The Power of Poetry
When Time Is A Stranger
The Future Memories
The slow memory of days,* too few to be full, too many to be long, hangs like a thin veil over the holes in my heart. The years pass by, and the hearts change, but never quite as much as they should. The lies we tell ourselves and others they’re never what we thought they ought to be. All the plans we make and never finish never quite as good as they ought to be. The soft echo of a ringing in my ears, I turn to look, but there is no one there. The shade of a girl I used to know, she’s as beautiful as ever she was. But the story ends just like it began, and now she is not so far away. The loneliness that follows each and every day, isn’t the loneliness of the dark alone. It’s the loneliness of a memory that lingers on. It is too much to turn back but not enough to forget.
I love how the days all go by in a blur, little moments, little thoughts like snapshots from a pile of pictures. An hour lost? It will creep back in all its time and space, slowly but surely returning that which we’ve already left behind.
The days are slow. They are barely here and never really there at all they’re in your lap and then out of view they’re not around anymore They’re the moments that you used to have that they took and they made something more But they never came back to you again
When the days have gone, you feel them slip away. You feel and can’t erase the moment that was. The truth is words don’t really matter. What really matters is in a world without words, we just try to do less with our life. If this song was a story, it would be one without any moral lessons or any plot twist at all.
Salvador Espriu
Poet, storyteller, and playwright. His art alternates between grotesque and poetic, using irony and sarcasm. In Catalan literature, he was a significant personality. “
A Mediterranean wine, a harmonic marriage of sea and mountains, expresses the character, climate, and geographic variety of the region. It reflects the poet Salvador Espriu’s feelings for Arenys, or Synera as he named it, the place from whence his family originated and where the poet spent his summers.
With this wine I started a poetic summer, the description of the wine was the main reason, the quality of the wine took a back seat ; ) ¡Salud!
*‘Cemetery at Sinera’ by Salvador Espriu “ The slow memory of days”
