Wednesday, March 21, 2018

INTERNATIONAL POETRY DAY

My poetry to celebrate the International Poetry Day.


Clarena

Te amo en el silencio del crespúsculo matutino

en que sueño con tu cuerpo junto al mío
y advierto bajo el oscuro cielo el viento de los píos
recuerdo tu aire fresco de adolescente 
los besos a escondidas bajo el rocío
encendidas las luces de la noche en los caminos
besos sobre las laderas en gradiente ascenso
una memoria única tuya y mía en que eres la otra
caída en un vacío mas cobijada por rosas tiernas
que dulcemente entretienen en ti todo lo mío.



The only unpaved road

The only unpaved road is the symbol of disparity
where no lights illuminate the path of buried history
paved bones in hard cement covered under dust grains
lonely sandy road melted, discriminated from the rest.

Stories of lies to destroy reputation, false witnesses
hookah femmes driving by in white cars all the time
ashes of despair waiting the rebuilding of the saints
contaminated water, polluted air for which no one cares.

The divine road is broken and not covered with fresh oil
yet the intimidating drivers in hater and wrath foil
their frustration of unfulfilled expectations of the unknown
corroded road, corrupted road, where history lived alone.



Saturday, January 20, 2018

La Partida de un gran humbolista... The Departure of a great Humboldt graduate...



POEMA AL AMIGO MUERTO



A mi gran amigo humbolista, José Manuel Camacho (rip)

Compañero de escuela, lamento tu partida
juntos jugamos al balonvolea sobre redes
iluminar tu camino tu alma aún puede
te saludé en año nuevo, adiós sin despedida.

Compartimos el amor por las ciencias
matemáticas y física adoramos netos
nuestro sabio profesor nos dio retos
que mano a mano resolvimos con paciencia.

Regresaremos un día al punto de partida
donde el agua viva destila vida a lo cierto
o somos un átomo del polvo del desierto.
Recuerda a tus amigos y mantente arriba.

Compartimos sueños por la misma diva
la belleza encantadora de veros anhelos
nuestros sueños eran más que puros celos
alma máter del norte y centro, y  fe de vida.


-->
"Schreibe mit Blutt und du wirst erfahren dass Blut Geist ist".  —Nietzsche.

Saturday, December 23, 2017

ALMA MATER III: COLUMBA. POEMS OF PERFECTION AND ENCHANTMENT

THE WRITING OF ALMA MATER III; POETRY IN THREE LANGUAGES
For Alma Mater III, Columba, I have started a draft for a new series of poems of perfection and enchantment, certainly a rather conservative one. 
In this set of trilingual poetry, I use of the topics virginity and singleness as a unique leit motif, i.e., central idea, as I dedicate this set of poems to the young women in the alma mater, and very especially to those who are Catholic, who prefer to wait for the moment and refrain from having pre-marital sex, and from any other deviance temptations just to experiment (for which they will be blessed), and await for the right time, after their wedding, to love their perfectly matching blue prince.
While this is not exactly a feminist perspective, and you might think that I come from and live in another ancient time, today it is certainly good for the young women in the alma mater and their continued success there.

Sunday, November 26, 2017

ALMA MATER III (COLUMBA)

The Writing of COLUMBA, Alma Mater III;
poetry in three languages

I am currently editing Alma Mater II, and writing Alma Mater III. These are some of the poems that will appear in COLUMBA.

Reconciliation

The campus is open, the promenade is long
and you can't hide what you heart shows off
the sentiment is there, so you really know
that it beats stronger just to come afloat.

The morning is shining, no debt to the flow
as the rivers are calm after a sweet caress
despite the walk in the park with no distress
I feel your tenderness abreast, flesh so soft.

The afternoon bears a kiss that reunites us
your figure's glow awakens other thoughts
of more hugs and kisses as frequently done
before the sudden end of the long hot sun.

The evening brings us dinner for we go along
finding inner peace in the light touch you love
each time we encounter a moment of thought
another kiss to sing over again a simple song.


Something ensues our lives

Something ensues our lives...
the transparency of your silk

the clarity below your shadows
the vicious jealousy of others

for the love you feel or ever felt
the double life lived at shining

the twilight covering your fabric
underground where your nap is best.

Something ensues our lives
the dude, doubts of paid love.

Something ensues our lives
the debts of honor you conceive

an agonic happiness yet to be found
my very happy life really long gone.

Something ensues our lives
someone possibly unknown

Something we do not know
Something...


Baise-moi à Nouveau

Baise-moi à nouveau, avant que je parte
tu n'auras aucune idée du jeu des cartes.

Ce que tu cherches ne paraîtra plus
tu écoutes? Ça ne reviendra point.

Baise-moi a nouveau, si tu veux, ça ira bien
tranquil, je comprendrai tes sentiments.

Baise-moi à nouveau, nous serons ensembles...
si jeunes ces amantes du tango, qu'elles se ressemblent.


¿Cómo debe ser una rubia?

A la pregunta cómo debe ser una rubia
mi alma diestra responde dulce y sabia: 

La rubia sus cabellos lacios alza al paso
su espalda blanca, rosada en embeleso
una flor amarrada cerca a su oído acaso
una boca tierna húmeda presta al beso.

Una rubia debe tener sus carnes firmes
exhibiendo sensual todo el sentimiento
llevada por el viento sin ningún lamento
si no me dice quédate un rato, podría irme.

La rubia debe tener el secreto y el deseo
acariciar sus cabellos en la penumbra
y atraer el deseo al que su pelo encanta
por sus sayas escarlatas y rosas yo jaleo.


Y aún me pregunto guardando respeto
respecto a la rubia de mi único señorío
que brota sobre mí su sensual escalofrío,
piel de escamas, amada en cada aspecto.



Friday, August 4, 2017

ALMA MATER III: COLUMBA; poetry in three languages (II)

THE WRITING OF ALMA MATER III:
COLUMBA 
POETRY IN THREE LANGUAGES
POESÍA EN TRES IDIOMAS
POÉSIE EN TROIS LANGUES


I am hereby reposting this blog issue with a few editions, which an intruder had maliciously deleted.

ANOTHER DREAM

Just a few talk at the end of the wild night
the kiss of the silent breeze excites the ocean
as the despair freezes the anger to be shown
and the bluish nuance brings down the high tide.

Flowers blooming over the green wineries
remind her of the little house on countryside
which exalts her soul over the lush scenery.

As her child cries she is happy for the new born
clearance comes along with the start of an era
which together the union newly attains alone
and soon in heaven it encounters a cleared soul.


ELLE, MON AMIE

L'amitié, et l'amour vont et viennent comme les vagues
qui retournent faciles à leur premier lieu d'action

dans lequel un film vraisemblablement triste
nous apporte des bouleversements heureux

on dit les mots les mieux pour gagner le grand faveur
c'est l'événement de l'avion qui bien lève son vol

faisant songer des rêveries d'un jour à Tribeca
dans l'obscurité de la salle à l'éclaire de ses yeux

comme le baiser doux des amoureux dans le subway
d'une new-yorkaise japonaise d'un génie musicale

comme si l'eau sourd retombait sur la belle roque,
laquelle j'aime, goutte à goutte sans l'y ronger d'abord

et où l'action d'un film inconnu d'un pays lointain
nous remporte une victoire presque inattendue

c'est notre amitié devenue du véritable amour
sans frontières et ce n'est plus un secret du tout.


le PoÉme TardIF

Tu attendais que j'écrivasse
un poème d'amour inattendu

tu pensas que j'étais le porteur
de bonnes nouvelles, comme prévues

et peut-être tu te rends compte alors
que ça ne se passe plus ainsi d'abord

chaque fois que tu laisse la porte
entrouverte entre le passé et le présent

toi, qui garda la fleur rouge dérangée
vide et sèche comme la terre d'un désert

Et ensuit, tu laisse pénétrer le silence
dans ta chambre à coucher, en songeant

des rêves inexplorés, jamais imaginés
ou bien vécus tous au passé récent

ses rêves dont le bien a peu a gagner
et seulement persistants au présent.


LOS RETRATOS DE LA BELLA

Su figura exalta cada dimensión
del sentimiento que divaga dulce
los recuerdos perdidos de lamentos
no sólo de soledad sino de olvido.

Los colores de sus fibras muestran
todo lo de adentro, sensualidad secreta
naturaleza expuesta toda al presente
lucha entre fuerzas del bien y del mal.

Pero buena su fortaleza, grande su virtud
augusto sentimiento que emana vago
licor insaciable de rojos vinos cocidos
como libélula extraviada en aurora de luz.

Me atormentan sus secretos sabidos
por otros, mas ocultos a mi buen saber
pues entrañan el fundamento inaudito
flor bonita cuyos pétalos vuelan al caer.

The Dantesque-BAUDELAIRIAN Dream

Phantoms walk in the middle of two dimensions
and extract the jewels of luck from the tangible
as the Platonic cave clears, vampires flow the scene
and their day is filled with a cannibals' mess.

Bugs filled in human blood make their supper
hidden below the true physical levels
they refresh their minds for the next target.

The aborigines' dance bears the candid poem
the Dantesque dust lies over the green garden
reconciliation is on its way on the campus day.

There is a murmur in the middle of the night
from the empty room the beauty left in fear
the entrance to another dimension is sensed
strange creatures vanish, the amulet's found.


N.B. While the last poem is sordidly Dantesque, it should not be offensive to anyone. Indeed, the term aborigine here is used here not to address any aborigine in ther world (Americas, Africa, Asia or Australia) but rather to refer to the characters set at the above mentioned spiritual level or Dantesque circle.