CLARA

 

You coincided in June

next to the river Dulce,

between full moon and

waning moon.

 

In the distance Venus

raised bright

as a star.

 

In the transparent night

the universe looked out

between the trees;

weightless, floating,

millions of tiny lights

around,

filtering through the leaves:

the mysterious world

in and out.

 

The owl set the beat

for the night.

The warbling of the stream

filled the canyon

with its trills.

Blackbird slept,

nightingale was quiet.

Between air and water

expanded life.

 

Walnuts, jasmines,

black poplars, goldfinches,

horseflies, men,

clovers, trouts,

cherries, snakes,

aspens, rooks,

fields and rivers,

trusting slept,

dreaming of the coming

of a new day.

 

 

 

 

Posted in poetry | Leave a comment

TO DO

 

 

To reach the whole

of oneself!

 

To live one’s own life!

 

The only poem

we are granted

to carry out.

 

Ah, that’s enough dreamed

dreams,

enough

half-truths!

 

To dream one’s own life,

to live the dreams!

 

This word that

I can’t find

is a decision.

 

 

Posted in poetry | Leave a comment

LIE

Arguments

and resources

to bury

any kind of doubt.

 

There go

things and their

evolution

lost in

time

and the stories go

hiding from the eyes

the very truth.

 

Faith,

ever blind

faith!

 

So they waste

men’s lives

that see in the

words

of the others

existence

and fear to look

out.

 

 

Posted in poetry | Leave a comment

TO EXIST

 

Here and now.

 

The space

short,

close,

intimate:

the distance

that doesn’t exist,

and the time

beautiful,

magnificent,

thunderous:

the instant

the world

stops.

 

Let’s embrace each other

tight,

tight!

 

 

 

Posted in poetry | Leave a comment

NOVEL

 

Oh, this book

has become a duty

for us!

We need to read it

every day.

 

Pass and pass the

pages in a rush,

the characters

multiply

and action get complicated,

contradictory,

like the bends of

a river among mountains

in its way,

very easy,

to the sea.

 

Ah, how to find

the sharp motion

of water,

the precious instant

of stream?!

A garden balcony

leaned out to an undulating

precipice of poplars

that sink, triumphant, their tops

towards the sun that

shines at the beneath!

 

How to let out

the night with

its gleaming meadow

of dew and glowworms

because in this

dot

of the space

it gets off the topic?

 

Day after day

absorbed in the unimportant

evolution

of this protagonist that narrates

in the first person!

 

 

 

Posted in poetry | Leave a comment

SPRING

 

By the calle del Azahar

—by Chance Street—

I go to the Val de Acederas.

 

Clear is the morning:

white clouds in blue

sky;

the birds sing,

the turtledove coos:

the music of the little valley.

 

The thyme is in bloom.

Forget-me-nots, fennel,

rosemary and rye,

the poppy fields

greet

—red, workers—

to the month of May.

 

Crystalline goes down the stream

among the new black poplars.

Where have you been,

crafty devils,

all winter?

 

It’s springtime!

 

Goes by the swift

low-flying,

taking out in the sun

their diamonds

the crickets,

earth spreads out,

tender,

its green fields.

 

Ah, cereal

sprout strongly the hearts

from the winter cold!

 

Ah, what a good

senara that of this year,

the hand that sowed it!

 

The harvest this summer

will be plentiful and golden

under the August heat.

 

 

Posted in poetry | Leave a comment

TEMPUS FUGIT

 

Time flees.

 

Slow white clouds

pass in the light of

this star on

the blue sky. Grey

twilight comes.

 

On the balcony the

recently germinated little plants

have been the same

for a year. 

In the imagination

memories are creating

a fantasy of time.

 

Impatience

devours me!

 

In museums

the seated scriba awaits

patiently the dictation

since four thousand years ago.

In the quarry the workers

break up stone for sphinxes.

 

“Sun is God!”

shout the impresionists

red perfect circle

in grey sky and river

of the city.

 

A million years

disappeared forever

overnight

and our century

boasts about

itself.

 

Ah, my poem, now,

now, I want you

now!

 

To man that

creates time

his time is

everything.

 

 

 

Posted in poetry | Leave a comment

POET’S COMMITMENT

 

Wake up, poet,

and dream!

 

Open wide those eyes

and take a deep breath!

 

Don’t you notice the blue smell

of life

that impetuously breaks

inside and outside you,

calling you;

the one thousand worlds that exist

floating by everywhere

aimlessly?

 

Come on, brother, mess up

that way of thinking,

stop the world!

How comes this fear

of what might happen

tomorrow,

this fear of the

unknown,

if you yourself are a

mystery?

 

Give once and for all

free rein to your fantasy.

Does anything tie you to this old

mothball Establishment?

As long as dusk

is not for you

no more than turning on a light

and life no more than the

way to

death

with terrified eyes blindfolded

by cultural appraisals,

you’ll know nothing,

you’ll see nothing.

like it or not you won’t care

about anything.

 

Come on, man,

don’t let anybody steal

your freedom,

don’t let anybody make

your life

an example worth

mentioning,

never

never allow

anybody to snatch

the responsability for your acts!

 

Reconcile yourself with the moon

that lights, really beautifully,

the path of stars,

and live, humble and generous,

among men!

 

 

Posted in poetry | Leave a comment

THE ADVISER

 

The christian ascetics

had before them

the skull

to live whithout living

in them.

 

I have before me

my death,

that tells me:

live

now.

 

 

Posted in poetry | Leave a comment

TO OMAR KHAYYAM

 

Tonight the moon has Persian

highlights.

 

Silver chirimias woo it

in its path among the clouds

and the celestial gardens make vibrate

its meadow of stars, swollen.

 

Grabbed with both hands

to life’s clay cup

I arrive after the dregs

to your face of kind clay,

a little drunk already,

happily floating in the existence

pond.

 

Where do we come from

and where are we going to,

what do we care?

In downing in one gulp

life’s cup

(white wine’s day,

red wine’s night),

we only see the surly

bottom

face of death.

 

Of the mystery we are only allowed

to smell its bouquet

and to test its flavour

and to sail over its tongues of fire

mesmerized by joy.

 

No one living being

beyond ourselves

and what surrounds us.

In vain to try to lift

the carpet of phenomenons:

we can’t confuse any more

the dust of a house too often

visited by men

with the solar thunder of the answer

that engenders even our question

and dazzles us with its clarity

being, as we are, part

of what exists

and all seeing

wide-eyed.

 

Come on, then, that wine flows!;

and keep this place next to me

for my friend.

 

And, then, Omar, we only know

that time flies

and that we will be a long time

under,

united as brothers,

let’s drink!

 

Posted in poetry | Leave a comment