This is a poem dedicated to inspiration that bloomed from a party, of all places. I haven’t written for a while. Did I drift to laziness? Hibernation? Down on confidence? A mix of these and more? The theme for the night was mirror white and we all dressed in white. Silent fruits relates to the quiet, unnoticed seemingly little things we do for people that are actually quite fruitful. Instead of ‘flowers’ I used fruit, of which stem from flowers. I won’t give too much more away but the fact that love is quiet, unobtrusive and unseen until it touches us unexpectedly. Impressions welcome and a gift.
What I do know about my grandmother is what my father always told me. “You have her voice, you have her eyes.” She had style. I saw a photo of her published in a book. She was posing for the camera in the most distinguished way with my grandfather next to her. I stared at the old photo hard, trying to see some of her personality that I could take away with me. I dearly wanted to know her and perhaps learn more about myself so I created her in my mind.My grandmother was just 15 when she met my grandfather, who was much older than her. It was illegal to marry that young in Greece so they went to Marce, France. So the story goes.As a baby she sang to me. It was over the time we visited Greece. I have the vision of her cradling me in her arms and it won’t leave my head. Tragically she died young. She had diabetes and for some reason did not care for it so it spread. The doctors needed to amputate her leg because it got infected and she died because of the loss of blood.If you ever visit the island of Kalymnos, you will find a statue of a woman holding a ‘laina’. She is the symbol of strength for the island. The woman worker who prepared the house. She gathered food, dealt with household chores and cooked for the family. How interesting that in such a male dominated culture a woman is the symbol of the island. She’s interesting to me because of her beauty, strength and grace. Likewise, my grandmother is highly spoken of and my grandfather who was great in his own way, seemed to be her shadow.
The Pull of A Spiritual Bond
Chasing My Roots
I look and act like my grandmother. She is the one I hold onto. She is my dream of who I want to be; graceful and kind with a thorn by my side, that allows me to breath among human kind. I remember her, I have a kind image of her. A young woman, the reflection of a mother of the past. Living a life of the now, holding onto that while everything else is destructive and in ruins. The tension love holds, the veins I hold in place and the heart I guard for dear life. Oh how it plays in my mind, that thought I left behind in the anonymous land I love.
Every time I visit Greece I’m immersed in emotions that haunt me in beautiful ways. I yearn for these feelings when I am far. Do we all feel a spiritual bond with a specific family member? Or is it just me? Are my genes so strong that they are pulling me in her direction or am I over-romanticizing the thought?
I ventured abroad 10 years ago to find my roots as I searched for clues to my identity. It’s a funny ole thing to do because one might think they they already know themselves. But I needed to search my past and it wasn’t because of untold stories. I was drawn by my past spirits. A home will always have this power of attraction. The problem was that I was pulled between Greece, the origins of my family and Australia, the place I was born and grew up in. The power of this pull eventually came from different directions as I made my home in different cities of Europe. And attracted me so deeply to Paris.
I have family living in France that I never met properly. I’ve seen them once when a few members visited my aunt in Kalymnos. It was the first time I heard Greek spoken with a French accent. It was delightful and I pondered about visiting them. But what would I say since they are now so distant? And besides, the bond I have is with my grandmother.
When I visit Greece again I will search for the photo of my grandparents and add it to my post.
By Bike To Australia & Back
Inspiration of Greece
A story of poems that illustrates a continuous beginning. Fresh and anew again and again. My poems are about absorbing the world around me with a pencil and paper in my hand. The way I see my life and the lives of others as I build my own outlook. There are poems for every mood in each chapter, sequenced like a story. A story of every day life, love, family and travel.
The Romance With My Art
Oh how I yearn to learn the language and live in France one day. Paris is the place for artists. It’s where one goes to create, to be appreciated, to discover and to be discovered. It was where I had my portrait done and where I returned again and again for various reasons in my life. When in doubt, I always turn to Paris.
The last time I was in Paris I danced! I wrote my impressions and formed them to created poetry. I love being with my arty friends because they don’t see me as weird. They yearn to have their senses challenged in the same way as I do. I talk to them about my ideas and I can see in their faces that I’ve triggered something. They speak with no words and I then know I’ve created a spiritual bond. Just like the one I have with my grandmother.
Poems That Touch The Soul
“Sometimes we need to step away from our immediate surroundings for all to become clear and find truth.” I started writing to introduce my poetry book. Included are color photos of our dance adventure in Paris. If they give the same impressions as my own, you will experience unexplained emotions that can never be replicated or told again.
I continued to write, “This is true for myself. It is how I came to write my poems as I realised my subconscious love and passion for dance. My varied life experiences at home and abroad led to self-discovery and a realisation of a life of dance that I have always led that relinquished my disappointment of lack of pursuit.”
I explain my nomadic life and it is this life I have led in the pursuit of finding my artist self, the spirit of my grandmother.
“Life is dance, and without dance there is no life, and love for these are inseparable. I’m a dancer and poet at heart. Two inseparable art forms, one soul. “Poems that touch the soul & don’t adhere to the pattern of life”, refers to a nomadic lifestyle that lends itself to reach the unexplored self. This is an art form, one of its kind because it can dance and has always danced. It unites strongly through poetic philosophy that delves into ethical boundaries, aesthetics, education and love. A concept that encompasses and revolutionises a soul. It becomes true in its purest sense as every word put to paper is felt by my heart and a final breath celebrates creation.”
This poem illustrates the journey of finding my artist self through my grandmother of whom I’ve never met. I can feel it. I do have her voice, I do have her eyes. And what more, I have her name ‘Maria’. Traditionally girls are named after their grandmother in Greece. I chose the name Malena which represents my artist self.The poem is published in my book, Sudden Clarity. Last night I created an audio for this poem just so I can share it with my readers.
Colors emerge with age
Rusty browns and creamy whites
Classic and timeless
Up to the present day
Poise and stance romanced
I searched for the thought in my head
Like an apparent fate
That raced to catch the bait
Only to return home instead
I went in search for you
I found you
And ironically returned without you
Hidden virtue of love and sacrifice
The torture runs again and again
The thought remains in my head
To let go of it
And free it
Is a symbol of love
Freedom of self,
A vision of self
Is a hidden virtue of love and sacrifice
And there she was
I saw her from afar
I looked back
And there she was
I saw her below
And I thought that was me
I saw her near
Enclosed in a city
In a coffin
I saw she was
It was a coffin for me
Like the flowers he gave
The frozen flowers,
Like the photo
Of the love
That buried her head
Two decades apart
She unlocked her heart
It was a place
He buried his head
People walked by
Without a care for a soul
A heart, a body
When it grew old
And youth, a past
A curse to bear
Use her, describe her
Malena was her name
Was her ultimate aim
Ich habe eine kofer in Paris,
Was her claim
I might be related to the Greek Australian journalist John Mangos!
Did you know that I might be related to John Mangos? Whether it’s fact or fallacy, I’ve been told this all my life. Before I changed my maiden name, people asked me ‘Are you related to John Mangos?’ all the time!
“John Mangos has had a thirty-six year career in journalism, the past thirty-three years in television. He is currently a news presenter for the Seven Network and is a regular guest on the Sunrise and Morning Show programs.” http://www.johnmangos.com/biography
Upon waking up today I started thinking of a quote
my subconscious made and I wrote.
Last night I used this quote
as the subtitle of my next poetry book.
Upon waking up, it occurred to me that people may not understand it or perhaps misinterpret it, and I discussed it with my husband. Upon doing a quick internet search we bumped into a video showing a pattern on a screen that moves in a predictable way.
I searched again, and I bumped into this article a blogger posted, that seemed to answer the subconscious questions I had about my poetry. These are the ones I don’t use words to ask. They stay in my mind because they belong to my feelings.
It’s interesting how easily people repress their emotions. Such an allowance is not good for the soul, and thus answered my question again. I must trust my feelings. I wanted to use my quote because it is a personal belief that comes from my subconscious, the way my poems do. My soul needs this avenue to allow my soul to breathe. It is the one place I don’t have to adhere to the pattern of life. Hence, the subtitle of my poetry book.
“subconscious editor for such vigilance” is a quote from the guardian that made me think about the way my emotions and subconscious self edits my poems. And I recall commenting just yesterday in response to Frederick, a friend from my Poems That Dance Facebook page, that I wouldn’t want an editor to edit my words. It would be like editing my emotions and pulling myself apart.
As a teacher, I regard myself a poet and dancer first. I feel that people, like myself, are misled into thinking one must be perfect in an art to announce what and who they believe they are. The place your passion is, is you.
I love this quote from the guardian. If you’re a teacher or/and a parent, and/or poet, you will too!
“I don’t think kids need to learn whole poems to acquire the lines that will matter and mean most to them – the idea behind the recently launched Poetry by Heart campaign – they just need people who love poetry around, teaching it and reading it and being unafraid to be messily moved by it in front of them. These are some of the bits of poetry I’m made up of. Which are yours?”
Focus on now
Plans for a new day can wait
Never lose grip of what’s you
Continue on an unpredictable path
But remember there are many
Some are near and others are far
Let go of the past
Time will tell
& all of what is entering my mind
And you are free
This is a poem about freedom and being captured by one person.
I’m doing this for you!
For your youth, not mine!
& my woes of a lost life
Absence of essentials
A mattress is all I have
& I sleep with a ritual for company
It’s not about me!
I live for you
But without you
Kind words fail dutifully
Sifting through clothes & jewelery
A mother and daughter
Relevant only upon death
By Maria Grujicic
Copyright 26th February, 2013
Meraklou is a woman who has style in life and fashion. It’s a word in Greek and knowing this will greatly help with interpreting the poem. This is a fatal end, though I assure you happiness is set in disguise. :) As always, likes are appreciated and impressions are most welcome. Feel free to ask questions, as long as it is respectful, there is no right or wrong in poetry.
Enter our private
I stop at the thought
Lies are free
& a dominant eye
A la life!
You are my mirror
I can only tell time with you
A role that finds peace
& a key
It frames and becomes you
But it isn’t a favourite
Without a dominant eye
Nothing is forever
A collection of others
I smile to hide
Tears swell in my reddened eyes
I feel like a fool
I don’t have the breath to dream
Why do they separate the trees?
Entering the small details of life
I remind myself
It’s not forever
Without a dominant eye
By Maria Grujicic Copyright February 25, 2013
This is a poem that was inspired by my good friend Gala Yakovleva. It is a reflection from a thought she had of the dominant eye.. perhaps one of a cat, which always seems to be awake. I know it has been a long time since I’ve written a poem, but it was worth the wait because I thought about this poem long and hard. And the timing of polishing had to be just right, after pondering on the words I filled on my notebook. I wrote the ideas of this poem whilst in Paris and revised them upon return to Darwin, Australia.
A proposed star for Wikiproject Constellations. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
A STAR was so bright,
And it turned into the sun,
Then when it burned the parts of the surroundings,
It dimmed a little,
And then a lot
Until it spread like a graceful moon
Softly silver-toned clouds camouflaged into the darkness of the night sky,
And the water ran, it sparked the light,
That turned to a flame and it also ran,
Music was heard from below,
And the star retreated to fall gently,
So eloquently to tireless sleep.
Maria Grujicic Copyright 2011
This is a poem I wrote a while ago. I wrote it to soothe the soul after a tragic event almost eventuated. It was a kind of thank you that the bad times past and I was able to think ahead into a brighter future.
Hand me downs
The gifts my mother returned
I gave with myself in mind
In idle youth,
My mother’s gifts
mirrored the woman I always wanted her to be
grace, beauty and womanhood
I coaxed her with the possibilities
A life she deserved but sacrificed for me
Relevant only now
I opened my eyes
When gifts became hand me downs from my mother who recognized
I gave a part of me
She kept me preserved and new
Sorted in scattered bundles all over the floor
The dresses, skirts and accessories
My mother had no occasion for
My reward and anguish of giving to someone who sacrifices
Is a lifetime of hand me downs
to my mother who holds my memories
I’m at her mercy
It takes courage to write honestly
When one is open to the unknown
Though I do
because happiness is a habit I try to share
upon a swift turn of my head and a glance
Who would have thought
I finally wore the clothes a real woman was born to bear
By Maria Grujicic
This poem is dedicated to my mother, the most giving soul I have ever met. Like every giving soul people do take advantage, but even so she is so beautiful that it doesn’t seem to affect her. Her goodness lives on in her, she has grace, she has virtue, but she has her true self. She has lost her youth but she is still alive and strong. And she gives this power to me.