READING AT THE AMPHITHEATER THE CORTIJANO. AS
Santiago is not an easy city to me. The invitation of Oscar Saavedra and people" Decentralization Poetics "to get a reading collective was not easily accepted by both distances, and by the lack of time, and of course, the malditez of transantiago. Whatever the case, undertook the challenge from Pudahuel to Conchalí in completely unknown territory, unfortunately I arrived late (which ever is my habit) but it did not yet begun. Finally, almost no presentations, surrounded by a delightful informality, I could hear the voice of Elvira Hernandez, Jose Angel Cuevas, Eli Neira, Oscar Saavedra, Mauricio Huenún, Jordi Lloret, and some other guys that I can not remember, and then it was my turn : I said hello and read some texts of Benito Cortez and Samuel Nunez, and then closed with some texts of mine. No, unfortunately, caught up and enjoy the video which closed the presentation and started back with my partner and my son to Pudahuel, resufriendo the transantiago. I went in and came out of that presentation, almost like lightning. There were no discussions or talks the ocher dilated taste of wine, but actual speed, extended digital dialogue of these new currencies. But I was, finally, with the sweetness of friendship beyond words and even meaning, in a strange dialogue of silence and distance, they only know about those who love poetry.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Friday, September 5, 2008
Why Do My Hands Burn After Shower
whale songs.
would not be strange
That the sky is falling While smoke apart
The agenda is
Silence of the Lambs
As the bow across the strings of the violin
The knife to the throat. And I fell
Having admired the challenge had to gamble
What was the prize
If you do not know why
So much sadness.
We listed,
From one to death with bullets
A decorated syringes
Other
Treating stubborn life distracting
O What a failure, what laughter.
girl overly long sleeves
Naked from the waist down by surrounding a sea
so cold and cunning as your last kiss
Do not you admire my hands ...
spiked?
And there I was, like the captain of a ship
rickety
swaying to the rhythm of sex, ecstatic
Seeing surrounded by angry
armored steel, metal, brilliant:
But wood floats. What
mounted warrior
With the bird woman's skin?
air under their wings singing.
The raging waves almost
Sprinkle
anger that shines in his armor. The heavens hold
By a miracle. Elsewhere
unborn who recites
These memoirs. Oyash
niskah
Eliem Bikur Ahari
No 'tah
Ukhim bieral noskah.
(The
will not be coming but in the memory of death.) Echoing
whales singing
The unfathomable mysteries of the atom
We wink ever, before the time nests
The
fragile and fleeting breath of our hearts.
And finally we have
A painful sense of timelessness:
An old silent fact
Feeding pigeons in the park forgetting.
That split second most glorious.
That the sky is falling While smoke apart
The agenda is
Silence of the Lambs
As the bow across the strings of the violin
The knife to the throat. And I fell
Having admired the challenge had to gamble
What was the prize
If you do not know why
So much sadness.
We listed,
From one to death with bullets
A decorated syringes
Other
Treating stubborn life distracting
O What a failure, what laughter.
girl overly long sleeves
Naked from the waist down by surrounding a sea
so cold and cunning as your last kiss
Do not you admire my hands ...
spiked?
And there I was, like the captain of a ship
rickety
swaying to the rhythm of sex, ecstatic
Seeing surrounded by angry
armored steel, metal, brilliant:
But wood floats. What
mounted warrior
With the bird woman's skin?
air under their wings singing.
The raging waves almost
Sprinkle
anger that shines in his armor. The heavens hold
By a miracle. Elsewhere
unborn who recites
These memoirs. Oyash
niskah
Eliem Bikur Ahari
No 'tah
Ukhim bieral noskah.
(The
will not be coming but in the memory of death.) Echoing
whales singing
The unfathomable mysteries of the atom
We wink ever, before the time nests
The
fragile and fleeting breath of our hearts.
And finally we have
A painful sense of timelessness:
An old silent fact
Feeding pigeons in the park forgetting.
That split second most glorious.
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