Author: Pablo Saborio

deepest

snowy streets

I release a deep breath
unawares of anything
I’ve been away
weaving dreams
like a curing madness
the petty circumference of my desire
impels me to
move
not one finger
an inertia comparable
to an everlasting god
that has lived a thousand infinities,
in the deepest streets
in the coldest thoughts
I am a reckless survivor
dreaming in poetry
as a small pebble
tucked away
under the entire
weight
of the universe.

 

 

I turn my head
finally
after days:
the streets are covered with snow.

 

 

I’ve been unaware
like the boy
quietly placing a dot
after every sentence
of lyrical self-absorption:
the consequence
of being
irrelevant.

 

 

nihilistic poetry

pasos y pasos

lejania alma

Pasos, pasos
y una furtiva mirada
tal vez,
entre ojos y ojos
horas y horas
extrañando los nombres
que nunca tuve
perdiendo las vidas
que no fueron mías
pasos lentos
una nota de piano
como esa nieve
lejos de todo,
mi alma cósmica
entre reojos
entre horas
tan lejos de todo.

in an abandoned city

This is the first step
into a wide open world
the toes stepping on frosty ledges
in an abandoned city
with closed eyes everything is ownerless
then the wispy breeze
then the last leaf of the last tree
then your hand in your inside pocket
hopelessly seeking the tobacco pipe
and the curled tobacco tatters
that will accompany you through
the long twisted journey of smoke and ash;
and while this can be a dream
another broken dimension of subjectivity
you can still feel the rubber of the shoe
stepping on the frigid pavement without cars
the shadows of street signs
wrapping around angles and grayness
as the horizon grows dim with sudden silence
the eyes watery, glorious, unbelieving
of the eternity of being lost and free
in an abandoned city
hidden somehow
in a wide open world.

nihilistic poetry

¿Cómo existir?

No_se_Existir

 

 

La poesía es mi tercer solitario ensueño
similar a la vida borracha de símbolos
o al sueño cansado de cronología
así, la vida, los sueños y la poesía
son todos, con igual probabilidad
la temible alucinación de una sombra humana
que desliza un frágil dedo sobre el polvo existencial
exponiendo la superficie gris y hueca
y al llegar el dedo al borde
resbala y cae en una profundidad fría y alegre,
y como no queda más nada
el verde de la hora
se distrae con la neblina de adjetivos
y la sustancia intocable de versos
inventando un nuevo mundo
donde ni siquiera yo
estoy seguro de existir.

nihilistic loves

nihilistic nihilism

Narrow
split sensuality
the arrow of an orgasm
thrusting forth through the tugged
claustrophobias of a deserted capitalist
and in the end of this unending moment
surfeit with the agony of every pleasure
the subtle residue of erroneous streets
and these nihilistic loves
cosmically lost on a sidewalk
becoming ready to cease
a Sunday lost and irrecoverable
like the black dream of tomorrow
in the wintery existence of an elliptical life
these all these fortunate routines
some of the death
that whispered in the ear
of the mute man that
no longer wanted to see.

nihilistic poems

cerveza y existencia.

existencia

Hija, mi vida
viuda
eterna efímera
eres el último recinto
condenado a esta borrachera
si con dedos gordos e inútiles
caminata extraña – cero verdad
total realidad – absoluta droga
hija, desnuda vida
voy por mi última
en noche y átomo
ya que no existo
pura y leve noche
endulcé y traté
viuda
cerveza y existencia.

just arrived

21st century poet

It was the simple joy
that comes
when struck for the first
time by the world
the world and my ideas!
the world and my expectations!
the world and my darkly routes!
it was the joy of stepping out
on the limb of the 21st century
underneath the lamppost
and shivering in the cold air
altogether free and set loose
with the world
as my own personal halo
the world and my inconsequential philosophies!
the world and my dreamlike body!
the world and my lyrical noise!
– the joy that comes
from being almost here…

the solace of being nothing

The afternoon came as an uninvited guest

in the midst of my being nothing,

the amputated pieces of sky I could see

together with the regret of two trees

     beyond the damp window

seemed like the tortured bell of noon

breaking the spell of a sleeping happiness

in the midst of my being nothing,

the possibility of daylight and tepid airs

of a world altogether alien and outside

marred the fictions of my desires:

      the slow inactivity of self

irrelevantly smiling to the amusements of time

but this light catalyzing the contours of weak objects

like a cold wave reaching the feet of my dream

in the midst of my being nothing,

the noise of what is external!

to exist no longer as a particle in the stream

but as an invisible swirl in the drift

       layers of inaudible music

as the touch of night

in the midst of my being nothing,

rooftops like the written words

        of forgotten minutes

outside, alike, trembling

in the midst of my being nothing.
 
 

 

 

ser huérfano

¿Fue error

separarse

llamarse huérfano

para recorrer descalzo

la inmensidad de las cordilleras

                del pensamiento

sin aire, ahogarse en las aguas nocturnas

                 del enigma

anclado en la soledad

para ver los edificios muertos cuando todos

              se fueron a dormir

crecer la barba por falta de espejo –

fue error

ser espectador único

  lombriz de tierra

aún en el lodo prístino;

inventando las nubes

que lloverán sobre los innavegables ríos

que lentamente llenan los océanos del futuro?

 

 

poesía del nihilismo contemporáneo

ser hoja

Es la edad para ser hoja caída del árbol mudo
nuestra voluntad no sería más que una ráfaga de viento
el destino: caer en un caño lleno de cosas olvidadas
nuestro sueño sería desintegrarse en una sopa de residuos
tocar esta vida una última vez en forma unánime
hasta volver a ser parte de todo, del resto
una vez más
hoja
sol
y agua
por esas épocas vecinas
llenas de galaxias y sueños.