"...to enclose the present moment; to make it stay; to fill it fuller and fuller, with the past, the present and the future, until it shone, whole, bright, deep with understanding."

Virgina Woolf, The Years


10.4.17

Un huerto

Murmura al ras
lo que gesta en secreto

Piadoso
mira lejos

Hacia la 1 y 1/2 de la tarde
pinta
forjando el camino del pájaro

Abriendo los ojos
ya durmiendo
rodó sus ruedas de horas ovaladas

Todos los días
                         el calendario

El muro de agua de los ritos

Su engranaje se diluye
pues es su magia algo diferente:

la existencia llevada a cabo
en la porción del ritmo
en el pulso de lo visto
entre el deshielo lampo del instante
que parte
arde
da cuanta forma la forma necesita

En las palabras de los mares
hay lluvia que acompañe su silencio

Andando por ahí
se llega al centro
de algún modo

veredas se transitan en los ojos
                                                   un huerto
                                                   un colibrí
                                                   un pavo real

el vaivén de un sauce
que se ríe sobre el arroyo


Palabras rescatadas de Josué Ramírez's Muda de raíces

21.2.17

Silver


                                But she's just like lightning
                                She goes right through you
                                Then you know you'll never
                                Be the same

                                 - Mazzy Star, "She's my baby"



Mustard. Mustard and black. Mustard and black and silver.

Silver.

Her silver hair.

She is just like lightning.
Her whole self
it does go right through you
Pierces you
                        Leaves you breathless
                        Whole
                        Expanding

As she walks away
                      past you
                      behind you

But also beside you
Right beside you

Mustard and black. And silver.

Her silver self
Traps you
As she walks home, alone.

10.10.16

An entirely new thought


It made her curious
What would it be like
to weave in and out of dreams
an entirely new thought?

She liked the idea of going to sleep
beside the whales
down there
under the sea
where the north wind lives in an ice cave

(it asks for cool breezes
to make you comfortable
while you're getting well
And when you've recovered
they'll take you riding
whale-back

smiling
beyond the skeptical glance of the child
whose faith in fantasy has been shaken)

This afternoon
when I woke up from my nap
I heard you talking
about the air
more freely

Just for a few days
will you leave the thinking?
There's more to your being here

You'll feel the sea
which means
you'll rest a little better


(Built from words stolen -and borrowed- from Laura London's The Windflower)

25.6.16

Immagine per occhi divini


Sabbia a perdita d'occhio, tra le ultime colline e il mare - il mare - nell'aria fredda di un pomeriggio quasi passato, e benedetto dal vento che sempre soffia da nord.

La spiaggia. E il mare.

Potrebbe essere la perfezione - immagine per occhi divini - mondo che accade e basta, il muto esistere di acqua e terra, opera finita ed esatta, verità - verità - ma ancora una volta è il salvifico granello dell'uomo che inceppa il meccanismo di quel paradiso, un'inezia che basta da sola a sospendere tutto il grande apparato di inesorabile verità, una cosa da nulla, ma piantata nella sabbia, impercettibile strappo nella superficie di quella santa icona, minuscola eccezione posatasi sulla perfezione della spiaggia sterminata. A vederlo da lontano non sarebbe che un punto nero: nel nulla, il niente di un uomo e di un cavalletto da pittore.

Alessandro Baricco, Oceano Mare.

31.5.16

The way a gardener would shape a garden



So you, as an artist, can manipulate time and move things around, you cut and shape the way a gardener would shape a garden, so that you can see certain flowers and pay attention to certain plants, otherwise it’s just a jungle. And it’s the writer’s job to cut away and prune and shape and make order from that jungle so that you can pay attention and see certain colors and patterns.

-Sandra Cisneros

 

11.5.16

The city is alive (if the light is dim)



You who grew up through the pavement
with butterflies in your stomach
skyscrape in your eyelids
fingers lost for words
find comfort in this:

The city is alive

(if the light is dim
if the light is defused
put this little light to use)







21.3.16

Con minucioso tacto de filigrana


Dicen que un año sí y otro no, las ventanas de Mogador devoran también toda la luz de la luna. Pero hay quien asegura que esa es una falsa impresión porque son los ojos de las mujeres llenas de deseo quienes desde sus ventanas mogadorianas iluminan todo lo que en la noche brilla, incluyendo la luna y a la ciudad entera. De la misma manera que son ellas y no la luna quienes depositan su mirada sobre la piel morena de sus amantes imprimiéndole un tono de plata calentada por el cuerpo. Y, además, lo hacen con minucioso tacto de filigrana.


"Treinta y seis", Nueve veces el asombro, Alberto Ruy Sánchez.

15.3.16

Whatever is not there (We are glass house)


Your body 
Hurts me as the world hurts God
- "Fever 103'", Ariel, by Silvia Plath

For you: anthophilous, lover of flowers,
green roses, chrysanthemums, lilies: retrophilia,
philocaly, philomath, sarcophilous—all this love,
of the past, of beauty, of knowledge, of flesh; this is
catalogue and counter: philalethist, negrophile, neophile.
A man walks down the street, taps Newport
out against a brick wall and stares at me. Love
that: lygophilia, lithophilous. Be amongst stones,
amongst darkness. We are glass house. Philopornist,
philotechnical. Why not worship the demimonde?
Love that—a corner room, whatever is not there,
all the clutter you keep secret. Palaeophile,
ornithophilous: I, antiquarian, pollinated by birds.
All this a way to dream green rose petals on the bed you love;
petrophilous, stigmatophilia: live near rocks, tattoo hurt;
for me topophilia: what place do I love? All these words
for... love? (for me?), all these ways to demand belief
in symphily, to beguile and say let us (not) live near each other.


A personal stand on Reginald Dwayne Betts' "For you: antophilus, lover of flowers".

10.2.16

The Garden VI - Se encuentran entre la hierba


Mucho podría decirse de los ojos de Aleteo, pues experimentaban continuos cambios e impresionaban mucho a la gente. La cualidad más increíble e inverosímil de sus ojos era su mansedumbre, pues eran como flores, y esta circunstancia decía a las claras que no había que tener miedo de mirarlos. En realidad, la mirada que fijaba en el mundo y su gente era azul como la hierbabuena silvestre, esos frágiles capullitos que se encuentran entre la hierba por el mes de junio. Así eran los ojos de Aleteo Brisalinda.

- Los hijos del vidriero, de María Gripe.