Piedad Bonnett – Circle and Ash

Your mouth comes to me, only your mouth.
comes flying
dragonfly blood flare
that lights my night this ash.
entire sea salt dwelling in her,
the whole sound of the sea,
all foam.
Boca drawn for kisses ,
where tantalizing your tongue sleep.
entire world wine is in your mouth,
all the sin
and all innocence.
Boca shut up and when he says, hidden.
Capable of your mouth the whole truth,
the whole truth and lies.
Laugh your mouth and wake up the day.
(Lightning snow there in your laughter.)
As a herd of ponies run over me
kissing your delicious mouth,
your mouth, butterfly wrong,
your mouth others that is blurred
in my circle night and ash.

Mario Bojorquez – Award

As the last day does not return You’ll never be that high voice Tundía under the breath of infinite almonds A lullaby to his chest You will not have to be that That shade of a poplar Rent the air with scattered notes The subtle scent of an afternoon on the river There will be no day you return to your expense Filled with memories of the dark obsequious Solar excessive idleness Cerns perfect As the last day does not return You never on your own steps A walking path open for you In the garden that keeps your memory Not even in deserted Frond you will have to tread To you because transit between fig fruit Pomegranates, flowers at your feet You’re just now that you did not want You’re the one who did not know what he wanted to say Greedy mouth no fruit chews That spoiled, bitch, feast and festival You’re the insaciado looking with envy The overwhelming joy of others Whoever hurts to the bone for the innocent laughter It will cloud your eyes with anger It will swell cruel hands remorse It poisons your blood What fire, what abandonment How miserable are the shores of life As the last day does not return No back in you will concoct bells Holidays in flowered fields Neither your hands browned wheat of eras Nor whiten your snow on your mill As if you had closed universe In a thick fog that prevents you Learn what the rock crevice That must be the source where you drink As if the universe against you Injected into the air that poison Bending your knees So as the day turns A spin on its hinges hours and passes And overhead the sun will go down Lost to So you lose So as you lose you lose The scent in the air that always blows hard You’ll miss so terribly That to your eyes can recognize your own skin Neither your ears hear your voice As if talking on another that you Not even your blood It will respond pálpito And the tongue utter A language that is unknown to you today. Do not grieve Hurt to lose. You call Bitter, in your gums It will bloom a garden of tree-scale And in your head start seborrhea high tufts Niagara mist in your eyes You call without reproach wounded The living skin ulcer land where you step Without faith you call And there will be another you Built in penalty That round will infect Leprosy is righteous It must distinguish in the market The mob cried He will announce you arrive The stench of your acids The clear bell is anticipated And you wondered why back Why and what And what return If the return would smell bouquets awaiting your step If yes minor fronds fruit curds, cheerful blooms, light concrete and acid, And back with an army of sources nymphs dancing for you If I go back in the water, ductile, light, fluent, if in the air If you awaken in the back you are, if you come back spin, spinning, start from yourself If you become, if you founded back, come back without hesitation Although recent days should not happen again

Léopold Sédar Senghor – Elegy Of Midnight

 

Summer, splendid Summer, nourishing the Poet on the milk of your light
I who grew up like the wheat of spring, which made me drunk
From green water, from the green steaming in the gold of Time
Ah! no longer can I tolerate the midnight light.
The splendor of such honors resembles a Sahara,
An immense void, with neither erg nor rocky plateau,
With no grass, no twinkling eye, no beating heart.
Twenty-four hours a day like this, and my eyes are wide open
Like Father Cloarec’s, crucified on a boulder by the Joal pagans
Who worshipped snakes. In my eyes the Portuguese lighthouse
Turns round and round, twenty-four hours a day,
A precise and restless mechanism, until the end of time.

I jumped out of bed, a leopard about to be snared,
A sudden gust of Simoom filling my throat with sand.
Ah! if I could just collapse in the dung and blood, in the void.
I turn around among my books watchilng me with their deep eyes
Six thousand lamps burning twenty-four hours a day.
I stand up lucid, strangely lucid. And I am handsome,
Like the one-hundred-runner, like the rutting black stallion
From Mauritania. I carry in my blood a river of seeds
That can fertilize all the plains of Byzantium
And the hills, the austere hills.
I am the Lover and the locomotive with a well-oiled piston.

Her sweet strawberry lips, her thick stone body,
Her secret softness ripe for the catch, her body
A deep field open to the black sower.
The Spirit germinates under the groin, in the matrix of desire
The sex is one antenna mong many where flashing messages are exchanged.
Love music no longer can cool me down, nor the holy rhythm of poetry.
Against this despair, Lord, I need all my strength
—A soft dagger in the heart as deep as remorse.
I am not sure of dying. If that was Hell: the lack of sleep
This desert of the Poet, this pain of living, this dying
From not being able to die, the agony of shadows, this passion
For death and light like moths on hurricane lamps at night,
In the horrible rotting of virgin forests.

Lord of light and shadows,
You, Lord of the Cosmos, let me rest in Joal-of-the-Shades,
Let me be born again in the Childhood Kingdom full of dreams,
Let me be the shepherd of my shepherdess on the Dyilôr tanns
Where dead men flower, let me burst out applauding
When Téning-Ndyaré and Tyagoum-Ndyaré enter the circle
And let me dance like the Athlete to the drum of this year’s Dead.
This is only a prayer. You known my peasant’s patience.
Peace will come, the Angel of dawn will come, the singing of birds
Never heard before will come, the light of dawn will come.
I will sleep at dawn, my pink doll in my arms,
My green- and gold-eyed doll with a voice so marvelous,
It is the very tongue of poetry.

—Translated from the French by Melvin Dixon

(from Nocturnes, 1961)

Jean-Claude Pirotte – Poème (2006)

Jean-Claude Pirotte – Poème (2006).

Robert Creely – To And

Olga Orozco- No Doors

With burning sands styling a number of fire over time,

law with a wild animal lurking danger from its burrow,

with vertigo looking up,

your love is kindled but a lamp in the middle of the night,

with small fragments of a world consecrated to idolatry,

with the sweetness of sleep with all your skin covering the cost of fear

in the shadow of leisure tenderly opened a range of celestial meadows,

did everyday loneliness I have.

My loneliness is made of you.

Take your name on your side of stone

in tense silence where they can play all the melodies of hell;

walk beside me with your empty step,

and has, like you, that look that I’m going to look farther each time,

yesterday to a glare that dissolves in tears, in ever.

The doors to my left as one leaves the heir to a

                   [Realm of anyone who goes out and never comes back.

And it grew by itself

feeding on these herbs that grow on the edges of memories

and on stormy nights produce mysterious mirages

scenes with the best bonfires fed fevers.

Well I’ve seen people with blurred malls who sacrifice love

-Invincible characters marble, blind-absorbed as the distance,

or deploy in the middle of a room that rain falling seaside

away in another part ¨,

where you will be filling the bowl with water a few years of neglect.

Sometimes blowing on me with a south wind

a stormy song that suddenly breaks into a broken throat groan of bliss,

or try to delete a piece of ragged hope

goodbye that you wrote with the blood of my dreams in all crystals

to smite everything I watch.

My loneliness is all I have of you.

Howl with your voice in every corner.

When named with your name

grows like a sore in the darkness.

And a sunset up in front of me

that cup of sky was the color of wet poplar and in which

                            [We have drunk the wine of eternity each day,

broke and not knowing, to open the veins,

for you were born as a god of his splendid duel.

And he could not die

and his look was that of a madwoman.

He opened a wall

and walked into this room with a room that has no outputs

and where you’re sitting, staring at you in another life like my solitude.

Alfonsina Storni – Running Water

horizons last echo

april sky so soon

drifting on a serpents tail,

leave things unsaid

as land sloop nods it’s sails

passing by

current winds darkly,

past rises and falls

heart regains soft perfume

and patient curve of dreams,

the dose of milky words is measured

and watch strong veins yield,

fertile nymph swift winged

with gentle reprimand and sweet caress

each phrase an anchor

she is the earth i sought

connect and chains alike rendered

into length across the gulf

range to stars and hand shaped sun,

beam downward facing light

it’s shift as hot  as a hammer strike,

layers heat stripped back

pool of her shine

into a naked dance

witnessed by constellation

who appraised and agreed,

becoming fugitives

beyond a shouting earth

we fled on the arch

of freedoms ray

http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/

 

Charles Bukowski – Last Straw

Charles Bukowski one of his last readings in 1980

splendor and the urban glow

in it’s journey the air skins itself

from the day,

breathe free and roam

away from dark fragrances

that have the stench of destruction,

many colored flowers fear the sunshine

and bee’s in waxen cells wait,

assassin’s claim the holy star

as low shepherds no more as minstrels

play,

ample breasted ornament of the night

gives blessing suppliante aid,

zephyr brings the bleaching draft,

youths desire lanky and untold

held in his journals all that is confident

and private,

cold fires again made him bold,

but from the ground comes an ultimatum

don’t let sorrow bear down,

juicy flood and promised kiss,

half willing freeway traffic unfurls time

as it becomes trapped by clustered vine,

nourished from her bed

lust a luxurious blaze under saffron veils

adds more fever to a new day,

petals had spread from the laden stem,

but those minutes had left ravished eyes

and new reality subsided under overshadowing

wing,

with it’s horrid glare

the air has revealed all