Monday, April 30, 2012

UK 2011 Professionals Ballroom Final

(from a collection of poems on how to drive a child insane)


(from a collection of poems on how to drive a child insane)


He was playing the organ, or at least
the keyboard made out of cardboard box
his stepfather had brought him in place of a real organ.
His stepfather forced him to perform
on that cardboard box for months. 
When the organ finally arrived,
it was as if he were insane.  The sounds that came out
of that hellish machines were nothing like
the sounds he had practiced.

Saturday, April 28, 2012

Para Cuando


Para Cuando
                    

He leído los hilos de las telarañas
para descubrir como blanquear mis
piernas heridas.  He caminado sobre brazas
para tirar del corazón a la razón. 
Mas nada me ha servido de alivio.
Me sigo gastando a solas bajo los puentes
de Ámsterdam a la altura de un cuerpo seco.
He vivido tantos años que no siento la brisa,
solo la resequedad en mi lengua.
He sentido tanto temor que ni el cielo
me brinda consuelo.  He nadado sin cesar
para nunca llegar a mi tiempo justo.
Y así sigo, sin justicia, como un mapuche
desterrado de la realidad de la tierra madre
por carabineros dispuestos a matar. 

Thursday, April 19, 2012

Letting Go


Letting Go


I found you in the image
of my dreadfully saturated loneliness,
then I let you go.

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Dear poet


Dear poet,



I know right now you
feel as if the words
have dried out
and the metaphors are caught
in spider webs,
but your hunger for dirt
will soon be over. 
cured of this nostalgia,
new images
will follow you around.  

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Insomnia


Insomnia 



I was tormented
by the immense desolation
with which Aureliano’s ghost
had looked at me, the deep nostalgia
which that specter felt for the living
was as touching as my dream
of a city with mirrors for walls.

Months later when he finally
showed up again, he came to my window
with the disease of insomnia.  In his bones
he had the forgetfulness of death.     

His thoughts, monsoons of darkness,
were lying to me, imbedding in my limp skin
hopes of a new beginning where our numbers
increased from two to four, and wild dreams
strangled my roots like a banyan
with handfuls of hate.

Sunday, April 15, 2012

There is a man for me


“There is a man for me,”
he would insist on telling
his mother in the dream.
But, all she wanted to hear about
were his studies.  So, he would
eagerly explain to her about how well
he was doing in school. 
“I’ve come up with a study
plan unlike anyone else’s. 

a cuckoo bird flew over the nest
morning moon

His ear would hurt,
but he’d continue writing.  
He’d wake up happy to have dreams
about his mother, it was as if he had finally
captured her attention.

little boy blue
sat on a stool

He lives better
in his dreams than in reality. 
He is happier there.

addicted to sleep
a monsoon rain pouring over him
his blood thins out, he has no wrinkles.
he’s ironed out flat. 

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

The Space of Solitude


The Space of Solitude



Dawn surprised me on the patio
without daring to sleep.  I took to the jungle
and built myself a house without windows
where the pirates of my nightmares
could not reach me.  Orchids occupied a space
of solitude and exclusion, forbidden to birds. 
Everything resembled a tight forest of flowers
with the sea at a short distance.
I was alien to the existence of my people,
because I considered infancy as a period
of mental shortage, and because I was usually
too absorbed in my own chimerical speculations.
I was alone in my space, the solitude tolerable. 

Monday, April 09, 2012

sortilege


sortilege



Death continued to haunt him, 
sniffing his pants without 
deciding to give him 
the final blow. However,
he looked as if he could 
understand the other side 
while maintaining a grip 
on everyday life, until the 
world got sad forever.

Sunday, April 08, 2012

el museo de la inocencia


el museo de la inocencia


músicos y pecadores
merodeaban mi casa para aquellos
tiempos.  Uno, incluso, llego a escalar
la ventana de mi habitación.
seguro de sí mismo, me tomo en sus
brazos y me llevo a la mesa de la cocina.
yo lo miraba lleno de curiosidad
porque todavía no me asustaba
la vida.  

Saturday, April 07, 2012

Narcisos


Narcisos


El tiempo se deshace de mis huellas.  
Se vuelve líquido indómito
arruinado los narcisos de tu otoño.

Yo tiemblo con el deseo de poseerte
como cuando navegaba por la primavera
de la adolescencia lleno de tu semen.

Pero tú no te acuerdas de mis labios
ni te hacen suspirar los danzones
de mi cintura, mas yo sigo oculto en ti.

Tango


Tango


The music was a dying echo,
a dislocation of rhythm and morals,
the true index of his mind.
Much like a young warrior,
exulting in the vision
of his most recent combat. 

Thursday, April 05, 2012

at the temple of friendship


at the temple of friendship

one smiles at the turnip
and winks at the yams
laughs with the carrots
and sings with the bees
in an eighteenth-century
pillared summerhouse
where ladies prefer
their tea without
the company of men
ringed in black
by the vampires
of solitude

Sunday, April 01, 2012

Safe


Safe


Night has a way
of making me safe,
a sort of regretful reason
that doesn’t exist
in the sunlight.

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