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.

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. 

Letting Go

Letting Go

I found you in the image

of my dreadfully saturated loneliness,

then I let you go.

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.  

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.

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. 

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. 

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.

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.  

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. 

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

Safe

Safe

Night has a way

of making me safe,

a sort of regretful reason

that doesn’t exist

in the sunlight.