If you don't know, why ask?
Photography by Joana Marques herself.
On the day of the commemoration of the 100th anniversary of Amália Rodrigues' birth, a reporter asked Jorge Fernando, who, on the occasion of the centenary, reformulated a version recorded in 1996 of "Ai Vida" (this is the new version), if he thought it was worth keeping alive the memory of the fado singer. I stopped and went back - wonders of technology?! - to make sure I had heard it right. I listened.
I was angry with that question, which, to me, was meaningless, unkind to the life and work of Amália and to the work and friendship that Jorge Fernando had with Amália. So unrespectful of the contribution of both to our collective identity and memory and of the legacy of both to the Portuguese language, to fado, to what we say with full mouth that is a part of being Portuguese. Yes, it is to remember and, yes, it is not to forget! What will become of us only with what happens here-and-now? What has become of the deep time, of the long time?
But well, why would the reporter ask a question: 1) to which the answer was more than obvious; 2) whose answer "never" would and could not be "No, I don't think so, we'll burn all the records and files. We won't remember Amalia anymore!"; 3) "You think so? Of course not. I had nothing else to do and, look, there are worse entertainments"; 4) among a list of other (im)possible and absurd answers.
Now, the poor reporter who, at last, was there live, perhaps also felt ashamed as soon as he realised that this was a "microphone foot" question, as a person I knew many years ago used to say, that is, a question to "fill sausages", to ask when no other idea comes to mind. A shitty question.
And don't we all, so often, ask similar questions? Yes, we do!
For, then, if we don't know, why do we ask? I am troubled by two distinct aspects of the question "If you don't know WHY do you ask"?
The first, and ultimate, in the case of the first question in this article; if we don't know what to ask (or what to say), why don't we: 1) remain silent until we know; 2) listen, only, and we may find out what we really want to know; 3) conclude the "interview" and... end.
The second is related to the practice of coaching and to a perfectly transformative learning path(1) that helped me to see beyond "what the sun shines on", through conversation, the virtues of words and the necessary distinctions and, above all, the discovery that asking, more than satisfying my curiosity, can (should, as far as coaching processes are concerned) serve to help the other to question themselves, to discover themselves, to have enough courage to "change the observer", which is to say, to be humble, curious and candid in order to accept the infinite points of view that can exist on a given reality, thus questioning whether their own reality is real and whether it is the only one.
In this respect, Rilke, in Letters to a Young Poet, is the "greatest". At least, for me, who read it as if the letters exchanged between him and Franz Xaver Kappus (the young poet) were, between the lines, principles and learning for a young coach. I can glimpse them in several passages:
“Pergunta se os seus versos são bons. Pergunta-me a mim. Antes perguntou a outros. Envia-os para periódicos. Compara-os com outros poemas, e inquieta-se quando certas redacções rejeitam as suas tentativas. (…) O Senhor olha para fora, e é sobretudo isso que agora não deveria fazer. (…) Só há um meio. Entre em si mesmo. Investigue o fundamento que o chama a escrever; ponha à prova se ele lança raizes até ao lugar mais profundo do seu coração, admita se teria de morrer caso lhe fosse vedado escrever. Sobretudo isto: na mais silenciosa hora da sua noite, pergunte a si mesmo: ‘tenho’ de escrever? Escave dentro de si à procura de uma resposta profunda. E se esta houver de soar afirmativa, se lhe for permitido encarar essa pergunta séria com um forte e simples “Tenho”, então construa a sua vida segundo essa necessidade; a sua vida até ao âmago da hora mais indiferente e limitada, terá de se tornar um sinal e um testemunho para esse ímpeto. De seguida aproxime-se da natureza. Tente então, como um primeiro homem, dizer o que vê e experimenta e ama e perde. Não escreva poemas de amor; evite de início aquelas formas que são demasiado correntes e comuns: são as mais difíceis, pois é precisa uma força grande, amadurecida, para dar algo de pessoal num terreno em que se acumulam tradições boas e, em parte brilhantes. Fuja, pois, dos motivos grais para aqueles que lhe oferece o seu próprio quotidiano; retrate as suas tristezas e desejos, os pensamentos passageiros e a fé numa qualquer beleza - retrate tudo isso com sinceridade íntima, serena, modesta, e use para se exprimir as coisas do seu ambiente, as imagens dos seus sonhos e os objectos da sua recordação. Se o seu quotidiano lhe parece pobre, não o acuse; acuse-se a si, diga a si mesmo que não é poeta bastante para convocar as riquezas dele (…) O seu acontecer mais interior merece todo o seu amor, é nele que tem de trabalhar, seja de que modo for.”
I see here the invitation to search within oneself, believing that each one of us gathers all the necessary resources; powerful questions (some somewhat extreme, however) - admit if you would have to die if you were forbidden to write; the conviction that each one is capable of building his own path which is different from that of others, with a language of his own sense and meanings; the capacity to learn or recognise authorship, the responsibility for what one is, for what one feels, does and says; the call to commitment to oneself and to the action(s) defined; the deviation from common languages and formats "from others", already worn out or not serving one's own; the recognition of the candour necessary forany encounter with oneself.
“E se lhe for inquietante e tormentoso pensar na infância e no que de simples e tranquilo com ela associa, porque já não consegue crer em Deus que nela parece aparecer por todo o lado, então pergunte a si mesmo, caro Senhor Kappus, se perdeu realmente Deus? Não será antes que não chegou nunca a possuí-lo? Pois quando havia isso de ter sido? Acredita que uma criança pode tê-lo, a ele que os homens só com esforço carregam e cujo peso oprime os anciãos? Acredita que quem realmente o tem poderia perdê-lo como se fosse um pedrita, ou não será que também acha que quem o tivesse somente por ele poderia ser perdido? (…) então que coisa lhe confere o direito de sentir a falta dele, como se fosse alguém do passado, ele que nunca existiu, e de o procurar, como se tivesse sido perdido. Porque não pensa que ele é o que aí vem, que está iminente desde toda a eternidade, o vindouro, o fruto final de uma árvore cujas folhas somos nós?”
Here, for me, is the idea that we will not find a God who does not exist until we build him within us, we do not lose him if we never build him. Whatever form God takes, let God be what he makes us, what makes up the map of who we are, a God who progresses with us, who moves backwards with us, who has doubts and pains and joys and certainties like us, who does not oppress us but invites us to metamorphosis.
Isn't the time for questions precious? And the questions themselves? So precious that it should be a serious offence and we should lose points for every time we ask a question without knowing why we are asking it.
As Roman Krznaric (author of The Good Ancestor) asked today in the House of Beautiful Business, "are we being good ancestors"? Are we caring for those who still belong to the future with the same care, the same love and courage with which we (say we) care for the here-and-now? Are we asking ourselves the right questions? Are we preparing the new generations to (ask) questions capable of (trans)forming reality(s)?
We have come this far because their thirst (for Rilke, for the "young poet", for Amália, for Jorge Fernando - it still is - and for so many) was long and their souls insatiable! To ask if it is worth keeping their memory alive is as stupid as naive and inattentive is the way we ask so many questions, so often. Thank you for the questions you asked, the answers you gave, and the questions you left for those who were (are) still in the future to try asking and answering!
May we be able to see and ask beyond what our narrow horizon allows us. May I be taking care so that my beloved niece Olivia, who does not yet know this world from the outside, knows that Ithacas (2) there are as many as her curiosity, courage, generosity and candour want to know and make known. And so be it!
PS: I hope I have not forgotten that these are just a few points of view, mine.
1. I finished last June, Way Beyond's Coaching Training Programme - the Way Beyond Coaching Class.
Ithaca, Konstantino Kaváfis in 145 Poems, FLOP edition. In the Way Beyond Library.
