Author: Pablo Saborio

Miserere mei, Deus

poetry_of_solitude

You sit
by the bus stop
and study the event
it’s a place
where you’ve cycled
innumerably     a place
where you sit
and watch the light
dissolve in the liquid
of your eye
you’re there because
you don’t know where to be
you’re there because
you’d like to witness
the event
and you see things happening
once and units of behavior
he was speaking to me
through a cloud of thought
through a wind of misery
through a vapor of memory
through a rain of laughter
he was another
man far away from everything
another or other man
another star failing in the dark
another strand of conscious throe
a man from denmark
in the glow of streetlight
toasting and talking spanish
transmitting his monad of sadness
and everything being faraway
like a flash above
our private picture of
solitude.

21st century Poetry

 

tabula rasa

¿Qué especial privilegio tiene esta pequeña vibración de nuestro cerebro que llamamos ‘pensamiento’ para que tengamos que constituirla en patrón y modelo de todo el universo?

Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion
David Hume

poesia_moderna

 

¡el tamaño de su biblioteca!
sentí celos y le di cabeza al asunto
claramente todo estaba apurado
desde que tenemos consciencia
de que el tiempo atrapa todo
de que comprime los eventos
de la historia y biografía
en un nudo que nadie loga descifrar
el tiempo es terrible pensé
pero pronto volví a ver los libros
de colores mate rojos verdes grises
abarcando siglos antologías metafísicas
líneas geométricas fuerzas físicas
líneas prístinas de poesía
líneas genealógicas de héroes
líneas de líneas en párrafos de párrafos
todo lo que sabemos de todo
de lo que podemos saber
describiendo anotando explicando
el fenómeno incomprensible de la vida
en un planeta único y efímero,
miraba volumen tras volumen
el olor a madera me mareaba
y el dueño con su risa
espantosa sus labios púrpuras
de vino y vicio
y hablábamos del pensamiento
como si fuera un instrumento prehistórico
hablábamos del humano como si fuera apenas
un lunar en la piel del universo
hablábamos de la muerte como si fuera
la única verdad que vale ser contada
fui al baño
hubo silencio
y sentí una cierta felicidad
al no poder entender
de que se trata
esta vida.

 

Poesía Contemporánea

nocturnalist

poetry_of_time

There like a bolt
like a stone amidst
a dust beyond
deep in shine
a pocket w/noon
and no shadow
a golden fury
himself mad
speaking loudly
and evening
with lawlessness
into rivulets a feather
nobody wings
possibility’s a stream
hours whirl
he types ‘whiteness
merge with tear
and this earth
trickled like spark
upon memory’
he listens
apparently
the wind has a mouth
and the same questions
about time.

Contemporary Poetry

a thing imagined

new_poetry_2013

Preferably soft,
jelly-like
but resilient to heat
and the precarious nuisances of the jungle
tender but defiant
able to camouflage among
stones and clouds alike
its softness must be delicate
but decisive not necessarily static
as it can be allowed rigidity at times
equivalent to that of taut velvet
not too colorful nor flaunting
the impenetrability of black or white
capable of evaporating without dispersing
(i.e. losing its cohesion without sacrificing its wholeness)
different from the rest of its kind
without becoming an example of freak
it should waver at twilight at the risk
of turning ambiguous but never incomprehensible
its upper part magnificent
and evasive like the current of time in a dream
its lower part glorious and ubiquitous
like dawn in a desert’s sky
preferably sophisticated without being pompous
straightforward without being wholly divested of enigma
and existing mainly between
the eternal and the transient.

 

 

Contemporary Poetry