Wonder Eye

Could we motion our awe
present it hourly along our way
Could we breathe in astonishment
the minutes streaming by
As the moon today is half-dipped
in the layers of blue crisp sky
We must throw away legions,
innumerable attempts,
since it is mostly rare
that we define existence
             by wonder
If we could raise our eyes
as frequently we raise our cups
the impenetrable azure
or the eternal dark
may become one day
             our source of belonging

Dos poemas como experiencia vivida

 

Si la luz jamás llega a penetrar
los rincones del corazón human torturado
Si el peregrino se pierde lamentablemente
en el crepúsculo de la incertidumbre
Cuando los arcos de una sangrienta guerra de cuerdas
cortan el aire como espadas violentas
y mi boca derrama la gota caliente de vino
como sangre viva que inunda
el cauce de la desgracia divina.
De las venas se desprenden
insultos fugaces hacia la terrible mortalidad
Muriendo cada día entre vientos oceánicos
Desesperanzado, cobarde alma
criando las constelaciones celestiales
que aplastarán el sin-nombre presente

**

Tiene la soledad sombra alguna
Ha vivido el hombre muerto
que solo conocí en su muerte
Cuando la espiga, una bala o la mentira
haga de mi piel un pez muerto en el litoral
acontecerá la fecha pasajera
donde olas se despiden sin razón.
Tendrá una vida más
aquél hombre que nunca juzgué
en el sueño de la muerte;
seguiré solitario con cada sombra inasible
que se escapa de mis manos….

Traveling at night

 

 

A black umbrella
my sky
The moon
another street-lamp
Sleeping houses
populate my horizon
Following the curvature of a continent
the window is my pillow
My eyes
magnets attracting
the elements of the unknown.
If the clouds
scatter and break the sky asunder
into a thousand little islands,
If on top of trees
the world below would not be so strange
I would visit every cumulus bay
every rising branch…
How far must a man go
to find out what he seeks?

Do not approach me

I’m surrounded by an atmosphere
not of air but of stone
the vastness of the Existent, breaking
falling upon me like an avalanche of lead
I am compressed, the center of the earth
knows nothing of this tremendous pressure
Exhausted under this weight
words fail, expressions useless
Science’s theorems futile!
The Milky Way hangs on my back
There is no abyss sufficiently deep —
I am the lowest vortex
All objects crush me in their fall
Here’s the dungeon of gravity
            Do no approach me…

Heavy Steps

painting_dreams_lost_man

Old and brittle man
walking alone, hands behind back
dragging his feet, stooping his head
as the town of Itacaré swam
in melodies of reggae, seasons of breeze
Poor old man, stumbling amongst thoughts
entreating pain to numb his soul
so as to never suffer harshly
from the whip of regret —
Why does sadness allow me to forgive you;
come here old man
sit by my side, listen to the stars
there are still things your pain
                     will never mar

Joy of Participation

From the dark cloud
   that was my death before my birth
From the impervious past
   that is my womb
From nothingness void
   that sprung my being
      into this magnificent universe of light
As I awake
   from the caverns of dreams
My eyes visit
   a strange changing realm
Vision has kindled
   the torch of nature´s stage
Amongst crowds, streets and trees
   silent contemplation reveals
the daily world (of chats, smiles and meals)
   as mysterious as death and the galaxies;
on this planet
   repetition has blunt the miraculous
Frightening as it is
   this irrepressible human world
never to forget
   it belongs to a greater whole
Small is our size
   but great our joy of participation
       in this universe incomprehensible

Lucian Freud

lucianfreuddetailself-portrait

 

Impressions upon a visit to Lucian Freud´s exhibition in Lousiana, Denmark.
Solitude is heavy, our subjective isolation is inescapable. The eyes gaze nowhere, time trickles away, endlessly. The only task left for these subjects is to endure the blankness of temporality. For time flows so slowly it appears to be still. There is no resistance, a species of quiet resignation, the carnality of their human condition is effortlessly lived. Their globular faces weigh them down as if they were made of lead. The overworked faces manifest the elimination of all activity; which has turned life into a simple and plain permanence.
There is no despair, just a timeless patience. An imposed fortitude in the regions of choiceless existence in which they sojourn.

Freud-dog

 

LucianFreudGalpainting

 

 

Lonely Fisherman

geometry of our world

Have you ever felt that things are not going right
traveling on a train, hours turning long and hollow
the geometry of our cities, bizarre and strange
grey clouds manifestations of our discomfort
  A world asphyxiated by man-made senselessness
 
From a lighthouse humankind is a lonely fisherman
pulling up his nets from the side of his boat
hopelessly unaware of the colossal orb and suns
encompassing his insect-like labors and concerns
  Our insignificance engulfed in an universe of mystery

The oppression of language (two poems)

 

 

 

 

The following two poems explore the human need to express everything we experience and the impossibility of absolute correspondence between lived experience and our descriptions.  I wonder why we cannot contain the purity of experience in ourselves without exchanging it for the artificial-reality of words and symbols. Wouldn’t it be better to leave the flux to itself while we join in its silent (nonverbal) dance in an ahistorical frenzy? For what are our conversations but a miniature-history of the world and our lives? Must mankind be forever trapped in the webs of a descriptive situation? What’s the need to define place, time, mood, thoughts, hopes and expectations?

 

 

Is life too great for anyone to bear alone that we must reduce its intensity and infinity to the limited bounds and finiteness of language? 

 

If we cease to communicate (purge) life could we die from an overdose of life itself?

 

 

 

 

 

These are the dry leaves of the 21st century
Falling upon our feet that coil
A path as snakes on a dune of sand

These are the subway noises
Under the surface of our routine
Where are our shouts of ecstasy?

These are the ripples of passion
Unborn embrace of earthly bliss
We are one catastrophe away from paradise

These are the memoirs of all power-lines
Showering us with light of illusion
Approaching twilight for today’s relics 

These are the end-products of pleasure
Fascination with the wonders of plastic
And a what-for question left unanswered

 These are the dry days of the 21st century

 

 

 

 

 Fetch me nature’s product in a plastic bag
While this blue-eyed kid stares at me
As I dance to the melody of pure purposelessness 

 Talk to me about an Asian photograph
While this train takes me to your hometown
As I write lines of life’s ineffability

Promise me there is a higher plan
While I grow old with laughter
As I adjust my twisted underwear

Abandon me for taking the trivial for the profound
While the grass is still wet outside
As I swear life’s grandeur is best unexpressed