Tag Archives: escritor
apartment to let
vibrant radiator harmony,
getting to his ears
before the daylight
ripped open his eyes,
and alphabet soup thoughts
swilled from side to side
in the bowl that is his skull,
twnty seven permutations
of how the day
would end up being,
rolling a cigarette,
strips of paper cut from
an old shelley poetry book
as if inhaling the words
would give creedence to his own,
that languished on pages
scattered like a womans dirty
underwear across the floor,
that masterpiece so often
rewritten not compiled,
new words scraped away the old
confidence from caffeine
lifted him to another level,
sun filled evey corner
a morning bronze age
renaissance to the heart,
sat up scratching legs
it would be complete
Universal Studios Lot, Instagram by sessepien
Robert Creely – To And
Martin Adan – Sea and Shell
A woman and a ball: out of a sudden agreement
the world forms, in its inane rotation.
It begins with the fish, which inhabits the wasteland.
A curve sighs. Nothing swells immediately.
A mathematical point: the sphere,
void, terrestrial, a cloud of breath.
If the chimera doesn’t declare itself
in service and pure verse,
it will wail its words of truth.
The world revolves in an animal rush.
The most humble fish, of all the mud,
mired in the eye, bearing the colure.
A leg, or terror, arises, expands:
the air is the passion of the bather:
light, in recess, flashes and dies out.
A woman and a ball drop from a bristle,
a thin line of ice in which everything concludes,
matter the hand raises into view.
World in the air, simple being and aspect:
algae rising boldly within the descent.
A fish that bites its own tail bleeds mud.
Fabio, this passage and flow and writhing I’m thinking of
is the world: element, eruption: everything, nothing,
in the immense power.
From the rhythm: figures and the first creed,
and happiness, a lesson for the universe as it rolls
into time, pulling along its shell and ancient verse.
translated by Katie Silver and Rick London
Namdeo Dhasal- Man You Should Explode (1972)
Man, You Should Explode
Man, you should explode
Yourself to bits to start with
Jive to a savage drum beat
Smoke hash, smoke ganja
Chew opium, bite lalpari
Guzzle country booze—if too broke,
Down a pint of the cheapest dalda
Stay tipsy day and night, stay tight round the clock
Cuss at one and all; swear by his mom’s twat, his sister’s cunt
Abuse him, slap him in the cheek, and pummel him…
Man, you should keep handy a Rampuri knife
A dagger, an axe, a sword, an iron rod, a hockey stick, a bamboo
You should carry acid bulbs and such things on you
You should be ready to carve out anybody’s innards without batting an eyelid
Commit murders and kill the sleeping ones
Turn humans into slaves; whip their arses with a lash
Cook your beans on their bleeding backsides
Rob your next-door neighbours, bust banks
Fuck the mothers of moneylenders and the stinking rich
Cut the throat of your own kith and kin by conning them; poison them, jinx
them
You should hump anyone’s mother or sister anywhere you can
Engage your dick with every missy you can find, call nobody too old to be
screwed
Call nobody too young, nobody too green to shag, lay them one and all
Perform gang rapes on stage in the public
Make whorehouses grow: live on a pimp’s cut: cut the women’s noses, tits
Make them ride naked on a donkey through the streets to shame them
Man, one should dig up roads, yank off bridges
One should topple down streetlights
Smash up police stations and railway stations
One should hurl grenades; one should drop hydrogen bombs to raze
Literary societies, schools, colleges, hospitals, airports
One should open the manholes of sewers and throw into them
Plato, Einstein, Archimedes, Socrates,
Marx, Ashoka, Hitler, Camus, Sartre, Kafka,
Baudelaire, Rimbaud, Ezra Pound, Hopkins, Goethe,
Dostoevsky, Mayakovsky, Maxim Gorky,
Edison, Madison, Kalidasa, Tukaram, Vyasa, Shakespeare, Jnaneshvar,
And keep them rotting there with all their words
One should hang to death the descendents of Jesus, the Paighamber, the
Buddha, and Vishnu
One should crumble up temples, churches, mosques, sculptures, museums
One should blow with cannonballs all priests
And inscribe epigraphs with cloth soaked in their blood
Man, one should tear off all the pages of all the sacred books in the world
And give them to people for wiping shit off their arses when done
Remove sticks from anybody’s fence and go in there to shit and piss, and
muck it up
Menstruate there, cough out phlegm, sneeze out goo
Choose what offends one’s sense of odour to wind up the show
Raise hell all over the place from up to down and in between
Man, you should drink human blood, eat spit roast human flesh, melt human
fat and drink it
Smash the bones of your critics’ shanks on hard stone blocks to get their
marrow
Wage class wars, caste wars, communal wars, party wars, crusades, world
wars
One should become totally savage, ferocious, and primitive
One should become devil-may-care and create anarchy
Launch a campaign for not growing food, kill people all and sundry by
starving them to death
Kill oneself too, let disease thrive, make all trees leafless
Take care that no bird ever sings, man, one should plan to die groaning and
screaming in pain
Let all this grow into a tumour to fill the universe, balloon up
And burst at a nameless time to shrink
After this all those who survive should stop robbing anyone or making others
their slaves
After this they should stop calling one another names white or black,
Brahmin, Kshatriya, Vaishya, or Shudra;
Stop creating political parties, stop building property, stop committing
The crime of not recognising one’s kin, not recognising one’s mother or sister
One should regard the sky as one’s grandpa, the earth as one’s grandma
And coddled by them everybody should bask in mutual love
Man, one should act so bright as to make the Sun and the Moon seem pale
One should share each morsel of food with everyone else, one should compose
a hymn
To humanity itself, man, man should sing only the song of man.
Namdeo an activist poet passed away on Wednesday 15th January 2014 , a man who broke the rules of traditional poetry
Leon de Grieff – Song of Dinarzada / Canción De Dinarzada
You were mine, burning Dinarzada:
your whole being handed my supplication
your whole being is important to me Nothing!
everything your fire melted into my fire!
You were mine, burning Dinarzada!
Because I care what the grim blind course!
fire for me is desolate
barren plain! Lightened sailed
under the disheveled storm!
All your fire melted into my fire!
Your big heart, your ecstatic soul,
your fine spirit, I beg
surrendered: Nothing donáronse my!
Overnight: give me your arms only,
Dinarzada subtle, dream night …
You were mine, burning Dinarzada!
Everything your fire melted into my fire!
and in original Spanish
Tú fuiste mía, ardiente Dinarzada:
todo tu ser se le entregó a mi ruego!
todo tu ser se le rindió a mi Nada!
todo tu fuego se fundió en mi fuego!
Tú fuiste mía, ardiente Dinarzada!
Ya qué me importa el torvo rumbo ciego!
Es lumbre para mí la desolada
llanura yerma! Alígero navego
bajo la tempestad desmelenada!
Todo tu fuego se fundió en mi fuego!
Tu grande corazón, tu alma extasiada,
tu espíritu finísimo, a mi ruego
se rindieron: donáronse a mi Nada!
Noche: en tus brazos únicos me entrego,
Dinarzada sutil, noche soñada…
Tú fuiste mía, ardiente Dinarzada!
Todo tu fuego se fundió en mi fuego!
Mario Benedetti – Little Stones At My Window
Once in a while
joy throws little stones at my window
it wants to let me know that it’s waiting for me
but today I’m calm
I’d almost say even-tempered
I’m going to keep anxiety locked up
and then lie flat on my back
which is an elegant and comfortable position
for receiving and believing news
who knows where I’ll be next
or when my story will be taken into account
who knows what advice I still might come up with
and what easy way out I’ll take not to follow it
don’t worry, I won’t gamble with an eviction
I won’t tattoo remembering with forgetting
there are many things left to say and suppress
and many grapes left to fill our mouths
don’t worry, I’m convinced
joy doesn’t need to throw any more little stones
I’m coming
I’m coming.
descent and decay
iron blanket drawn
over graveyards shoulder,
time grizzles in the wind,
on haunches leaving flowers
new ones that repair the vase
to a certain brightness,
tattooed hand
pores darkened by labor
fingers stained by cigarette,
a tear would not fall
enough had shown at the time,
those fingers took a kiss
pressed it to headstone
no inhibition
despite the rumors that had become
a fiction contorted on nights breath,
driven within hours
in a landscape changing
mesh of community falling
into disrepair,
his longing had seen violence
memory carried weapons
and he could only think of
retribution,
slate wiped of all marks
that defined a normal history,
he still had a key
that room there own,
now cleansed and let to someone
else,
he visited sometimes
walking amongst others possessions
picturing his own
and her blood
scarring the walls
gardens in a candlelit room
i take a hammer
and a nail
to my brother and sister eye,
one gazing south
to shared sand of desert and sea,
other north
through motorcycle lens
to fields of open pleasure,
my visceral concern
is not getting lost between both,
naked to contradiction
my form is seen
bare paleness of a wanting moon
sand still tasted between teeth,
without movement and sound
to the board of memory
each eye nailed
swiftly
so there is no gelatinous collapse
blinking obscura of pain,
i now want
flesh cold
still pale
not written upon by her lips,
hammer has fallen
indenting ground
taking root
Andrew Wyeth Man and the Moon
a file cabinet on the east bound state road
six drawers of the universe
filled with life he could not leave behind
twenty year commitment gone,
thick neck and morning lit face
parked up station wagon
silver leaf scars rusting
doors with rattling windows,
behind a marriage gone like perspiration,
a third from the sun creature
pushed into the office
low humbled
shoulders shrugged into body,
grasped that file cabinet
dragged it to the door lifting carpet tiles,
tailgate flipped open,
company property someone shouted
another mentioned 911,
all other lives abandoned
this was all he had,
one last look
eyes like roses on granite,
pulled away
smearing rubber traces,
freeway surrounded by suburban houses
urban outcrops to his canyon
that became a void,
cassette music kept the corpses away
those corpses of the past
that seem to claw and linger,
a siren
was it for him,
tailgate flipped lock busted
as file cabinet slid progressively out,
braking hard
it dropped on blacktop
engine stalled
a dead bronze beetle
car horns swarmed about,
grunting stood upright that grey oblong
last piece of life
scuffed and scraped,
small key on his chain unlocked top drawer
took out a warm shaken bottle of whiskey
and the gun he kept here since his wife
became afraid,
sucked in air
climbed on top and sat crosslegged,
heaven had shadows that would not conceal him
as he waited,
bullhorn call on gentle breeze
curved outline of the day a flat surface,
and a smile so human appeared
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