Gabriel Celaya's "The Meaning of Soup"
The meaning of soup has been lost.
Life moves slowly, with a warm, oozing tread,
It smells like river mud, like cows and slow earth.
The woman under a man knows that smell.
An odor as nourishing as good soup,
A nutritious weeping, a few patient days
(Here �s where we eat, drink, breathe, and make love.)
Must I explain? Is there anyone who doesn't know this?
Life is a heavy humus, sweet and black.
It has the heat of the loins and insists on shedding tears.
It �s the dammed up river of the woman we love,
The ripe fruit of exhausted hours,
And a job, a house, an impulse, a routine.
Because all of us live and life is just like that.
It �s not love, or happiness, or ideas, or the future.
It �s just a hot, thick, dirty soup.
(Translated from Spanish by Robert Mezey and Hardie St. Martin)......................
it's been awhile since the last time i read newspapers---to the extend i really don't have a firm grasp of what's currently happening around me. Last Sunday, Vera brought me to her niche in Jagobiao Mandaue, where ABS-CBN station is located. To my delight, i saw loads or should i say tons of Newspaper dated ranging from this year and way back year 2007. i just miss reading Newspapers specially at the Lifestyle column.
Flipping through the pages it makes me wonder why I doesn't have the same enthusiasm as i had before in the UP library when i once an avid patron. images of triumphs, deaths, failures and successes flash as i flip through the pages. But still, I don't feel any relevance or oneness with what is literary happening around me. I'm wondering if I'm totally encapsulated with my own issues, struggles and my own dreams.
Reading newspapers made me think of sipping a soup without really knowing what it is or what it should have been.. it's like sipping through the obscurity around me.