Tuesday, April 25, 2017

You are quietly disappearing in front of me.
You, dancing by the dreamless wave
Come and find me in the middle
In the depths of this dim light.
You can not let me fade like this
Crying with confetti in my hair.
Your smile from the west
It was all I had
When we became strangers to others.
How you never sleep, you dare not sleep. 
Oh requiem in the mountains!
Forever, your words, in my heart!
The memory of having bravery in solitude
I translated into the sky 
A sudden forgotten symmetry
Skating by the sea
The boat with the starboard anchor:
The beauty, the resistance, the nakedness and the silence!
The ether heaven
Oh, how I wept
When they said: this was only a phase,
But it was what I wanted:
Dreams for those who are awake
It was fire, this fire,
July, you and me.
It was an emptiness that brought us closer.
Time stops in the infinite tale
Of angels and stars.
Remember?
His words,
Once again, they were wings of a bird,
A state of cerulean mind.
Look!
The stars collapsed when I woke up.
But I always look back when I leave.

In Pallid Air

Oh, deathly hallow
Begin! Be naught!
For whence this stance
love´s strength be taught?

In beckoned stare,
In starry light?
This cadence brought beyond
the night?

Oh, pink bent twilight,
Deep iron sea,
Your agony lives beyond
and in of me.

In pallid air,
In salty sight,
I choose to name you
in love´s own right.

Oh, hollowed voice!
Oh, recompense!
Ensnared love,
my consequence.

Monday, April 24, 2017



Y tú desapareces silenciosamente delante de mí.
Tú, bailando por la ola sin sueños, ven a encontrarme en el medio,
En la profundidad de esta tenue luz.
No puedes dejar que me desvanezca así, llorando con confeti en mi cabello.
¿Y esta sonrisa del oeste?
Era lo que teníamos cuando nos hacíamos extraños a los demás.
Nunca duermes, no te atreves a dormir.
O réquiem en las montañas! Para siempre, tus palabras, en mi corazón!
El recuerdo de tener valentía en la soledad,
Traduciendo cosas al cielo, una súbita simetría olvidada patinando por el mar,
El barco con ancla izquierda:
La belleza, la resistencia, el desnudo y el silencio! El éter de los cielos, ¡Oh, cómo lloré!
Cuando dijeron: esto fue sólo una fase,
Pero era lo que yo quería: Sueños para los que están despiertos, fue fuego, este fuego,
Un corazón abierto en Julio, tú y yo.
Fue el vacío el que nos acercó más. El tiempo se detiene en el cuento infinito de ángeles y estrellas. ¿Recuerdas? Sus palabras,
Una vez más, eran alas de un pájaro, un estado de mente cerúlea.
¡Mira!
Las estrellas se desmoronaron cuando me desperté.
Pero siempre miro hacia atrás cuando salgo.

when you just cannot watch a movie. and do not feel like listening to music. 
I give you Owsey...
Perfect combination of music and dialogue. My friends, hencethereforth: 

Mood:


Sunday, April 16, 2017







la ansiedad.















Wednesday, April 12, 2017

No son las palabras, no,
Ni los puntos, ni las comas,
Los que dan voz a la piedra
y color a la rosa. 

No es cuando llamo tu nombre,
Cuando mi lengua te nombra
y saturado con su esencia,
Lo ilumina mi boca.

Es sólo cuando el silencio
Crece a mi alrededor
y se profundiza en mí,
Para abrazarme en tu cuerpo,
Que entro en el alma de las cosas.

Tuesday, April 11, 2017

NO ONE IS A PROPHET IN HIS OWN MIRROR
(Nadie es Profeta en su Espejo)
 
Tell me, do you still feel the old wound
when love bathes you in its swell
and the kiss is a light as love is a suit
and the lips are thirst as the night is life?
 
Tell me yes, yes of course, as you tell me
and not with an abandoned sadness
when the kiss is already faded to nothing
on the martyred lips of the  novice.
 
You, my immediate, my only,
the rain which came to live with me,
my voice is wheat when it names you, wheat,
my body a bridge when it hugs you, a bridge.
 
You, my daily, my eternal, my first ,
the night which joins itself to the day
when happiness crackles in the flesh
and the sea waits at the door of the room,
 
and the mirror is a shivering water
and he water slowly climbs the hill
where your body fills the horizon
and I see the same when I'm in a dream.
 
                                   Luis Rosales
BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH
(Entre la Vida y la Muerte)
 
Darkly the swallows cross the blue sky of your hope.
And it was a life more beautiful than your dreams,
a promise intact, remaining unfulfilled,
you forever turning like a troubled wave,
waiting for love. Such was your life
and at the same time your diary of death.
To love and not love yourself,
this was your sin. And your harsh penance.
 
                        Julián Marquez Rodriguez
REQUIEM FOR THE CHERRY TREES
 
Poet, the cherry tree is blossoming tears
above the fineness of the tomb,
it welcomes you as a distinguished guest.
The oxen are wearing purple garlands
and their horns are growing smaller
the herons whiten the lake
and at the bottom the ridges
darn a star into your destiny
with the splendour of  their scales.
The wind roars behind the mountains
like a lioness in heat
the birds listen to her roars
and waken with their flight
the mildness of the river of faces
where millions of stones light up
to form a rainbow forest.
Poet, when you die the sky covers itself
with sequins extracted
from the clothing of uncertainty.
The visible footprints of winter
stretch out along its length.
The guardian of ice trails in solitude
its steps towards Mount Fuji.
 
                              Daniel J Montoly
 

like we have returned to winter

At least, it is to mention, that it is not raining. April, being the month of a thousand rains, has not rained enough worth to mention. We had some really nice, and I mean really nice sunny days. On Saturday, we, Emilio included, went to Palacio Aiete, to escape from the normal roads of our neighborhood. I really love the park but unfortunately it will now have to become a loved one for it is now marked with a really bad memory. First of all, have you ever been to a place that imprinted such inspiration or memory that when you returned it just did not live up to what it gave in the first place? I hate that. I guess, it was different weather, or different something... The first time I went, I do not remember if I went with my children or who, but it was gloomy and grey, perfect. Just perfect. I was absorbed. The first time I went into the caves... the feeling... I cannot express. When I returned a year later, it was empty, it felt smaller and did not give me anything.

What really did me in was Ransom´s fall. My youngest boy, who is my dreamer, a dreamer like me, consequently is clumsy, like me, and he fell and fell hard. There was so much blood when I picked his crying bridged body off the gravel. I clung to him until we could get to a bench and I could assess the situation. Blood pouring from both knees, his nose, his little scraped arms. It was overwhelming. I had no first aide kit, I just used surrounding leaves to try to stop the bleeding, as well as ripping my second layer of shirting off and water to clean him up. Somewhere in the middle of all this, my vision was blurring, tunneling, blacking out... I became lightheaded and helpless, I fainted. I faint, yes I faint, at the sight of blood. It began when I began to assess him but also when I could literally smell the blood. I don´t know why I can do this, if it is because he has my blood type, O-, or what it is. I have not been around too many bleeding people, really just my own two children. But it smells like iron, like rust, and it overwhelms me. I am so glad Emilio was with us. I was out for 45 seconds he said, but a sweet family was also nearby willing to help.

Another thing that occurred a few days before that terrified me. I was walking home from my Spanish tutoring session and ahead of me I saw a man was walking towards me, staggering with every step. As he got closer I could tell he was bleeding all over his face and that even his eyes were bleeding and bloodshot. I tried not to look at him but one glance was all it took. He immediately moved close to me and grabbed my scarf tied around my neck as well as some few strands of my hair that was embedded in it. He had so much strength despite his frail state. He looked at me with his bloody eyes and demanded me to give him money for his was robbed. He tried to grab more of my scarf, seeming like his hand wanted to also tighten its grip closer to my neck so I would be more inside of a choke. I could not believe was I was going through. The instant there was a second of release for him to tighten his grip I thrashed myself away from him and began to run. Ironically it occurred in front of the guadaria civil as well as a bar with people outside, who, I hoped were ready to help me. In Donostia, I have felt so safe, but since then I have been a little off kiltered and constantly making sure no one is aiming to attack me. Or bleeding out of their eyes.

Now it is sunny, but it has been cold. There was a marine layer that came in on Sunday that I am completely to this day, two days later, searching for words how to describe. My sunday night walk was in the midst of it, and it captivated and sent me to another world. I just do no think I have the right eyes to assess all that it made known to me here. It is magical.

mood


Monday, April 10, 2017

Intenté describir cosas imposibles como el aroma de la creosota - amargo, ligeramente resinoso, pero aun así agradable-, el canto fuerte y lastimero de las cigarras en julio, la liviana desnudez de los árboles, las propias dimensiones del cielo, cuyo azul se extendía de uno a otro confín en el horizonte sin otras interrupciones que las montañas bajas cubiertas de purpúreas rocas volcánicas.

Lo más arduo de explicar fue por qué me resultaba tan hermoso aquel lugar y también justificar una belleza que no dependía de la vegetación espinosa y dispersa, que a menudo parecía muerta, sino que tenía más que ver con la silueta de la tierra, las cuencas poco profundas de los valles entre colinas escarpadas y la forma en que conservaban la luz del sol. Me encontré gesticulando con las manos mientras se lo intentaba describir.

-crepúsculo

Thursday, April 6, 2017



What more can you then say?
Tell me, tell me, that when you acquainted it to me
I was still apart of the same season you exist in.
What about the ink I used to spell out your existence?
One by one each letter fell off the
borderless, lineless, spinless book.
The wieght of them succumbed to the ice.
Yeah, dust would collect before
you would find them on the floor of my room,
after I had already run away.
Already in Argentina at the orphanage.
Already in winter, while you hold hands with the heat.


(in progress)
¿Qué más puedes decir? 
Dime, dime, que cuando me lo hiciste familiar, 
Todavía estaba aparte de la misma temporada en la que tú vives. 
¿Qué hay de la tinta que usé para explicar tu existencia? 
Una por una cada palabra se cayó del libro,
el cual no tiene bordes, ni líneas, ni hilos. 
El peso de ellos sucumbió a la fragilidad. 
Sí, el polvo se acumularía antes 
los encontrarías en el piso de mi habitación, 
Después de que ya yo había huido, 
Ya en Argentina en el orfanato. 
Ya en invierno, mientras te tomas de las manos con el calor.



Wednesday, April 5, 2017

Desde la infancia, pensé, que el dolor significaba no ser amado. Mas bien, significaba que yo amaba.

Monday, April 3, 2017

It is arriving, if not already here.
Winter is taking its toll, as if we are already in spring, it will take until next autumn to thaw out.

I plan on attempting revival of budding roses by gazing at works of art at San Telma tomorrow morning.

Memory. Like roses in the midst of winter.

Spring

Sunday, April 2, 2017

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

By Edna St. Vincent Millay

. Arriba con tu otra mitad.
¿Nada mas, estamos aterrorizados?
Pizarra, muestra tu preocupación por lo que nunca encontrarás.

No dejes que te engañe
No dejes que te engañe
Al bajar
La tristeza sentada en circulo,
dobleces en su vestido.

Debajo mar y la roca,
Ladeada a la corriente.
Huesos sangran y dientes erosionan con cada golpe.
Estarán chocando abajo.

Las alas no te ayudarían,
Las alas no te ayudarían al caer.
La tristeza llena la tierra, el orgullo de la gravedad.

Tú apenas pestañeas.
Moviendo tu cabeza con desaprobación​.
¿Cuándo se convirtio esto en un lugar mortal?
No dejaré que me hables al caer.
Lo tensaré, nada será revelado.



traducida
rosalyn
boniver
No me mandes a dormir,
nunca cierres los párpados.
Sostén mis crujidos, mis quejidos
dentro de la cuna de mi padre.

Cabello anciano y largo,
sobre el cuello la cuchilla de tus hombros.
Guarda ese mensaje grabado
cruza tus pechos, no te borrarás.
Solo he existido para ocupar tu espacio.

Caderas sostenidas en la nada,
apoyadas en tu otro yo
de espaldas al sol,
solo tenemos que seguir hablando.
Enseñamos a los cuerpos a perseguir los sueños.
Yo solo trataba de deletrear la pérdida.

Sonríe, nada ha sido en vano.
Un pellizco en la piel,
me pellizcaste
con tus esféricos ojos negros.
Sabes que la cuerda está desatada,
solo quería morir junto a ella.

Y descarga la tormenta en el lago
nuestros cuerpos se rompen en pequeñas ondas.

Un fuego se está extinguiendo
y al sur ya no queda nada.

Naranjas hinchadas y luz,
un nadador enamorado de ti.

Vendido, me convierto en siempre
con los oídos y los ojos abiertos.
Me despierto junto a la novia en estribor
que entra y sale sin descanso.
Oh, llegan los demonios,
ya pueden subsistir.Traducida por BonIver
Calgary

¡Para toda la vida no!

Thursday, March 30, 2017













He caído tantas veces que el aire es mi maestro;
sólo puede acabarse lo que al vivir se olvida,
si nuestro amor fue siempre como una despedida,
cuando todo termine quedará lo más nuestro.

Ya he empezado a morir para aprender a verte
con los ojos cerrados y pienso que es mejor,
para toda la vida no basta un solo amor,
tal vez el nuestro sea para toda la muerte.


Translation in English: Not for the Entire Life!

I’ve fallen so many times that air is my master;
One only finishes what one forgets while living,
Should our love have always been like a farewell,
Then, when all is gone, our sharedness will remain.

I’m already dying to teach myself to see you
My eyes shut, and I think it’s just as well,
One love isn’t enough for an entire life,
Per chance our love is for the entire death.

Where Does Our Shadow Start?























¿En dónde empieza nuestra sombra?
By Luis Rosales
Sabes que llega un día en que el suelo que pisas se
convierte en pared,
ésta es la gran lección
y la medianería que separa los muertos de los vivos;
los extremos se tocan,
no podemos salir de su contigüidad,
más tarde o más temprano
en cada orilla queda un muerto nuestro.
Translation in English:
You know a day will come that the ground you tread on
Turns into a wall,
This is the overwhelming lesson
And the partition that sets the dead apart from the living;
The far ends touch,
There is no way out of their contiguity,
Sooner or later
There is one of our dead on each side.

Photo: Park in the winter. © 2016 Irina Urumova

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