Patti Smith

Hello everybody,

Well that was a bit convoluted. I think it’s because I feel weird when I seem to be doing a book commercial but then again it may be useful for some of you. I am also still on a terrible sleep schedule. But I just got back Sunday. New York was a traffic and security mess because of the United Nations Summit. Although it took some time convincing security I needed to see my dentist located on a heavily blocked street didn’t bother me at all. But the embarrassing narcissistic tirade of the president speaking at the assembly is hard to shake let alone swallow. Along with all the pain of daily existence. Guns and more guns. Greed opulence the plight of innocent hostages the genocide of a people. The horror of war, the growing scourge of censorship, and the twisting of so called religious values. The most valuable ingredient of all faiths is love. Spiritual food cannot be offered or consumed without it. I feel no real love radiating from those who are representing us. Thus we must do all we can to send it forth doubly on our own.

https://www.mcnallyjackson.com/bread-angels-memoir-signed-preorder

That is the pre-order link. Thank you all for your support. More to come.

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The Drunken BoatAs I was going down impassive rivers,I no longer felt myself guided by haulers!Yelping redskins had taken them as targets,And had nailed them naked to colored stakes.I was indifferent to all crews,The bearer of Flemish wheat or English cottons,When with my haulers this uproar stopped,The Rivers let me go where I wanted.Into the furious lashing of the tides,More heedless than children's brains, the other winterI ran! And loosened peninsulasHave not undergone a more triumphant hubbub.The storm blessed my sea vigils.Lighter than a cork I danced on the wavesThat are called eternal rollers of victims,Ten nights, without missing the stupid eye of the lighthouses!Sweeter than the flesh of hard apples is to children,The green water penetrated my hull of firAnd washed me of spots of blue wineAnd vomit, scattering rudder and grappling-hook.And from then on I bathed in the PoemOf the Sea, infused with stars and lactescent,Devouring the green azure where, like a pale elatedPiece of flotsam, a pensive drowned figure sometimes sinks;Where, suddenly dyeing the blueness, deliriumAnd slow rhythms under the streaking of daylight,Stronger than alcohol, vaster than our lyres,The bitter redness of love ferments!I know the skies bursting with lighting, and the waterspoutsAnd the surf and the currents; I know the evening,And dawn as exhalted as a flock of doves,And at times I have seen what man thought he saw!I have seen the low sun spotted with mystic horrors,Lighting up, with long violet clots,Resembling actors of very ancient dramas,The waves rolling far off their quivering of shutters!I have dreamed of the green night with dazzled snows,A kiss slowly rising to the eyes of the sea,The circulation of unknown saps,And the yellow and blue awakening of singing phosphorous!I followed during pregnant months the swell,Like hysterical cows, in its assault on the reefs,Without dreaming that the luminous feet of the MarysCould restrain the snout of the wheezing Oceans!I struck against, you know, unbelievable FloridasMingling with flowers panthers' eyes and humanSkin! Rainbows stretched like bridal reinsUnder the horizon of the seas to greenish herds!I have seen enormous swamps ferment, fish-trapsWhere a whole Leviathan rots in the rushes!Avalanches of water in the midst of a calm,And the distances cataracting toward the abyss!Glaciers, suns of silver, nacreous waves, skies of embers!Hideous strands at the end of brown gulfsWhere giant serpents devoured by bedbugsFall down from gnarled tress with black scent!I should have liked to show children those sunfishOf the blue wave, the fish of gold, the singing fish.--Foam of flowers rocked my driftingAnd ineffable winds winged me at times.At times a martyr weary of poles and zones,The sea, whose sob created my gentle roll,Brought up to me her dark flowers with yellow suckersAnd I remained like a woman on her knees...Resembling an island tossing on my sides the quarrelsAnd droppings of noisy birds with yellow eyes.And I sailed on, when through my fragile ropesDrowned men sank backward to sleep!Now I, a boat lost in the foliage of caves,Thrown by the storm into the birdless air,I whose water-drunk carcass would not have been rescuedBy the Monitors and the Hanseatic sailboats;Free, smoking, topped with violet fog,I who pierced the reddening sky like a wallBearing--delicious jam for good poets--Lichens of sunlight and mucus of azure;Who ran, spotted with small electric moons,A wild plank, escorted by black seahorses,When Julys beat down with blows of cudgelsThe ultramarine skies with burning funnels;I, who trembled, hearing at fifty leagues offThe moaning of the Behemoths in heat and the thick Maelstroms,I, eternal spinner of the blue immobility,Miss Europe with its ancient parapets!I have seen sidereal archipelagos! and islandsWhose delirious skies are open to the sea-wanderer:--Is it in these bottomless nights that you sleep and exile yourself,Million golden birds, O future Vigor?But, in truth, I have wept too much! Dawns are heartbreaking.Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter.Acrid love has swollen me with intoxicating torpor.O let my keel burst! O let me go into the sea!If I want a water of Europe, it is the blackCold puddle where in the sweet-smelling twilightA squatting child full of sadness releasesA boat as fragile as a May butterfly.No longer can I, bathed in your languor, O waves,Follow in the wake of the cotton boats,Nor cross through the pride of flags and flames,Nor swim under the terrible eyes of prison ships.

Translation by Wallace Fowlie

Below is the book that includes a translation I like as well. The first translation I ever read, Louise Varese, but I can’t find it online. The book is worth having.

And here is a glimpse of the Delacroix:

I am quite tired so I will report again tomorrow. Have a good night. I have a few more photos and another translation for tomorrow…..

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Hello everyone,

My guitar is out of tune, the strings are dead and it hurt to play, my voice is hoarse, yet the air quality today is very good and I feel lucky to be alive.

This offering, however flawed, delivered in late afternoon with a heavy heart, is for the hostages, the children, the land polluted by bombs, the Palestinian people, and the journalists, a lifeline to truth, who died in a make-shift tent on a brief respite together.

Anas al-Sharif, a prominent correspondent.

Mohammed Qreiqeh, also a correspondent.

Ibrahim Zaher, a camera operator.

Moamen Aliwa, a camera operator.

Mohammed Noufal, an assistant.

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Good evening everyone. While I was downloading the video I accidentally dozed off. So I guess it’s time to brush my teeth wash my face and turn in. All blessings upon the suffering, all hopes for the innocent. May everyone have a good night and wake with positive energy.

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Below is the awning of the historic Caffe Greco. May it survive!! The book is Divided Soul, The Life of Gogol by Henri Troyat. Happy August to all.

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Yesterday I had a brief stop in beautiful Florence. Beneath the Medici Chapels there is a small, once hidden space once occupied by Michelangelo. After viewing his massive works it is interesting to imagine him occupying for a time such limited space. Apparently he was hiding from authorities during a particularly tumultuous political time in the region. The walls of his self imposed prison are covered with his charcoal sketches. It was fascinating to examine graffiti Michelangelo style. There was one small window, seen below, thankfully affording him some air and light.

Jeff’s vocal can be heard toward the end. I will return soon….

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Below are a few sights in the beautiful city of Prague. More to come from our German tour. I have many pictures to send as well as all good wishes…..As promised here is the new entrance to my international website: pattismith-fugalfox.de/

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A few pictures and a smile….

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