Month: September 2013

her beauty

abstract_poetry

No one could deny her beauty,
her voluptuous center
her sweet ramifications
or her essential boundaries,
no one could falsify or ruin
her alliance to what’s desirable
and good in this life,
no one dared consider,
for a second,
that her decisive form
was a mode of deception
or biased perception,
no one ever attempted
to reduce her legend
by expressing platitudes
to describe or envy her,
no one,
at any rate,
saw in her the imperfections
and failures of our troubled world,
no one doubted the primal meaning
of her existence,
no one questioned her exclusivity
as being the only radiant entity
within the greyness and vapidity
of our routines,
no one ever challenged
her status of being the pinnacle of nature,
the overt instinct of some divinity,
no one, not once, asked why
she was visualized
as the mirrored image of ecstasy,
in the end
no one was capable of dying
without returning – in their minds –
to the pure concept
of her reality.

21st century Poetry

en bolsa llevo la mente

poesia_la_mente

En bolsa llevo la mente.
Al barco, al minuto.
La llevo como un mandado
al puerto, al lejano.
En una habitación,
con sus muebles lentos y
fotografías desdibujándose
dos amantes en
infinita invisibilidad
duermen apagados en aire;
desnudos en la cama sin cobijas.
Yo paso por su ventana,
con la mente en una bolsa.
La llevo al hombro,
de ciudad en ciudad
a las olas, a las sales,
a flotar falsa fugaz
a limpiar su arcilla raíz ideas
a abrir sus puertas en océano.

Poesía Contemporánea

In this globe of mud I only found fables and seas*

metapoetry_2013

*The above expression
remains unclear to this
date. It is unknown
whether the author
intended it to be strictly
a metaphor or to be
taken literally in its
full consequences.
It has spurred a string
of speculation and debate
dividing opinions
into warring camps.
Some claim that it
was written in a state
of utter stupor and therefore
must be regarded as an aberration
of the unconscious. Others
argue that that the author
has pierced through the veil
of language and has given
us direct access to
the core of meaning.
Leading figures in the field
of semiotics have given
popularity to the notion
that the expression transcends
the use of its symbols
and signifies nothing
in itself.
Research into his biography
has only added enigmas
to the puzzle of the author’s
mysterious expression.
Until further discoveries
are made between the logical,
historical, metaphysical
and aesthetic relations
and order of the words
employed,
little guidance
can be given to the reader
as to the ultimate significance
of the author’s seemingly
unintelligible statement.

21st century Poetry

En este silencio

poema_del_tiempo

un budista salió desnudo a las calles
no lleva cuerpo
moja sus raíces en el viento
y transita por el mundo
como una figura de fuego

se me acercó y me dijo:

en este silencio el tiempo
no es muy diferente
al vuelo de una mariposa.

 

 

Poesía Contemporánea

Phantasmagoria

stomach_of_the_sun_poem

He stopped the drugs
to console himself
with the open
lengths of countries
and the silver
fever of mountains
and when he left home
to return to thick everything
and books galloping shadows
fiery in the minute of knowledge,
in the day of life, through the wind
to a place where history
is built with azures
heavy in the hand
because to be born
here I am
like a quartz
inside the stomach
of the sun.

Contemporary Poetry

brizna

poesia_natural

Llovía.
Las ventanas de la ciudad.
En baches flotaban quizá
más y más
los fragmentos de la mente.
Llovía.
Desde las orillas del cielo
se resbalaba una neblina.
Las ruinas del eco
de cada gota.
Fuerte lento y gris;
desde las ventanas de la iglesia
un gran miedo.
La vida hace trenza ultramarina.
La madera bebe y bebe.
En el fondo, un barco
con furia abría sus velas.
Una puerta, y en silencio.
La oscuridad brotaba de modo
extraño del cielo a la tierra
húmeda y sin huellas.

Poesía Contemporánea

They

were sitting on the ledge of a building
talking about the pursuit of happiness,
how every human action is motivated
by self-love and trying to reconcile
morality with a mechanistic view
of a universe, everywhere ruled
and determined by inflexible laws
the talk went on for some time
they would interject a few modern expressions
to avoid falling into a complete anachronistic conversation
reminiscent of the 18th century philosophes
then the one on the right said,
– What if we jump?
– there’d be a fall
– yeah, and then what?
– who knows
– do you think there’s consciousness after death?
– as much as you can find in the drunk man’s sleep
– should we jump? what stops us from finding out?
– fear, our loved ones, the desire to seek new experiences and store them in the insatiable coffins of memory. But mostly fear.
– if you could have anything in the world before you die, what would it be?
– another lifetime to figure that out
– do you often think of death?
– on rare special occasions, like funerals and that kind of thing
– do you find any consolation in the thought of death?
– yeah in the thought that death dissolves all suffering with the same intensity as life withheld happiness from the individual
– I’m going to jump
– I’ll take the stairs

He did not jump but was he really considering it? They decided to go home. As they walked together over the bridge they both noticed the sea was restless that day.

 

21st_century_poetry_blog

21st century Poetry