BY ANNA MULOCK HOUWER
& LISBON
as seen in
I found my home.
Not the home I once knew.
That temple of archaic childhood
The grandiose monument
to all things tame and familiar
Wrapped in a blood-soaked flag
Sealed with a prayer and a song
Not that home.
I found my home
Amidst the shipwrecks and drownings
Sung in seductive mermaid songs
Whispered in prayers of Navigators
Fortunate yet terrified
of their precarious return from India
Where all could be lost.
I found my home
Where Ocean ends and Land begins.
Where melancholy becomes Saudade
And Saudade turns into Fado with ease.
Where every breath feels like love
There it was. My home.
Copyright Anna Mulock Houwer
REVERSE SAUDADE
I used to love the moment
When the plane climbed up
To a point of no return.
My modus operandi
Was to break out and vanish
From life and from me.
It was my soul’s own version
Of ‘Era dos Descobrimentos’
My Age of Exploration.
A long, perilous voyage
Chronicling and mapping
New routes on stormy seas.
I could not have predicted
The discovery of Portugal
On one of these trips.
Now that I found my soulmate
Gone is the urge to leave.
I am all in.
Copyright Anna Mulock Houwer
LISBON LIGHT
Lisbon light
Pours clean softness
Inside my cracked skull
Washing off lifelong grief and dust
Kindly, methodically, crevice by crevice
Till all is white.
Lisbon light
Makes the unbearable bearable
The unsightly noble and fine.
Smooth, silky, balmy lather
For dehydrated hearts, shrivelled souls
Distorted thoughts and minds.
Lisbon light
Resuscitates old bodies long presumed dead
Wakes up unsuspecting hearts
Tightly sealed eyes and pursed lips
To love and life.
As dusk falls on the city
Golden shadows of us
Chased away by Atlantic winds
Pirouette off Tejo bridges
Landing softly, like birds.
We take them in for the night
And keep them safe till morning comes.
Copyright Anna Mulock Houwer
I breathe in Portugal
One slow breath at a time
Exhale the past
Inhale life.
Guincho sands, Sintra winds,
Tejo waves, Lisbon streets
Cork oaks and jacarandas
I take them all in
Till my lungs are filled to the brim.
Life is so different now,
Where there was greyness once
Now there are clear blue skies.
Where there was darkness before
All I can see is light.
Warm southern air
Fills my heart
Calms my mind
I breathe out love.
Copyright Anna Mulock Houwer
On June 7, 2021 I claimed Lisbon.
What was Portuguese before
In cartography, tradition and law
Including land, buildings and structures
Became mine.
The red bridge of Lisbon, sunsets included
City squares looking like movie sets
The silky white light of the calçadas
The aqueduct spanning the valley
And even the jacarandas.
It’s perplexing that a mighty country
Sovereign for nine hundred years
Could not resist one foreigner in love
Who with no weapons at all
Took its capital in just one day.
Copyright Anna Mulock Houwer
Today is one of these days
When the Portuguese sky
Looks exactly like strawberry icecream
Accidentally dropped
By a naughty celestial child
On his mother’s pristine blue dress.
She did not have the time
to wash it down yet
In the warm evening rain.
The delicious pink icecream smudge
Is being served right now
In the middle of the sky
Ready to be licked up
Before it melts in the setting sun
At the end of a mild autumn day.
Copyright Anna Mulock Houwer
SPRING IS COMING
A winter day wears the color of ash.
Scanty daylight leaks out of Marvila
Like air from a punctured balloon.
People walk home, their heads heavy
With the clamour of factories
Extinguished long ago
Yet stubbornly alive in their DNA.
Next to the empty riverside docks
Defiant cranes plead for space
With oddly chic industrial trash
Soon to become
A one-in-a-million piece of art
Fit for a sleek Manhattan loft
Or a six star hotel lobby in Dubai.
The bold, persistent new art
Rogue and unbidden
Rises straight from the dust
Of Marvila’s old beating heart.
The humble, unbroken Marvila
Born anew on a modest street corner
Where art meets love.
Copyright Anna Mulock Houwer
In the 16th century
A bonfire was lit
At the top of a lonely cliff
Smoky fire of pine
Announcing to weary Navigators
That home was near.
Those guided to safety
Put up a wooden cross
In gratitude and love.
And so, a sanctuary was born
In the shade of the Sintra rock.
Five long centuries later
And two thousand miles away
Tired of battling the waves
I collapsed on the deck
Of the rickety ship of life.
By mix of mystery and magic
Or maybe by the Grace of God
The Penha Longa blaze
That cosmic compass
Set a course for my soul.
And so, I sailed on
Trustingly, tenaciously
Until one summer night
The unmistakable bonfire
Said I was home.
Copyright Anna Mulock Houwer
TUESDAY OCEAN WALK
My bare legs
Dressed only in shorts and sunshine
Trace the edge of the Ocean
As I meander, vaguely lost
In my favourite local spot
The Nowhere-In-Particular.
Time today feels like a vast enough container
To hold everything, it is meant to hold.
No rush, no errands and no-one to call.
A Tuesday so slow and otherworldly
That it could become my regular treat.
The outrageous violation of my workweek.
November air, warmed to a pleasant 25C,
Smells of smoke, Africa, and distant travel.
Unlocking longings for another life
Futile desires for a brand-new plan
Instantly smashed against the rocks
By tall winter waves.
They say that repression
Doesn’t stop behaviour, just redirects it.
The tide’s so full of water today
Because rather than changing my life
I emptied my tears in the ocean.
And the ocean held them all.
Copyright Anna Mulock Houwer
I travelled far and wide,
A million restless miles,
Tried airline seats and lounges
Too many times.
Looked for you more than once,
My California of Europe,
My next-door Western Australia,
With a dash of Italy and France.
You took one look at me.
Stared right into my soul,
Like nobody has ever done before.
Disarmed my armoured heart
I breathed. I smiled. I loved.
Forevermore.
Copyright Anna Mulock Houwer
Gazing from the airplane window
(Flight SN3815, seat 7A on June 7, 2021)
Unsuspecting yet receptive
I spotted the Red Bridge of Lisbon
Dressed in a backdrop of clear blue skies.
And just like that, right before noon
With the city sprawling below me
And the eyes of the Tejo on me
I fell in love.
Jacarandas were still blooming in early June.
Hidden in a taxi crisscrossing Baixa
I kept turning my head in slow-mo disbelief.
The beauty so lush and so striking
Brought me to tears and to my knees.
Legitimate movie material…
All in all, I would say that
The process of falling in love
With the most gorgeous city there is
(My geographic soulmate) was brisk.
I was love-struck.
A hopeful foreigner
The opposite of contrived.
I’m here to love you, Lisbon
Till the very end of my life.
Copyright Anna Mulock Houwer
Walking in Sintra rain today
In the proximity of hope and faith.
Slow, measured, steady steps
To what feels best.
The views are marvellous today
Fit for a fine Instagram reel
Good for my soul.
Love making love to Earth.
Maybe life can be trusted again
The best is yet to come they say.
I’m walking into love and grace
Through Sintra’s rain.
Copyright Anna Mulock Houwer
SITUATION IN THE SOUTH
The recent move to the South
Dismantled shabby fences of my mind
Accessed those disused, yet vast
Terrains of the heart.
In one audacious, clean sweep
The crumbled parts of my soul
Mangled memories of decades past
Were simply gone.
The radical and permanent removal
Of debris, rubble, and tears
Rewound back months and years
Grew flowers in empty fields.
Emboldened by the sight
I dared to open to life
And grow the next version of me
Under the Portuguese sun.
Copyright Anna Mulock Houwer
I like Alentejo houses
In white, yellow, and blue
So clean, pristine
Standing like real-life Lego
Among the cork oaks.
A tiny forgotten village
At the end of the world
Bears a sweet-sounding name
I love its alien sound
Yet fear to pronounce it.
A pair of local storks
Stares down at me in awe
As does the old shop owner
I’m a tall blond invader
In his quaint universe.
‘O que deseja?’ The old man asks
I suddenly know what I want
‘I’ll take some coffee and love’
I eagerly respond.
‘Give me some kindness and peace
Simplicity. And wonder too.
But mostly give me love. Please do.
I need it to stay for good’.
Copyright Anna Mulock Houwer
I first tasted the boa vida
In the Algarve oranges bought one weekend
At the Mercado de Cascais.
And then again
In a crunchy and warm pastel de nata
I ate in a beach cafe overlooking the waves.
Who would have thought
That winter daylight would be measured
In units of black coffee on the Paredão.
That time would be calibrated
By a rainbow, a sunset, and a giant moon
Suspended over Guincho, all in one day.
Who would have thought indeed
That the bright Portuguese sun
Could rescript the course of my life.
My dull northern life turned to the boa vida
Because of one daring house move
Three thousand kilometres south.
Copyright Anna Mulock Houwer
Willingly trapped in a bubble
Of permanent summer
I swiftly forgot my old world
A three-hour flight away.
That old sunless life of mine
Only birds and planes would leave
When craving bluer skies.
I put up with days of ash
That turned into grey months
And years that turned
Into a charcoal-coloured life.
Up there in the North, you see
Temperatures and leaves fall
As Earth’s naked body lies exposed
In the cold of the four pm dusk.
How could I simply forget
The smells and sounds of all that…
The daily cruelty of life
Evaporated so fast. Simply dried up.
In the southern sun.
I love you my new life
Till death do us part.
Copyright Anna Mulock Houwer
THE EDGE OF EUROPE
Saudade merged with my soul
Soaked in Atlantic foam
Sprinkled with Sintra rain
I stood in awe.
Portugal entered my heart
A shard from a coastal rock
I was surprised at first.
Surprised and shocked.
How dare you wake me up
From northern winter’s sleep
Break my defences down
Make me so laughingly weak.
Throw sandstorms at my feet
Blind me with southern light
Drown me in endless waves
And do whatever you did
To basically eat me alive.
Lisbon’s cats lounging about
Guided my way to a place
I hastily called my home.
Crying I thanked the skies
And asked for more.
Copyright Anna Mulock Houwer
Wrap me up in balmy air
Soak my skin in sunshine
Give me all your golden hours
Feed me endless sunsets.
Bathe me in the ocean depths
Dry me up with breeze
Sing me ancient Sintra songs
As I fall asleep.
Lure me into musty woods
Breathe me with your dreams
Open my heart wide with flowers
Eucalyptus leaves.
Bring me onto soaring rocks
Kneel me down in awe
Break me open with your waves
Crashing on the shore.
Teach me all I have forgotten
In a sheltered cove
Make me trust the heart again
So that I love more.
Copyright Anna Mulock Houwer
George Byron visited Sintra in 1809 and fell in love with its beauty. He referred to Sintra as ‘Glorious Eden’.
They say that to enter Eden
You need to be righteous and die.
I’ve done none of it so far.
Yet I’m here, imperfect, and alive
In heavenly Portugal.
One superbly sunny winter day
Byron strolls with me on Sintra’s glens.
I relax and let him lead the way.
After our satisfying stroll
We pause, long enough to extol
The splendour of the regal Sintra soul.
That morning, perched high on the ocean rock
We both fall in love with Sintra.
Somewhere between living and dreaming
Two hundred years apart
Our paths intersect in Glorious Eden.
My eyes get clearer, and heart gets fuller
As we guardedly say goodbye.
Copyright Anna Mulock Houwer
Lately I thought I could
Erect a new Tejo fortress
Of truly epic proportions
Thick walls and soaring towers
Full of sharpshooters
Monitoring the sea.
I really thought I could
Protect Lisbon from trouble
Defend lives and homes
From perilous invaders
Feared by inhabitants
Despised by history books.
I thought my mighty fortress
The perfect point of control
Spanning two sides of the river
Would do its intended job
Resisting the invasion
Till pirates were gone.
I didn’t know at the time
My enemy was inside.
To rid of it for good
I had to muster all courage
Tear down the mighty fortress
And open my heart to love.
Copyright Anna Mulock Houwer
A few days ago, I was told
that Lisbon’s high society
uses Basilica da Estrela
mostly for fancy funerals.
A seeker that I am
I stopped by the Church of the Star
to bury my old ego
and rediscover life.
I said a forgotten prayer
For me. For you. For us.
For our love.
For the world at large.
I herewith humbly confirm
that one can use the Estrela
to bury life’s greatest fears
in a spectacular funeral.
A grand old church of this kind
made of brick, hope and light
First breaks you down till you cry.
Then wakes you up to life.
Copyright Anna Mulock Houwer
I seem to be somewhat alive
Schrödinger’s cat
Freshly out of its box
In a physics experiment gone right.
Pulling up by the side of the road
Shifting my life’s gears to ‘park’
I lean back and slowly inhale
The ultimate Portugal.
Alentejo, our ‘local Tuscany’
As someone recently said
Till now successfully avoided
The relentless forward motion of time.
The deliciously archaic
Mixed with the wild
Is a preferred remedy
For Schrödinger cat’s lifeless life.
Spellbound by Alentejo I cry
I watch tears fall
On the map of life in my lap
Where am I?
Copyright Anna Mulock Houwer
Where migrating birds stop to rest,
hesitant at the vastness of waters ahead.
Where the ocean and the land at once
cling in embrace, both soft and hard.
Where a summer’s day wears striking clothes
in colours straight from Miró’s painting.
While a winter’s day prefers pastels
and muted hues, like Degas.
Where the world forgot to be harsh.
Where my heart and nerve endings are calm.
Where I am loved by life.
This is my private Portugal.
Copyright Anna Mulock Houwer
The color of the sky
Is blindingly intense today
Indigo blue is cruel on the eyes
In a curiously perfect way.
Not a single cloud
Not an airplane trace
Not a passing bird
Just a vast, blue space.
Portugal does this to you
You wake up ready to work
Only to escape by midday
And succumb to the blue.
Besides losing your mind
You’ll lose your heart too
Once you fall in love
With the Guincho Blue.
Copyright Anna Mulock Houwer
‘E vós, Tágides minhas’ – Luis de Camões
I was somewhat unnerved to find out
That most suicides in Portugal
Are performed as a silent jump
From the Red Bridge of Lisbon.
The Portuguese Golden Gate
The one I write poems about
The prime portal to the afterlife
At the feet of Cristo Rei.
A car parked on the bridge is a sign
Jumpers’ bodies are easy to find
Left in a sheltered cove
By benevolent currents.
My working hypothesis is
That the Tagides who inhabit the waters
Take care of the sons and daughters
Of Lusitania.
They soften your fall from the height
Whispering in cold breath
‘You are safe now, my love’
Then kiss your limp body good night
As you close your eyes.
Copyright Anna Mulock Houwer
My son learnt to speak the language
taught by young, barefoot teachers
Long-haired Evangelists in beach parking lots.
My son looks and smells like the ocean
Freckles and summer on his face
Flip flops and sand between his toes.
My son’s extracurricular life
Consists of discussing surfing rituals
And long sunset talks about Nazaré.
My son has caught the love of the wild
The science and art of swimming for air
After a wipe out in big waves.
The car is full of Guincho dust and his board
With my finger, i slowly draw:
‘I surfing. Thank you, Portugal,’.
Copyright Anna Mulock Houwer
Lisboa enjoys sleeping late
Stretching in bed till 1 pm
Lazily sipping black coffee
Not a care in the world.
Like all other southern beings
She loves to go out and play
Alfama parties run late
She tends to feel tired the next day.
On warm, starry summer nights
Lisboa lures with her eyes
Reflecting the Tejo waters
Under the Red Bridge nearby.
A shamelessly natural beauty
Assured of her allures and grace
She traps unsuspecting strangers
In her seductive embrace.
No way to understand this.
It’s futile to resist.
No use to overthink love.
Just live!
Copyright Anna Mulock Houwer