Just Kids - Patti Smith

Naida came to visit us at home in Crystal Palace. She brought with her a bag full of belongings that I had commanded her to keep while I was away. It was longer than what we thought and I was not expecting to get back any of my books that I gave her, but here she was, excited to see me reuniting with them. I opened the bag and took the items carelessly but still acknowledging the fact that I was seeing them for the first time in a very long time. I did not recognize all of them as if I had forgotten some, and not all of the books that I've given her were in the bag because Naida has been moving houses numerous times in the past 4 years so she has been leaving some items behind. (fair enough).
I was particularly happy to see one book there. It was a first edition of Just Kids by Patti Smith that I found second hand in Paris. I had used it as a diary during my first months in London in 2013. In it, I wrote about my feelings in the midst of an abusive relationship. My plans on how I was going to fix both our lives and my first impressions of London. Some passages I remember by heart. I put the books down and we had a long chat, as we use to do. After she left I let Lucas watch some TV and I properly met with my books again. I sat down and open each one of them. I noticed Camera Solo by Patti Smith might belong to her, I don't remember owning it and it has a postcard inside that reads: "Naida, happy birthday form the 5 of us upstairs".
I went through all the pages of Robert Mapplethorpe's "Polaroids". I got it as a gift on my first birthday in London. Then with a heavy heart, I decided to open Just Kids and read through some of those memories. I remembered the first page, scribbled in black pencil all around the title until the very edges of the 4 sides of the page. The pencil started very sharp at the beginning, leaving a very fine mark under every word, but it kept on going softer and softer until the last words written. I turned the hardcover and opened the book. Around the title: nothing, white, blank.
The book was immaculate.
I looked through the next pages, and I noticed the book looked new.

I think maybe Naida lost the book and wanted to replace it. I am here now and it feels almost natural that those words are gone. That I can not even go back after them. London has shown me in this first month back, that there's a part of me that never left and a very new one. I feel out of place sometimes, and others I feel like home as I had never left, as those perfect days in which all struggles seemed worth it and all my life seemed like an adventure. There is this chapter that is over. A chapter I can no longer revisit. And it's ok. Through letters to Naida I have healed, and she is now the medium to show me, with an object I can hold in my hands, that I can see with my eyes: It's over. There is nothing left of this pain. There is nothing left but the memories that can help me move forward.
So I found also poems that I thought lost. I wrote them during the happiest days of my life.

Oh I love you
Mardou would walk barefoot
through the streets of Tangier
And she would hear the prayers
at night
with tears in her black dark-as-the-night eyes
I love you
As I think of them lovers
He would wait for her
through winter and summer
He would miss her tears
And write letters about time
Mardou barefoot
through the streets of San Francisco
Hot evenings as holy as devotion
No matter where we are
is love
what keeps us writing
and the world turns
and silence might feel threatening
but someone else is
out there
also loving
as much as Jack loved barefoot Mardou

_________

*The Beat Book, writings from the Beat Generation, with hundreds of highlighted paragraphs and notes on the margins. I tore that book down. I took it to pubs after work and wrote in the middle of a page:

"half angry - half drunk
half poem - half page
half Allen - half myself"

I confessed: "I will cover your empty spaces with the bluest ink my silver pen can deliver. I love you till the edge of the page and back".

I could cry but I'm so blessed.

Just Kids + Devotion - Patti Smith

Letter to Naida

Hi N.

Yes I totally agree with what you said... This is the exact huge realization I had when I read Just Kids. Especially regarding writing. I thought, I also pay so much attention to small things and everything to me is worth of a paragraph of beautiful words. I never thought someone else would find it interesting or of any value, until I read Just Kids and felt, that as much as I found her words beautiful, someone else could find MY words beautiful too. I never felt she could do something I couldn't. It was the other way round. And I know deep down that I have inspired people, even if I can count them with one hand, that's worth my existence.

I recognize this process she describes in Devotion, kind of finding signs on everything. Feeling that the Universe is guiding you into creating something special, and every time you find something like this, like a word on a tombstone, you can hear the Universe talking to you. Patti would call it God I guess.

I wanted to share a song with you as you share so many with me. I couldn't think of anything special until I thought of her. Sharon van Etten. With her sad voice. I used to listen to her late at night in the car with my friends Arturs, parked somewhere in Stoke Newington. I have a story in my head for a script, and for some reason, her music is the perfect soundtrack for it, I can't detach it now. Everytime I listen to her I think of my characters, young and broken Salli and Emma.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zKJTL9wgHbY

And below, a photo I took of her in a concert, it was stuck to the wall in my room in Turnpike Lane.

Just Kids - Patti Smith

Once again I find myself recommending "Just Kids" and talking about love, art and life while remembering all the special and immense effects it had on me. So much powerful energy contained in those pages, weapon of change, fountain of inspiration. Can't be grateful enough for those words and everything that came after the last of it's pages. I'll open it over and over again to find out how I got here, how I became who I am and how I discovered who I want to be.

Just Kids - Patti Smith

►Estar preparando un café y correr a buscar el primer papel a tu alcance porque se te acaba de ocurrir una frase para la dedicatoria de un libro que vas a regalar ♥

...Que la vida es apasionante y uno tiene la capacidad de alcanzar todo lo que se propone no me lo enseñó Patti. Primero me lo enseñó mi mamá-

Just Kids - Patti Smith

Volvíamos juntas a sus 20 años, en una casa con ventanas amplias, con maderitas blancas, y un día hermoso afuera. Ahora, en mi lucidez, asumo que era la casa de sus padres, pero pudo haber sido cualquier otro lugar, en cualquier otro tiempo.
Tenía pestañas de caballo y el pelo pajoso y despeinado.
Y una sonrisa que no se le borraba de la cara con nada.
No quería dar detalles del guión que está escribiendo para la película de su vida.
Pero charlábamos. No recuerdo nada, pero charlábamos de todo.
Y nos reíamos.
Y yo trataba de contener las lágrimas, pero no podía.
Lloraba. Y lloraba cuando me desperté.
Y traté de volver a dormirme, de volver a esa casa.
Traté de memorizar sus pestañas, tan extrañas, tan largas, tan negras.
Sabía que no iba a volver a dormirme aunque lo intentara.
Son esas cosas que uno quiere demasiado, y por eso nunca pasan...
Me di cuenta que los años no habían pasado en su mirada, pero sí en su pelo y en sus palabras.
No habían pasado en sus manos, ni en su camisa blanca.
Era todavía una niña para mí.
Pero ya había logrado todo lo que la convirtió en mi heroína.
Una niña que charlaba conmigo en mi sueño.

Just Kids - Patti Smith / Howl - Allen Ginsberg

A todos los actos ajenos que me inspiraron. A todas las canciones que cambiaron el mundo, a todos los aullidos que rompieron barreras, a todas las voces que se alzaron veloces contra el tiempo y la historia.
A quienes se colgaron de la rueda y no se quejaron de los malos tiempos. A quienes supieron reconocer el vaivén del éxito y quienes encontraron genios en los rostros desesperados de algunos soñadores por los que nadie dio un centavo.
A todas las palabras que ya nos dijimos y al miedo de las que nunca podremos pronunciar. Que son tan valiosos como las mismas palabras que se perdieron en el desuso cobarde del momento que dejamos pasar. A todos los sabores que aprendimos a recrear con la magia del lenguaje.
A todos ellos, regalo los pocos efectos que se desprendan de mis decisiones acertadas. Mi valioso karma. Mi después en blanco.
Firmo con sangre que es sólo por arte,
que me encierro a escribir mi falta de sueño, y de tiempo por delante.
No tengo razones, solo me mueve el infinito que hay dentro de mi cabeza, producto de imágenes tan poco mías que asusta recordarlas con tanto amor.
Esas calles. Cuando estuve ahí, ya había estado antes.
La misma música que hoy suena en cada paso que doy para poder volver.
Protejo en papel, los surcos que guardan su genialidad. Los limpio, los beso, los leo. Y vuelvo a caer en el lago. Vuelvo a volar con los pies descalzos de su mano. Vuelvo a encontrar un libro en el estante menos pensado. Vuelvo a mirar las nubes desde arriba.
Pronto las palabras dejan de aparecer, los párpados pesan, y el tiempo corrió demasiado.
Nunca podría estar menos estática que ahora. Que algunas de sus palabras me señalan el camino.
Para moverme con soltura. Para olvidarme de la ola.

Just Kids - Patti Smith

Me compré un chocolate en el kiosco cerca de la estación y empecé a leer mientras esperaba el tren.
Abrí el capítulo del Hotel Chelsea. (Creo que nunca leí tan rápido como esta vez.)
Leí sobre cómo Patti amaba ese hotel. Los distintos pisos, y sus extraños personajes. Leí sobre el 2do aniversario de Robert y Patti en Coney Island y anoté en un papelito la canción "Coney Island Baby" de The Excellents, que Patti le ponía a Robert cada vez que iban para allá. Leí sobre el encuentro de Patti con Jimi Hendrix, y su sueño de grabar el idioma universal en su estudio. Leí sobre las ganas de Robert de pertenecer al círculo de Andy Warhol y las primeras veces que Patti consideró musicalizar sus poemas. Leí las anécdotas de París; cómo conoció a Allen Ginsberg y sobre la canción que le escribió a Janis Joplin. Leí sobre lo difícil que les fue dejar el hotel, y los momentos duros que atravesaron juntos evidenciados en largos silencios y en incomunicación. Leí sobre las primeras fotos que Robert tomó con una polaroid, y cómo juntos cumplieron 23 "el número primo perfecto". Leí sobre la noche de los 100 singles, y fantaseé con tener una yo misma. Leí sobre la primer guitarra que se compró, junto con un cancionero de Bob Dylan; y me acordé que en ese momento me miraste y sonreíste.
Podíamos ver la guitarra, y podíamos escuchar la canción.

["Life is an adventure of our own design, intersected by fate and a series of lucky and unlucky accidents"]
Ahora sé que no me desprendí de nada ese día, y aunque haya regalado una fuente de energía a algún desconocido, yo la llevo internamente para siempre.
Hoy solo hay luz, y rosas.
Y espacio para poder respirar, en blanco, y llenarlo de poesía.

["Nadie ve como nosotros, Patti" repitió.
Siempre que decía cosas como aquella, por un mágico instante, era como si fuéramos las dos únicas personas en el mundo]