Alvaro Marin

A SONG FOR JUAN RULFO

.

The silence of the future ruins

gently moves to and fro in helplessness

in this place called earth

because it doesn't yet have a name

its inhabitants

have one eye on the moon of death

and the other on a burning sun

The voice

does not spring from the lips

it is the deep trance of silence

Silence is the name of this place

so-and-so is everybody's name

and stone or ash

the names we shal have in the void

.

there's geography with the footprints of the absent

the cut-down trees lose their leaves

in some term of eternity

and cover the streets of the century with dead leaves

Wind passes deaf and saying nothing

it is a murmur as imposing as midnight

but not everything begins or ends here

in this geography.

.

Colombia

Lina Zeron

TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY

.

In what heaven will we end up

when, fed up and engorged with blood,

the bulimic Earth spits us out?

.

To what helll will we arrive

when this society strangles us

and only rats remain

over the Earth exhausted with selfishness?

.

Under what night sky will we be able to hide

where the stars are not soiled

with so much spilled blood?

.

Under a synthetic moon surrounded by blackness.

there

perhaps

we will meet again.

Allama Prabhu

If it rains fire

you have to be as the water;

.

If it is a deluge of water

you have to be as the wind;

.

If it is the Great Flood

you have to be as the sky;

.

and if it is the Very Last Flood of all the worlds,

you have to give up self

.

and become the Lord.

Miguel Hernandez

LOVE ASCENDED BETWEEN US

.

Love ascended between us

Like the moon between two palm trees

that have never embraced.

The intimate murmur of our bodies

made the cooing the sea swell brings,

but the horse voice was stifled,

the lips turned to stone.

The yearning to encircle moved our flesh

illuminated our inflamed bones,

but our arms' desire to reach out

died away in our arms.

Love and the moon passed between us

and devoured our lonely bodies.

And we are two ghosts who search

and find each other from afar.

Roberto Bolano

SELFPORTRAT AT TWENTY YEARS

.

I set off, I took up the march and never knew

where it might take me. I went full of fear,

my stomach dropped, my head was buzzing:

I think it was the icy wind of the dead.

I don't know. I set off, I thought it was a shame

to leave so soon, but at the same time

I heard that mysterious and convincing call.

You either listen or you don't, and I listened

and almost burst out crying: a terrible sound,

born on the air and in the sea.

A sword and shield. And then,

despite the fear, I set off, I put my cheek

against death's cheek.

And it was impossible to close my eyes and miss seeing

that strange spectacle, slow and strange,

though fixed in such a swift reality:

thousands of guys like me, baby-faced

or bearded, but Latin American, all of us,

brushing cheeks with death.

Chief Yellow Lark- 1887 A Sioux Prayer

Oh, Great Spirit, whose voice I hear in the winds

Whose breath gives life to the world, hear me

I come to you as one of your many children

I am small and weakI need your strength and wisdom
.

.May I walk in beauty

Make my eyes ever behold the red and purple sunset.

Make my hands respect the things you have made

And my ears sharp to your voice.

Make me wise so that I may know the things you have taught your children.
.

The lessons you have written in every leaf and rock

Make me strong--------!

Not to be superior to my brothers, but to fight my greatest enemy....myself
.

Make me ever ready to come to you with straight eyes,

So that when life fades as the fading sunset,

May my spirit come to you without shame.

Javier Haraud

WORD OF THE GUERILLA

.

Because my fatherland is beautiful,

like a sword in the air,

and grander now and even

more beautiful yet,

I speak and defend it

with my life.

I don't care what the traitors say,

we have closed the past

with thick tears of steel.

Heaven is ours,

our daily bread,

we have planted and harvested

the wheat and the earth,

and the wheat and the earth

are ours,

and the sea

and the mountains and the birds

will always belong to us.

.

Peru

Leopold Staff

FOUNDATIONS

.

I built on the sand

And it tumbled down,

I built on a rock

And it tumbled down.

Now when I build, I shall begin

With the smoke from the chimney.

Martha Kornblith

PRAYERS TO AN ABSENT GOD

.

That poet who stares at me.

Every night

he leaves class,

explains a verse,

shoos the flies away from the water fountain,

drinks a sip,

shakes off his blue jeans.

And he keeps doing this, always

sad,

concise.

Sometimes

the audience cheers,

and he searches his pockets,

sinking his forehead into the theater box

while I think:

Him

and the blank page.

San Juan de la Cruz

SONG OF THE SOUL THAT DELIGHTS

IN REACHING THE SUPREME STATE

.

Of perfection that is the union with God

by the path of spiritual negation

.

On a darkened night
on fire with all love’s longing
– O joyful flight! –
I left, none noticing,
my house in silence resting.

Secure, devoid of light,
by secret stairway, stealing
– O joyful flight! –
in darkness self-concealing,
my house in silence resting.

In the joy of night,
in secret so none saw me,
no object in my sight
no other light to guide me,
but what burned here inside me.

Which solely was my guide,
more surely than noon-glow,
to where he does abide,
one whom I deeply know,
a place where none did show.

O night, my guide!
O night, far kinder than the dawn!
O night that tied
the lover to the loved,
the loved in the lover there transformed!

On my flowering breast,
that breast I kept for him alone,
there he took his rest
while I regaled my own,
in lulling breezes from the cedars blown.

The breeze, from off the tower,
as I sieved through its windings
with calm hands that hour,
my neck in wounding
left all my senses hanging.

Self abandoned, self forgot,
my face inclined to the beloved one:
all ceased, and I was not,
my cares now left behind, and gone:
there among the lilies all forgotten.

.

Octavio Paz

T BIRD

.

In the rested on

transparent space

the transparency

of silence.

The light of heaven

calmed the growing

weeds in stillness.

.

Animals of the earth

were among the stones

and under the same light

they were stones.

At the minute a

sated weather

in the absorbed quiet

noon was consummated.

.

And a bird sang,

thin arrow

a vibrating chest of silver,

wounded heaven

moved the leaves,

herbs awoke....

.

And I felt that

death was an arrow.

.

It is not known

who fired and

in the twinkling of eyes

we died.

.

Mexico

Raquel Chavez

PRAYER I

.

But where are the

fathers of the

soul words?

.

those who departed

in search of perfection,

tell me,

what have you found?

I have seen you

in strange lands,

the Canto lost.

May you come back!

May you find the path!

.

Paraquay

Lord Byron

I would to heaven that I were so much clay,

As I am blood, bone, marrow, passion, feeling -

Because at least the past were passed away -

And for the future - (but I write this reeling,

Having got drunk exceedingly today,

So that I seem to stand upon the ceiling)
I say - the future is a serious matter -

And so - for God's sake - hock and soda water!

Marina Tsvetayeva

THE MOUNTAIN WAS MOURNING

.

The mountain was mourning, (and mountains do mourn)

their clay is bitter, in the hours of parting).

The mountain mourned: for the tenderness

(like doves) of our undiscovered mornings.

.

The mountain mourned: for our friendliness, for

the unbreakable kinship of the lips.

The mountain declared that everyone will

receive in proportion to his tears.

.

The mountain grieved because life is a gypsy camp

and we go marketing all our life from heart to heart.

And this was Hagar's grief. To be

sent far away. Even with her child.

.

Also the mountain said that all things were a trick

of some demon, no sense to the game.

The mountain sorrowed. And we were silent.

leaving the mountain to judge the case.

.

Russia

Louisa May Alcott

A SONG FROM THE SUDS

.

Queen of my tub, I merrily sing,

While the white foam raises high,

And sturdily wash, and rinse, and wring,

And fasten the clothes to dry;

Then out in the free fresh air they swing,

Under the sunny sky.

.

I wish we could wash from our hearts and our souls

The stains of the week away,

And let water and air by their magic make

Ourselves as pure as they;

Then on the earth there would be indeed

A glorious washing day!

.

Along the path of a useful life

Will heart's-ease ever bloom;

The busy mind has no time to think

Of sorrow, or care, or gloom;

And anxious thoughts may be swept away

As we busily wield a broom.

.

I am glad a task to me is given

To labor at day by day;

For it brings me health, and strength, and hope,

And I cheerfully learn to say-

"Head, you may think; heart, you may feel;

But hand, you shall work always!"

Eunice Odio

CONSUMMATION

.

Like white nocturnal animals

your arms gather

where my soul beats softly.

.

Your voice

flickers by my side

like a piano of deep silver

simple as—when alone—the sea

arranges shipwrecks of fish and wine

for the next season of water.

.

Then,

my love slides beneath your voice

My sex floods like the world

and holds birds,
.

Doves and naked bodies burst from my breast.
.

Already within you

I cannot find myself,

falling in the path of my body,
.

With a submerged and tender

dense vocation,

With collapsing breath

and final shape.

.

You lead me to my body,

and I arrive,

expanding my womb
.

and its vast dampness,

where gentle mangers grow and white lilies

and a small animal,

suffering and transient.
.

II

.

Ah,

if only I could find you one day

placidly on the verge of my death,

arousing my ear with your love

through which water runs

without re-birth . . .
.

If only I could find you one day

—so close to death and so celestial—

at the border of this slope

all that suddenly remains with the afternoon.

.

Ah,

Comrade,

.

How I love you at times

for your man's name

.

And for my neck where your soul rests.

Juan Sanchez Pelaez

INTERVALOS

.

INTERVALS

.

The decanted route

that emerged from our shore

was the great river

is a prairie, a diamond that covers us

here is its exact plane:

the rigor of its openings and closings,

its unfathomable lucidity when

the afternoon is fading,

when everyone has left and the house

is empty,

and the puppeteer and children

pretend to be adults.

.

Venezuela

Constantine P. Cavafy

THE FOOTSTEPS

.

Eagles of coral

adorn the ebony bed

where Nero lies fast asleep --

callous, happy, peaceful,

in the prime of his body's strength,

in the fine vigour of youth.

.

But in the alabaster hall that holds

the ancient shrine of the Aenobarbi

how restless the household deities!

The little gods tremble

and try to hide their insignificant bodies.

They've heard a terrible sound,

a deadly sound coming up the stairs,

iron footsteps that shake the staircase;

and, faint with fear, the miserable Lares

scramble to the back of the shrine,

shoving each other and stumbling,

one little god falling over another,

because they know what kind of sound that is,

know by now the footsteps of the Furies

Eunice Odio

DECLENSIONS OF THE MONOLOGUE

.

I am alone

completely alone
.

between my waist and my dress

alone with my entire voice
.

with a cargo of slight angels

like those caresses which collapse

alone through my fingers.
.

A confused child of sand

seeks a blue canoe

amid my floating hair.
.

He holds his tribes of scent

with a pale thread,
.

thirteen pilgrims rush

to my profile of rose

at the quietest corner of my eyelids.

.
II
.

I arch slightly over

my heart of stone and flower

to see it,
.

to wear my arteries

and my voice

in a given moment
.

when someone arrives

and calls to me . . .

.

but now I don't wish to be called,

I fit in the voice of no one,

do not call,

.
because I'm descending to the depths of my meagerness

to the satisfied roots of my shadow,
.

because now I'm descending to the anguished

touch of a miner, carrying his half-open flower on his shoulder

and a big sign of love on his belt.
.

I descend further
.

into the immediacies of air
.

Hurriedly waiting for the letters of its name

to be born perfect and habitable
.

I descend even further,
.

Who shall find me?
.

I wear my arteries,

(what great haste I have)
.

I wear my arteries and my voice

I wear this heart of stone and flower,
.

so that in a given moment

when someone arrives

.
and calls to me
.

and not finding me

lightly arched over my heart, to see it,

.
I will not have to go and leave my great voice,
.

and my high heart

of stone and flower.

.

Equador

Miguel Hernandez

FINAL SONNET

.

For un-feathering the glacial archangels,

the barbed-lily snowfall of slender teeth

is condemned to the weeping of fountains

and the sadness of well-springs.

For diffusing its soul into metal,

for the fire to grant its sunrise to iron,

the torrential blacksmiths’ draw it

to the sorrow of harsh anvils.

To the painful sting of the thorn,

to the fatal discouragement of the rose,

and the corrosive action of dying,

I see myself given, and all this ruin

is for no other misfortune, no other reason

than loving you, and only loving you

Ikkyu

A MEAL OF FRESH OCTOPUS

.

Lots of arms, just like Kannon the Goddess;

Sacrificed for me, garnished with citron, I revere it so!

The taste of the sea, just divine! Sorry,

Buddha, this is another precept I just cannot keep.

Eugenia Sanchez Nieto

ESPACIO HABITADO

.

INHABITED SPACE

Someone moves discreetly in the night

he smokes deeply while the sound of a harmonica

seeps into bodies and walls

the proximity of an unknown being observing the hills

would frighten off at night any serene soul.

.

Sudden moves startle my rest

my galloping heart throws me down

a clumsy woman comes out into the corridor

beings of night people my space

absolute stillness, shining eyes pursue the shadow

I advance, I advance

I kick red apples that roll as I pass.

.

Someone at the back of the room

under the light of the moon writes:

Give yourself up to the man positioned in your room

I am the night you are solitude

desire is a tree in which light drowns

all that we possess is in this fire

.

Colombia

Ruben Dario

THE DEATH OF A POET

.

Only the Swans that day

Saw the high maker of our thoughts embark

And on the Lake Mysterious fade away

In the black ship that crosses to the dark.

.

The poet's robe was his,

Embroidered with illustrious fleurs-de-lys;

And laurel leaf and thorn

His sad prefigured forehead did adorn.

.

Afar God's City rose,

Where everlasting Peace her throne has reared

Above the poppy-meadows of repose;

And as the coat of his desire he neared,

He proved divine delight, knew grace untold,

Beheld the Cross uplifted and, before

That sacred Conqueror,

The fallen Sphinx, a corpse already cold.

.

Nicaragua

Dirty Old Man

Wind swept attorney the focus over the plier jack

almost a death for people of the bridge, they're so wise

lofts out of barns got super expensive at the knock down

the real booze lies in a horse sleeping the floating hair

bicycle stairway all covered with manicure and doubt

the treasure is the speaking all out loud as proclaimed

your turn is butt boy at the track final matron on ice

the peer at the dome crusher fatal mix a cure instantly.

Milarepa

THE PROFOUND DEFINITIVE MEANING

.

For the mind that masters view the emptiness dawns

In the content seen not even an atom exists

A seer and seen refined until they're gone

This way of realizing view, it works quite well

.

When meditation is clear light river flow

There is no need to confine it to sessions and breaks

Meditator and object refined until they're gone

This heart bone of meditation, it beats quite well

.

When you're sure that conducts work is luminous light

And you're sure that interdependence is emptiness

A doer and deed refined until they're gone

This way of working with conduct, it works quite well

.

When biased thinking has vanished into space

No phony facades, eight dharmas, nor hopes and fears,

A keeper and kept refined until they're gone

This way of keeping samaya, it works quite well

.

When you've finally discovered your mind is dharmakaya

And you're really doing yourself and others good

A winner and won refined until they're gone

This way of winning results, it works quite well.

Ileana Malancioiu

ANTIGONE

.

A frozen mound, white body of a dead man
fallen in hard battle and left above the Earth.
Hungry dogs come to bite the treacherous snow
and another winter comes, too, to take its bite.
Let a pure woman appear to break the command,
to wrench the forsaken body from the dogs
and hide it as a dear brother--
while those near her wash their hands of it

and allow her to be buried alive in the earth
clothed in unreal white,
for as the emperor lost his great battle
she wept and buried her frozen mound

.

Romania

Ernesto Trejo

TONIGHT THIS HOUSE SPEAKS

.

Tonight this house speaks to me

through the creaking in the cupboards

and the refrigerator's humming.

Believe me, when this house shakes

under my feet

it isn't because of the train.

There's something in the basement.

I don't know what, I've never been there,

I'm afraid of the empty room

that leads to it.

.

Tonight I'm a hearing machine.

Beer bottles are crashing

in the dusty corners.

Even the spiders

are hesitant.

The crack in the ceiling

is a fissure in the brain

for all I know,

this kidney ache might be a sign

of rusty pipes, the cricket's

clicking has been the song

of my ventricles

all these years.

.

Thank God the water goes on at 2.

Then I sleep

while the plum tree drinks on,

a water full of sounds.

Rosario Castellanos

THE OTHER

.

Why pronounce the names of gods, stars,

froth of an invisible ocean,

pollen from the most distant gardens?

If life aches us, if each day comes

tearing us apart, if each night

falls convulsed, assassinated.

If the grief of an unknown person

grieves us, but he is

always present, and is the victim

and the enemy and love and all

that we need in order to be whole.

Never say that the darkness is yours,

don’t drink joy down with a single swallow.

Look about you: there is the other, there is always the other.

The air he breathes chokes you,

what he eats is your hunger.

He dies with the purest half of your death

Gregory Corso

THE MAD YAK

.

I am watching them churn the last milk they'll ever get from me.

They are waiting for me to die;

They want to make buttons out of my bones.

Where are my sisters and brothers?

That tall monk there, loading my uncle, he has a new cap.

And that idiot student of his--

I never saw that muffler before.

Poor uncle, he lets them load him.

How sad he is, how tired!

I wonder what they'll do with his bones?

And that beautiful tail!

How many shoelaces will they make of that!

Ho Chi Minh

At 2pm the cages are opened

to clear the air,

All the prisoners raise their faces

look up at the free sky.

Free sky is the home of immortals,

Do they know

that in this cage

is another immortal?

Charles Cimic

IN THE LIBRARY

.

There's a book called

"A Dictionary of Angels."

No one has opened it in fifty years,

I know, because when I did,

The covers creaked, the pages

Crumbled. There I discovered

.

The angels were once as plentiful

As species of flies.The sky at dusk

Used to be thick with them.

You had to wave both arms

Just to keep them away.

.

Now the sun is shining

Through the tall windows.

The library is a quiet place.

Angels and gods huddled

In dark unopened books.

The great secret lies

On some shelf Miss Jones

Passes every day on her rounds.

.

She's very tall, so she keeps

Her head tipped as if listening.

The books are whispering.

I hear nothing, but she does

Martha Kornblith

PRAYERS TO AN ABSCENT GOD

.

That's why we dedicate our books

to the dead.

Because we carry the hopeless conviction

they listen to us.

We, accomplices to

less innocent careers,

believe we will be gods

in other worlds

because we think happiness

is the miracle's distance

when we dream of one word,

when we watch airplanes rising......