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Spanish 2, Lessons 23, 24, 25

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on March 31, 2024| 11 Comments »


 
 
The whole time I walk in Spring snow and wind
I am prompted by a lovely man’s voice
to repeat many phrases I’ll need in Spanish.
I learn, for instance, to ask how many blocks
I must walk to get to the bank, only to learn
it is closed on holidays but will open
the day after tomorrow. I learn
how to ask if you are good at playing tennis
and insist you are better at playing than I am
(which is certainly true). I learn to say Wednesday
is impossible, but perhaps we can play tennis
Thursday morning because it is a holiday
and we do not need to go to the office.
And, in the midst of learning how to talk about
what our kids are studying in the university,
the lovely man teaches me to say, Es mejor
terminar una cosa antes de comenzar otra—
and I understand I am like the recalcitrant
child in the Spanish lesson, starting out
to be a musician and then deciding to be
an engineer. So often I do not end something
before beginning another. It is not so easy
in this life to draw clear lines. At least
not for me. It seems I am always saying yes
to something new while in the midst
of something else. Like the fact I’m learning Spanish
while still finishing the introduction and end notes
for my next book. Like planning my garden
while still walking in snow. Like loving this world
while I am in the midst of deep grief.
I don’t know how to say in Spanish
there are so many ways to do it right, this life.
What doesn’t live on in matter or in memory?
Doesn’t everything tendril out to touch every other thing?
Haven’t they proven long after a butterfly wing
is done flapping in China it will affect the weather here?
Is anything ever really finished, I wonder,
as lesson twenty five ends and in the snow
has become rain that even now is finding the roots
of the spruce. And all I see as I look around now
are more and more beginnings.   

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Finn Practices Spanish

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , on November 14, 2018| Leave a Comment »

 

 

 

And though he struggles to conjugate estar

and though his adjectives precede the nouns,

he’s doing it. He’s telling me about una foto

and all its themes—and though the words

are like strange spices in his mouth—paprika

y cilantro—and though he insists he hates it,

there is a tender sinceridad in his voice, like

a tree seed, perhaps, una semilla, that has

some vague idea of its potential, but is still

so trapped in its seed-ness that it is intimidated

by trees. And whatever part of me that is todavia

una semilla recognizes itself. How frightening

to see all that we do not know, to stand

beneath it like the shade of a giant tree,

to know ourselves as small and still stand straight.

My son finishes his descripción, then smiles

at me, and in his smile, I somehow see

the roots, the greening leaves, the trunk

as it reaches up doing what trunks are made to do.

 

 

 

 

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Listen and Repeat

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on September 21, 2017| 6 Comments »

 

 

 

Say, “I want to drink a beer,”

says the man in the speaker.

It is seven thirty in the morning,

and I have been practicing,

for twenty minutes, how to say

Jo quiero beber una cerveza,

only sometimes the man tells me

to ask for a cold beer, una cerveza fria.

And I do. I ask for un sandwich frio,

too, and repeatedly query, Quanto questa,

how much will it cost, or else I insist,

Hablo un poco de Español, or

No tengo mucho dinero,

I don’t have much money,

but mostly, the man

with the low, clear voice prompts me

to ask for beer. Cold beer. And though

the sun has just barely risen

over the mountain, and though

I only rarely drink beer,

and though I am sipping on a latte,

driving my children to school,

I find myself craving a cold,

cold beer, preferably with a lime,

preferably served on a beach

with a breeze, the sun a giant

glittering peso, the bottle slick

with its own cold sweat,

and some man I don’t see insists

in a low, clear voice, voy a pagar,

jo voy a pagar, I’m going to pay,

and in my perfect Pimsleur accent,

I say to him, gracias, señor, muchas gracias,

and sip my cold beer, waiting

for the next lesson.

 

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