you not love me because of what I am?
you and I in the park, shivering, groping in the blackness to touch each other's face. Oh, as if by a miracle, the stars gleam, hatching out of the shell of night, bedecking us with their spangled brilliance
if I am night and you the resplendent day are we not both two sides of the same phenomenon?
sunrise, sunset, moon glow, stars twinkling, are they not both simply the earth turning?
though in this empty space we are occluded worlds, must we miss each other perpetually, asteroids narrowly avoiding a collision course?
surely our hearts love, and with our love the effulgence of day radiates on both our lives?
though I am darkness and cold and you light and heat will you not love me in spite of what I am? should we not love each other because of what we are?
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