Paradoxal, este greu sa admiti ca poezia si muzica pot coexista. Sau sa recunosti, ca dincolo de muzica, au ramas cuvintele si sunetul lor inconfundabil. Prima oara am auzit poeziile lui Jewel recitate de o voce ragusita si taraganata de barbat. Cuvintele simple, clare, imaginile reale, aduceau insa numai prospetime si o sensibilitate ce nu sta sub imperiul cliseelor. Am citit critica adusa acestui volum, dar imi este greu sa admit ca este un volum de poezie proasta. Probabil, din punct de vedere tehnic, nu contine cele bine prelucrate poezii. Probabil Jewel nu are nici macar talent. De aceasta data insa, aceste considerente nu mai reprezinta ceva crucial. Pentru ca am gasit in aceasta carte un incredibil curaj: acela de a-ti transpune trairile, sentimentele, viata, pe hartie, in toata fermecatoarea lor durere. Este o carte cu sentimente crude, neprelucrate si care scapa nimbului falsitatii unei lumi care face bravada din sentimente.
Dupa ce suntem transpusi in atmosfera friguroaselor zile din Alaska (for bad meals turned good / by hunger, everything beautiful / in the red hot heat of our coal stove), ni se ofera o descriere in detaliu a tinerei Jewel, intr-o serie de poezii, variatiuni pe aceasi tema. Cea mai evocativa, este a doua a seriei: I have firm breasts / I have lips that always smile / I have veins that bleed / I laugh when I’m nervous / I feel the pain of others / but cry for no reason / I like open flame / I’ve been selfish since a child / I’m from Alaska / but hate the cold / I’ve cheated on diets / I’ve faked applications / But I still bleed / and my lips still smile / and my breasts won’t / always be firm.
Dar, bineinteles, mesajul cel mai puternic este transmis de poeziile de dragoste. Si regasim in versurile lui Jewel de la durerea, aproape fizica, a despartirii, la furia mocnita a incapacitatii de a actiona, la indiferenta inteleapta ca raspuns la indiferenta.
Jewel da un nou glas durerii, redand trairi sufletesti cu detalii anatomice ( I / miss you/ my teeth ache/ my bones are confused/ they’d grown so close/ my flesh cries like children/ i speak to them in hush/ it’s not fair they say/ bring him back!/ beg him stay!/ it’s not up to me. i try to explain/ but mind can’t make heart understand/ it does not whimper/ its one lashed eye keeps blinking/ it insists simply with quiet disbelief.) sau apeland la metafore cu totul neasteptate (I miss your touch/ all taciturn/ like the slow migration of birds/ nesting momentarily/ upon my breast/ then lifting/ silver and quick–/ sabotaging the landscape/ with their absence/ my skin silent without/ their song/ a thirsty pool of patient flesh.)
Despartirile nu sunt toate marcate de melancolie, ci mai aduc dupa sine si reafirmarea independentei si demascarea unei iubiri inselatoare: I’m writing/this letter to tell you/ I don’t love you anymore./ I don’t miss you./ I never have./The truth is, I/ tried, but never found/ your adoration/ anything other than arduous,/ your niceties cliched,/ your praise thoughtless,/ and it has become/ unbearably obvious/ that you love with/ all the originality/ of romance novels;/ the manly man weakening/ the luscious flower./ But do not be sad,/ nothing is lost,/ neither of us even loved/ the other truly-/ you only thought you did/ and I only wanted to.
Dar dincolo de toate aceste sentimente, se naste si strigatul ei de revolta, incarcat de o forta bruta, care marcheaza si unul dintre cele mai puternice poeme ale volumului: Burn her eyes, without hope of understanding them./Kiss her mouth, that you may fathom its strange tongue./ Indulge in her brown skin because it reminds you of mother./Rape her mind, because it is not your own,/ but so sweet, so familiar./Like coming home to a native land/ your pale and inbred hands can only faintly fathom.
Cuvintele simple, scurte, ritmul alert, versurile parca retezate, creaza imagini ce surprind si ne dezarmeaza parca de rationamentele pompoase care ne impiedica sa mai vedem lumea cu simplitate si curaj. Iar Jewel ne reaminteste, ca desi multe lucruri se schimba, mereu ne mai putem intoarce sa impletim coronite din papadii.
*recenzie aparuta si pe bookblog