For this week's assignment, we were to look up poetry from other countries and talk about how that poem opens us up to that part of the world. So, I began looking up Colombian poets and their poetry, to try to get a better understanding of the place my father came from. I eventually came across this poet, Piedad Bonnett, a Colombian poet born in 1951, who is a literature professor at el Universidad de los Andes. She wrote a poem called,
From Time to Time, that made me feel nostalgic in just the first few lines in a way no other poem has before. (Also, wanna say there is some uniquely Colombian things to me in this poem, such as the strong coffee/tea drinking that is so common there and the references to the beautiful scenery/nature there.)
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| My Abuelita and I on my first trip to Colombia |
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| Abuelita and I |
My whole life I have been close with my abuelita, skyping her was a normal occurrence at my dad's house. I feel incredibly lucky to have been able to go on a trip to Spain and to see her back in the Summer between 8th and Freshman year. I won't ever forget how she looked the last time I saw her in person. She has always been very tall and skinny- (later when I got her pants, they barely fit me!) her caramel tan skin contrasted with her short fluffy hair. She was a smoker, having to leave every 20 or so minutes to go smoke on the balcony. I still have fond associations with Marlboro cigarettes because of her. I remember sitting outside with her while she smoked, the city of Madrid bustling underneath us. My abuelita always asked about me, how are you doing in school Isabela? How are things going? She would ask in her strong Spanish accent. But this time I remember I asked her about herself- I said, what was it like when you were younger? She laughed it off, and said but I want to know about you. I will never forget her laugh. Or when she would turn onto skype and exclaim, Que Linda! You are so beautiful Isabela! when she saw me.
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| Us out to dinner :) |
The last time I talked to my abuelita was a sad one. Being a smoker all her life had led to cancer in her lungs that was quickly spreading. It was the Summer of my Sophomore year, and she again, always asked me about myself. I told her excitedly about how I would take Spanish class in the upcoming year. She was so happy for me, she smiled and said, that's very good Isabela! That's very good! I will never forget when she said, Then we can practice together Isabela! My beautiful girl, we can speak in Spanish together! She ended up passing away before I even started school that year.
One of the things my abuela always loved was her strong cafe and dark black tea. My memories of her drinking it while talking with other adults or me, is so seared into my mind, like Marlboro cigarrettes its almost hard to not think of them when I think of her. That's why the first couple of lines of the poem really spoke to me in a way its hard to describe. I could imagine her, the best bridge player in Bogota when she was younger, going into a cafe and sitting down to have her cups of coffee or tea. She loved coffee shops like me, and would tell me sometimes that she was the most calm and happiest there. The words: "It's a pity everything has an end." Again, spoke to me on another level, because she was aware of her cancer and that she would go away soon, but was determined to have good memories with me until she couldn't anymore. The next lines about a once beautiful woman are again paralleled in my abuelita. She was said to be not only the best bridge player in Bogota, but one of the most beautiful- going out dancing Flamenco every night in tiny black heels, that I now have the honor of owning. What I love about this poem is the silence and calmness it seems to emit, which again brings me memories of sitting with my abuelita while she would smoke or drink her coffee out on a balcony, in Madrid.
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