Thursday, November 22, 2018

#42 Backstory of the Poem "Mountain" by Haroldo Barbosa Filho



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***This is the forty-second in a never-ending series called BACKSTORY OF THE POEM where the Chris Rice Cooper Blog (CRC) focuses on one specific poem and how the poet wrote that specific poem.  All BACKSTORY OF THE POEM links are at the end of this piece. 

#42 Backstory of the Poem
Mountain
by Haroldo Barbosa Filho
 
Can you go through the step-by-step process of writing this poem from the moment the idea was first conceived in your brain until final form?   My creative process is sometimes tempestuous: the sentences appear in swirls. Other times, ideas come quietly, as if emerging from a placid lake. Everything depends on the moment, on what is happening inside me and what I see and feel of an external event. I do not care so much about styles, but writing sincerities. (  Above Left:  Haroldo Barbosa Filho in 2018. Copyright permission granted by Haroldo Barbosa Filho for this CRC Blog Post Only
Below:  Attributed and copyright permission granted by Haroldo Barbosa Filho for this CRC Blog Post Only) 

Where were you when you started to actually write the poem?  And please describe the place in great detail.   When starting this poem, I was alone in my home in the city of São Paulo, Brazil, with a white sheet of a text editor program and mentally reproducing an image of Maine I had seen in my "computer travels": Cadillac Mountain in Bar Harbor. 
For some time, I have a great passion for that state, especially the Portland of Longfellow, the Rockport of the Brazilian lyric singer Bidu Sayão and the Bangor of Stephen King. I tried to remember the details of that landscape. I imagined myself sitting on one of the stones, breathing the air of the United States. Suddenly I noticed that my soul was there, but the body was stuck to my reality. So I felt small, sad, because I wanted to live in that place. Thus, these lines have taken shape.
What month and year did you start writing this poem?   This poem was written at the end of 2015.
How many drafts of this poem did you write before going to the final? (And can you share a photograph of your rough drafts with pen markings on it?)   I typed the poem directly into the computer using text software. After the first sketch, I remember changing one word or another. The poem was published practically as it was initially conceived.
Were there any lines in any of your rough drafts of this poem that were not in the final version?  And can you share them with us?   In fact, I felt a very great distress to finish the poem. This caused me to continue transferring my feelings to the computer, so that another poem appeared, where I tried to put myself in my place as a small poet in search of expansion, at that moment, not knowing how to do it.
I looked through the gap and realized How big was
the Universe out there.
And how small was
the gap on the inside here.
I looked through the gap and realized
that I was the loneliness.
If it were not for it, maybe it could be the gap. Or, who knows, the Universe
What do you want readers of this poem to take from this poem?   I think this poem shows the reader that everyone has dreams. And that it is the right of each to express these dreams, trying to realize them, however difficult the difficulties may be.
Which part of the poem was the most emotional of you to write and why?   Was the part where I cite forgiveness. I reflected a lot on how hard it is to forgive and, especially, to forgive myself.
Has this poem been published before?  And if so where?   This poem, like the other one quoted, is part of the book "Brief Words" published by Amazon (bilingual: English and Portuguese).


Anything you would like to add?   I want to thank you, Christal, for the kind invitation to join your blog. I am sure that from it many people will know a little more of my literature and will share my dreams. (Right: Haroldo Barbosa Filho in 2010.  Copyright permission granted by Haroldo Barbosa Filho for this CRC Blog Post Only)   

Mountain
There is a time when,
faced with so many losses,
you see yourself with nothing of what in the worldly
 life, claims to be something.
It is as if, naked as a monk,
finding loneliness,
With a gourd to drink the tsampa
 And a small piece of ground that does not belong to him, Where he dares to sleep.
And looking at the shallows of the mountain,
Compares it with its own size
 And acknowledges that the monument
 is the mountain, not you.
You climb the mountain
 And glimpse an infinite ahead and high,
 A vastness that proves to be much more than you
 And of which its importance is minimal.
 At this moment, the nape of the neck is numb
 And you plow within yourself.
 Stop hating, stop complaining,
 Only then comes that sensation that emanates from
 the inside out, 
It wants to forgive
 It wants forgiveness.
 Only then you become part of the mountain,
 The landscape in front,
of the mantle full of eons that cover it.
 Come to truly love.

I was born in Jardinopolis, a small town in the Alta Mogiana
region, located in the state of São Paulo, Brazil.
Nowadays I works as an adman writer and journalist. As an author, I has published books in many literary areas, such as sociology, romance, and poetry collections. In English I published “Brief Words” (poems) and “Stories for us to read while we grow up” (a book for K-12 children).
I'm 57 years old. (Left:  Haroldo Barbosa Filho in 2010.  Copyright permission granted by Haroldo Barbosa Filho for this CRC Blog Post Only) 

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BACKSTORY OF THE POEM LINKS

001  December 29, 2017
Margo Berdeshevksy’s “12-24”

002  January 08, 2018
Alexis Rhone Fancher’s “82 Miles From the Beach, We Order The Lobster At Clear Lake Café”

003 January 12, 2018
Barbara Crooker’s “Orange”

004 January 22, 2018
Sonia Saikaley’s “Modern Matsushima”

005 January 29, 2018
Ellen Foos’s “Side Yard”

006 February 03, 2018
Susan Sundwall’s “The Ringmaster”

007 February 09, 2018
Leslea Newman’s “That Night”

008 February 17, 2018
Alexis Rhone Fancher “June Fairchild Isn’t Dead”

009 February 24, 2018
Charles Clifford Brooks III “The Gift of the Year With Granny”

010 March 03, 2018
Scott Thomas Outlar’s “The Natural Reflection of Your Palms”

011 March 10, 2018
Anya Francesca Jenkins’s “After Diane Beatty’s Photograph “History Abandoned”

012  March 17, 2018
Angela Narciso Torres’s “What I Learned This Week”

013 March 24, 2018
Jan Steckel’s “Holiday On ICE”

014 March 31, 2018
Ibrahim Honjo’s “Colors”

015 April 14, 2018
Marilyn Kallett’s “Ode to Disappointment”

016  April 27, 2018
Beth Copeland’s “Reliquary”

017  May 12, 2018
Marlon L Fick’s “The Swallows of Barcelona”

018  May 25, 2018
Juliet Cook’s “ARTERIAL DISCOMBOBULATION”

019  June 09, 2018
Alexis Rhone Fancher’s “Stiletto Killer. . . A Surmise”

020 June 16, 2018
Charles Rammelkamp’s “At Last I Can Start Suffering”

021  July 05, 2018
Marla Shaw O’Neill’s “Wind Chimes”

022 July 13, 2018
Julia Gordon-Bramer’s “Studying Ariel”

023 July 20, 2018
Bill Yarrow’s “Jesus Zombie”

024  July 27, 2018
Telaina Eriksen’s “Brag 2016”

025  August 01, 2018
Seth Berg’s “It is only Yourself that Bends – so Wake up!”

026  August 07, 2018
David Herrle’s “Devil In the Details”

027  August 13, 2018
Gloria Mindock’s “Carmen Polo, Lady Necklaces, 2017”

028  August 21, 2018
Connie Post’s “Two Deaths”

029  August 30, 2018
Mary Harwell Sayler’s “Faces in a Crowd”

030 September 16, 2018
Larry Jaffe’s “The Risking Point”

031  September 24, 2018
Mark Lee Webb’s “After We Drove”

032  October 04, 2018
Melissa Studdard’s “Astral”

033 October 13, 2018
Robert Craven’s “I Have A Bass Guitar Called Vanessa”

034  October 17, 2018
David Sullivan’s “Paper Mache Peaches of Heaven”

035 October 23, 2018
Timothy Gager’s “Sobriety”

036  October 30, 2018
Gary Glauber’s “The Second Breakfast”

037  November 04, 2018
Heather Forbes-McKeon’s “Melania’s Deaf Tone Jacket”

038 November 11, 2018
Andrena Zawinski’s “Women of the Fields”

039  November 00, 2018
Gordon Hilger’s “Poe”

040 November 16, 2018
Rita Quillen’s “My Children Question Me About Poetry” and “Deathbed Dreams”

041 November 20, 2018
Jonathan Kevin Rice’s “Dog Sitting”

Wednesday, November 21, 2018

Guest Blog Post by New Mexico Baptist Minister Tim White



*The images in this specific piece are granted copyright privilege by:  Public Domain, CCSAL, GNU Free Documentation Licenses, Fair Use Under The United States Copyright Law, or given copyright privilege by the copyright holder which is identified beneath the individual photo.

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Guest Blog Post by Pastor Tim White:
From Broken to Blessed
* Tim White is an author of moral fiction. He has completed four Sheriff Ted Kline Adventure Novels. He is a pastor in North Central New Mexico with his wife. www.writerwhite.weebly.com

Something had to be wrong with me. I had trusted Christ and loved God with all my heart. I had to be broken to have received His forgiveness and love, and still be plagued by habits that overwhelmed me. I hated them. I hated me. I hated sin, Satan, and the poison handed to me by the world. Luke 4: 1-13 (Right:  Ghost Ranch attributed and copyright permission granted by Pastor Tim White for this CRC Blog Post Only) 
My conversion was real, I was convinced of that. The scriptures seem true, and I heard some of the best preaching. I starved for it, even though it added to my condemnation. Lust and anger stood over me, smiling at its conquest.
I determined that I had to toughen up, tighten my belt, and try harder. Much harder. I struggled through my teens and married in my early twenties.  Surely marriage would add stability. If not marriage, then parenthood, I hoped.   (Pastor Tim with his wife Laura. Copyright granted by Tim White for this CRC Blog Post Only) 
The Lord knows I tried. I cried tears of repentance. I resisted the temptation to lessen God’s demands upon my life. Maybe sin wasn’t sin, holiness wasn’t holy, and righteousness wasn’t always right. Hopefully God resumed winking at failure and sin. That was my only hope.
No, I could never convince myself of that. The Word of God was too clear. I was too wrong. I was too bad. I was too broken.
Laura, my wife, and I lost our first two children to stillbirths. My hope in parenting was delayed. Later, when we had a child, he was disabled. Mentally, he was normal. Physically, it would take God’s hand for him to walk.
Guilt was my unwelcomed visitor. Our failure to have a healthy child had to be my fault. God is not mocked. My sowing in sin and failure was harvested in the most painful way; a child who had to endure more than thirty major surgeries in his first sixteen years. My self-hatred grew. My sweet Laura saw it and it frightened her. She stood by me and loved me. I don’t know how. (Left:  Pastor Tim's son Ryan at age 16.  Copyright permission granted by Tim White for this CRC Blog Post Only) 
When our disable son reached the age of nine, he became depressed and suicidal. He had well learned that he was different. Not unique, but unequal. Less than, and his comparisons to “normal children” resulted in his self-hatred. Life father, like son. (Right:  Pastor Tim's son Ryan at age 9.  Copyright permission granted by Tim White for this CRC Blog Post Only) 
A ray of hope shined into my life in a seminar featuring a Fort Worth Christian Psychologist, the late Dr. Bill Gillham (Author of Lifetime Guarantee). I called him later and shared with him the problems my son was having. I asked if he counseled children. The wise man said he did not. But he recommended someone. Me.          Me? I was the one who messed him up. I couldn’t help myself, more less, my son.
He pointed me back to the Bible, the book I thought I knew so well. However, he explained to me another side that I had ignored. The Judge had made proclamations over me that were eternally true. They did not match my experience. But faith is belief in the unseen. It’s trust in what God says when everything screams something different.  (Left:  Pastor Tim in May of 2014.  Copyright permission granted by Tim White for this CRC Blog Post Only) 
Dr. Gillham gave us a game plan for our son. It involved teaching him that he was not what his body demonstrated. He, like all believers, is housed in imperfect jars of clay. His life, however, is hidden in God through Jesus Christ. We carry in us this valuable treasure, Christ in us, and no one can get any better than that.
In redemption, we are proclaimed to be holy and blameless, accepted and acceptable, prophets, prophetesses, royalty, more than conquerors. This by the Judge who created the world with mere words. This change in us is immediate on our rebirth, and complete. What is not complete is what we believe. If we don’t fully believe God, we cannot live like what He has proclaimed is true.
My son’s problem was based on what he believed about his value. My problem was what I believed about myself. We had to learn together what God says about us. We had to slowly let that soak into the deepest corners of our souls. It slowly began to show in how we lived… like God meant it for us when He proclaimed it. (Right:  photo  CONTEMPLATION of Pastor Tim in San Diego in January of 2018) 
That is my love story with God. From broken to blessed. From defeated to celebrating life. From doubt to faith. I hope it blesses you. These truths, based upon what God says, saved my son. It saved me and my marriage. It changed our lives and our view of our lives. It will change anyone who believes. (Left:  Pastor Tim's son Ryan and Ryan's wife today.  Copyright permission granted by Tim White for this CRC Blog Post Only)