Cosas del pasado

Eras el rey del “debes” y del “tienes que”

Yo la peor de tus súbditos

En ese inestable reino

De noches de luna

Desparramándose sobre las ventanas

O en un mar de verano

Sujeta a voces lejanas

Sorda a tu insistencia

Hacía malabarismos con nuestros días

Desarraigaba palabras

Andaba por la cuerda floja

La visión distorsionada era la norma

Antes del último acto

Un rompecabezas sin todas las piezas

Perdidas aún.

Frases decoradas

Sugiriendo un camino mejor

-aunque “sugerir” y tu no os hablabais-

La vajilla no se rompió

Sólo pedazos de ti

Sólo pedazos de mí

Por el suelo

Al final del día.

OH 2010

........

Things From the Past

You were the king of “must” and “have to”

I the worst of your subjects

In that unsteady kingdom

Of moon nights

Spilling over windows

Or into a summer sea

Clinging to distant voices

Deaf to your insistence

I juggled our days

Uprooted words

Walked the tightrope

Distorted vision was the norm

Before the final act

A puzzle with missing pieces

That remain lost

Decorated  sentences

Suggesting a better path

Although “suggesting” and you

Were not on speaking terms

No broken crockery

Just bits of you

Just bits of me

On the floor

At the end of the day

OH 2010

........

Ayer

Que rescataría de mi infancia:

Animales

Árboles

Flores

Cuervos y otros pájaros

El olor del mar y los pinos

Al atardecer

Polvo y arena entre los dedos de los pies

Libros

Otras vidas

En una pantalla

Lejos de mí

Y nada más.

Yesterday

What I would save from my childhood:

Animals

Trees

Flowers

Crows and other birds

The smell of pines and the sea

At sunset

Dust and sand between my toes

Books

Other lives on a screen

Far away from mine

And nothing else.

OH

........

Letter to a Failed Artist

Dear X

We have studied your case with the utmost attention and reached the conclusion that you are right: your presence in this world it’s no longer necessary. You have no love, children or a dog to bark your absence.

You have no job, and your dreams of perfecting yourself in the art of painting have hit the rocks due to the price of materials. We are aware that food comes before Art if you want to keep on breathing, and although we sympathise we can see that daubing the walls in tomato juice won’t take you very far.

We understand that the act of praying for help has become pathetic to you. You see, we don’t help anyone to win the lottery or put a lover on their doorstep. We don’t get involved with your life and the decisions you make are only your affair. The most we can do is to give you strength to keep on going or seep some inspiration into your head if, for a moment, you put all those negative thoughts, which prevent the moving in of more profitable ones, to one side.

We know you have tried everything, and that there are things in your past determining the way you confront reality. It was not our business then and it is not our business now.

As we said, you are the master of your destiny, the one who decides; therefore we leave to you the way you choose to terminate your contract with this plane.

If you get scared and cower we can send you an unexpected accident by inspiring some other desperado near you. There are plenty.

Something clean and fast, since iit is obvious to us that your suffering is of no benefit to others either.

Hoping to see you soon

McFate. 

(Signature borrowed from Vladimir Nabokov)

OH

........

The Minutes

furious

face

crumbling

fingers flipping pages

unseen by open eyes

looking for an answer

stilling thoughts

with a hammer

radar ears detecting

some signal

from uncooperative

walls hiding

promises of steps

never reaching

her door

the creaking bones of the elevator

stopping on another floor.

OH

........

 Tara   (1995-Junio 28 2010)

¿Que puedo decir de ti
pequeña bola de pelo
transformada en huesos ?
Que ya no estarás
tras de la puerta
celebrando mi llegada a casa
celebrando el bol de comida.
Inteligentes
inquisitivos ojos
preguntando
adelantándose
al movimiento
de mi cuerpo.
Mis pensamientos
eran para ti un juego
compartido por tus dos compañeros
estos que hoy
ante la forma que fuiste
han rechazado comer
y duermen tu ausencia.

OH 2010
........

     Tara             (1995 - June 28 2010)

What can I say about you
my little furry ball
turned into a sack
holding bones ?
You will no longer be
behind the door
celebrating my coming home
celebrating the bowl of food.
Intelligent
inquisitive eyes
forestalling
the movement
of  my body.
My thoughts
were a game to you
shared by your two companions
who confronted today
by the shape you discarded
have refused food
and are sleeping your absence.

OH 2010
........


Primer día de verano

A mi alrededor duermen tres gatos.
Se despereza bostezando el periódico de ayer,
la toalla de camino a la lavadora,
una pintura a medio terminar,
seis libros de poemas,
cada uno hablando de lo mismo:
de la fragilidad del mundo,
dolor, vida, algunas gotas de amor
y también la absurdidad que se filtra y devora.
Árboles flores y el pájaro de un momento,
personas camino de alguna parte,
detenidas, anónimas, en una línea.
Una página sin rostro, esperando
a que mis ojos le den vida.
Emily Dickinson, Becket, Rimbaud
y otros ausentes, sueñan desde las sombras
con su rincón en la estantería.

OH 2010
........


First Day of Summer

Around me the three sleeping cats.
Yesterday’s paper stretching and yawning,
the towel on its way to the washing machine,
a half done painting,
six books of poems,
each one speaking of the same:
the frailty of the world,
pain, life, some drops of love
and also the absurdity
that seeps through and devours.
Trees, flowers and the bird of an instant,
people on their way to somewhere
lingering, anonymous, on a line.
A faceless page waiting
for my eyes to give it life.
Emily Dickinson, Becket, Rimbaud
and other absent ones, dream from the shadows
of their corner on the shelf.

OH 2010
........

 
Before the Summer

The tired drum
beats red paths under
sweaty skin
tongue licks honey
words come
and with this rain
run in the gutter

OH 2010
........

Cuervo

Había muchos cuervos
entre los sembrados y en los árboles
de una infancia en la que sabía
muchas cosas y todas dolían.
Yo seguía su vuelo y ellos
mis infantiles pasos de hierba y barro.
De reojo pretendían ignorarme,
pero sabía que me llevaban consigo
en sus repentinos saltos,
en sus brillantes negras alas.
Acaricié uno un atardecer,
yacía muerto entre los albaricoques
caídos y algunas hormigas.
Las plumas ya algo ásperas
al tacto. Sentí tristeza
por su incomprensible caída
en medio de pensamientos que ya no brillaban.

OH
........

Crow

There were many crows
between the sown fields and the trees
of a childhood in which I knew
many things and all of them painful.
I would follow their flight and they
my childish steps of grass and mud.
Out of the corners of their eyes
they would pretend to ignore me,
but I knew they took me with them
in their sudden leaps,
on their shiny black wings.
I caressed one a certain sunset,
lying dead among the fallen
apricots and a few ants,
the feathers already a bit rough
to my touch. I felt sad
for its incomprehensible fall
between thoughts that were no longer shining.

OH
........

Breaking Up

I did not mind the taste of lemons
When minutes were
A joy each morning
Bitterness was something
That happened to others
In those early days
Clouds gathering on the brow
Drop persistent fear
Of unworthiness
Heavy rocks instead of hands
Weakening all purpose
No sense of direction
No peaceful meadow
By the side of the road
To stop and bask under the sun
Sleep there
Empty of dreams
All memory gone
Erased by another better self
The one who will tell me
When I care to listen
To keep the map to myself.

OH
........

Another Life

I found the photograph between
the pages of a book.
Poems from another century.
I did not recognize the profile
by an open door,
nor the trees you can see
through the window.
But that room has to be somewhere,
with different colours on the walls.
And maybe another profile
comes and goes,
looks at the trees,
but only sees his own thoughts.
It must have meant something
to me if I kept it among words,
following some strange ritual
that did not protect it from becoming
the photograph of a perfect stranger.

OH
........

You and the Moment

Lend me your tongue
To speak your language
I promise to keep
Your thoughts hidden
From the world
I promise to colour
These surroundings
With discreet passion
For others who
Leaning on twilights
Carefully wrapped
Ignore our own.

Lend me your eyes
To follow the sun
From rooftops to valleys
Towards the West
I will seek elusive
Beauty in Northern Lights
Burned forests
Or disjointed railroad tracks
Going nowhere
I´ll confide in lonely
Rivers to wash away
The sadness
That looked through
Them at the first
Light of your world.

Lend me your heart
To learn from sorrow
And silent lakes
In the sky
Of memories dexterously
Engraved by childish
Hands in mornings
When frost scattered
Your blood with crystals
And a chill gave you wings
To take flight. 

OH 2010
........
__________________