El niño loco - Federico Garcia Lorca

Yo decia "tarde".
Pero no era asi.
La tarde era otra cosa
que ya se habia marchado.

(Y la luz encogia
sus hombros como una niña.)

"Tarde" ¡Pero es inutil!
Ésta es falsa, ésta tiene
media luna de plomo.
La otra no vendrá nunca.

(Y la luz como la ven todos,
jugaba a la estatua con el niño loco.)

Aquélla era pequeña
y comia granadas.
Ésta es grandota y verde, yo no puedo
tomarla en brazos ni vestirla.
¿No vendrá? ¿Cómo era?

(Y la luz que se iba, dio una broma.
Separó al niño loco de su sombra.)



El niño loco - Federico Garcia Lorca - Canciones

Agachadas - Juan Gelman

Agachadas

Hay agua, el universo
se refleja chico, asi fueran
los dias de la noche
que respetaran su animal. La tarea
de abrir el corazon a las bodas
del sueño mal soñado con su
familia de desastres,
la neblina sin puertas.
Las rosas no pagan las deudas del pasado,
cantan su resplandor.
Fueron bellas alli, rodeadas
de pasajeros sin ciudad.




Agachadas - Juan Gelman - El emperrado corazón amora - Seix Barral. Bibioleteca Breve

luego de perderme

entre las letras
de tu abecedario
parece ser
que nunca llega
este ultimo dia
sin sol

el invierno

(o el infierno)
es 1 recuerdo
de tu boca
abierta hablando
de nadie en especial.

1 pez

sin aletas
es como 1 hombre
sin revolver
(o poesia).

la soledad

es un hombre tuerto
que solo es rey
de nada.

se te da vuelta el viento

y de los pibes
en las trincheras
el gas te renace
(sinfín) calaveras.

¡No Hay Salida! – grito
el túnel riendo.

SPLEEN - Dennis Lereoy Kangalee

SPLEEN
The more honest you are in your art, the more dishonest you feel you have to become in your life. There’s something broken down, something imminent when you’ve spilled your guts. And you can’t go back and say sorry or I didn’t mean that. Truth, like baby chicks, need to be protected. But we don’t live in no incubator. As soon as you leave the art or whatever you may have created – even if its just a thought or a perfunctory mark on the cave wall (to prove you existed) – you have a choice to make when you back out into “their” world. You can swim upstream and go against the current – but you must be prepared to pay the price. It’s hard revealing the boils and sores on your soul, it’s like an acne-marred face that could be beautiful if it could see beyond itself and into another person’s eyes…I shared a photograph that I took of a lovely woman with a “mental affliction” who had the greatest glimmer I had ever seen, in fact she made me almost ashamed to complain about the death-riot in my head and my dry mouth…I showed it to my counselor and they all neatly decided there was something wrong with me. Why? Cause in the photo a splendid stream of saliva stretched across the yarn of this young woman’s face like a St. Bernard in all it’s glory. And they said that was sick, that I was a sick sick man.

And I lied and said “Oh, my. I did not notice that. That’s obviously a mistake, of course that’s not beautiful, of course I don’t think – “

But it was too late.

But now I’m done, un-done, with none, kaput. Finished.

And so because I no longer have to worry about offending the people whose obscene views of life berate and insult me I can at least – again – be honest and free to not be embarrassed by my desire to feel or be feeled or be feel-ing…all that spins and flows through my veins. And now, especially, when they say: “Oh, may I share a poem with you?” I will watch to see where it comes from. And if they pull it out of their pocket instead of their spleen I’ll know that I am still in hell.




Dennis Lereoy Kangalee

Courderoy - Pearl Jam

I don't want to take what you can give...
I would rather starve than eat your bread...
I would rather run but I can't walk...
Guess I'll lie alone just like before...


Courderoy - Pearl Jam - Vitalogy

en el mar de caca
mis poemas
son barquitos

informamos:

en el telefilm de hoy
los que terminaran
sin correas en el cuello
serán los buenos
para nada.

hijos de puta
dijeron
las palabras

tu lengua

como píldora
para aprender
a contar secretos
al revés

telon rojo
oculta
primavera

siempre decir
lo esencial
pero recordar
callar nunca

que Ñoquis

son las Personas,
dijo el Cocinero
al Hacha
en su Mano

durante mis años

en el teatro
aprendi el ebrio oficio
de imitar los colores
de la bosta
sobre el fuego.