Thursday, 31 January 2008

Ode to Tartu

The last new city I was in, was Tartu from Estonia in January.

After you travel for a while you become pickier in what matters appreciating special and beautiful towns (at least me I know that without realizing I raised the level of this kind of evaluation and a new city to impress me had to “work” hard :)

Well knowing how picky I’m, I went in Tartu open as always but without expecting something special and I was so surprised!

This post is for this little town that impressed me as no other place did before! The wooden town was magical, I feel that I walk on the streets of 18th century; the autumn atmosphere and some fog really put me on that time, I was like in a black and white movie and the few people that ware on the streets fit perfectly (they lack just the proper clothes).

I walked hours in that wooden town,(I also lived in one of this houses) and I just can’t had enough, I think I waited to see how the movie will go :) feeling that I was the main character… one that is walking to put the thoughts in a order and to heal the agitated heart, to put some peace in the soul and to feel good about what will happened next, not pain, not guilty …just peace that is this the direction she has to follow.

Thank you Tartu for being the right “stage” for that character, thank you Nele for being one of the people that give me the support I need it.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Todo pasa y todo queda,
pero lo nuestro es pasar,
pasar haciendo caminos,
caminos sobre el mar.

Nunca persequí la gloria,
ni dejar en la memoria
de los hombres mi canción;
yo amo los mundos sutiles,
ingrávidos y gentiles,
como pompas de jabón.

Me gusta verlos pintarse
de sol y grana, volar
bajo el cielo azul, temblar
súbitamente y quebrarse...

Nunca perseguí la gloria.

Caminante, son tus huellas
el camino y nada más;
caminante, no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar.

Al andar se hace camino
y al volver la vista atrás
se ve la senda que nunca
se ha de volver a pisar.

Caminante no hay camino
sino estelas en la mar...

Hace algún tiempo en ese lugar
donde hoy los bosques se visten de espinos
se oyó la voz de un poeta gritar
"Caminante no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar..."

Golpe a golpe, verso a verso...

Murió el poeta lejos del hogar.
Le cubre el polvo de un país vecino.
Al alejarse le vieron llorar.
"Caminante no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar..."

Golpe a golpe, verso a verso...

Cuando el jilguero no puede cantar.
Cuando el poeta es un peregrino,
cuando de nada nos sirve rezar.
"Caminante no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar..."

Golpe a golpe, verso a verso.

Antonio Machado

I dedicate this poem to you. A big, big hug :)