Sunday, August 24, 2014

Cuban 10 :  Lopez, Ezcobar, Vega,
Feijoo, Florit, Guillen, Retamar,
Padilla, de Oraa, Nogueras

by Roberto Lavidez

the years
are lost
lusterless
crackled
the gap
in memory
the sweat
and
sea-spray
you and I
will die
early
you and I
will die
tomorrow
not tomorrow
today
we could
even be
dead
already
the impure
flames
streaked
forth
devouring
in their
delicate rest
the flutes
the hair
the face
fire
constrained
the hoped-for
rational
endings
where
all of us
each are
nothing
but a drop
of water
a mote
of dust
one of those
rising sadly
from the
chimneys
as when
the landscape
disappears
at the
lowering
of eyelids
alexandrines
and forced
marches
vital reasons
and potions
fell silent
disappeared
I would
have wanted
to be let
loose in
the garden
and that
the garden
would grow
and become
the whole
world
I want
to be vast
and swim
in my own
dense waters
to introduce
my face
into the
fortunate
shadow
to reach
that happy
freedom
I will refine
my heart
with different
solitudes
strange
the serene
song
rises in
the evening
and the
green
quiet
trembling
over the
green
and the
disquiet
set in
the deep
background
where the
movement
from abyss
to star
must end
as I descend
without
vocation
or noise
behind what
little there is
of this
unhealthy
wind
and thus
I get
tangled up
insist
repeat the
I can’t touch
since I still
don’t know
if the stain
is my body
my body
shakes
I tremble
torment
myself
what is this
that comes
for me
drowns me
in dark
tears as
would mud
and says:
still
still
you’ll see
how I
immolate
myself
so as
to speak
the shadow
mother
all the way
to the
machine-like
neglect and
broken wings
how the mask
arrives
ash of speech
and the soul
of the poet
uncomprehending
deaf to sighs
insensible
to pleas
refused to
recognize
lubricious
waterfalls
trembling
secret sighs
puddles of
filthy water
happy
the mouths
that the
cloudburst
strikes the
old rains
left in
our hearts
only remnants
of springs
yesterday
I wrote a
magnificent
poem
sadly
I lost it
somewhere
and now
I can’t
remember it
but it was
great
it said
more or less
that I was
in love
is it because
love
so rarely
passes by
that to see it
brings
wonder
shock
astonishment
nostalgia
as if one heard
a language
perhaps
once known
which
the tongue
scarcely
remembers
except as
whispers
the remains
of whispers
we who have
always glanced
with irony
and indulgence
at the motley
collection
of things
from the
turn of the
century
but let those
pass
who make
worlds
dreams
illusions
symphonies
words that
confuse and
construct us
those crazier
than their
mothers
drunker than
their fathers
more
delinquent
than their
children
and more
devoured
by burning
love
oh light
oh great
oh dawn
of strangeness
oh tunnel
that moment
breaking
with the
tenacious
star of your
sleeplessness
my tribute’s
gloomy
splendor
always
past your
shoulders
I see
the world
it sparkles
beneath the
storm clouds
when I’m far
far away
far away
in that valley
so far away
when in
that valley
so far away
I see
the water
I see
the water
golden and
peaceful
dead
when you
may be
on an eternal
voyage
to be
yes
to be
above all
like the
light that
slips away
and in waves
of color
catches
its kiss
tell the truth
at least
tell your truth
and after
let anything
happen
imagine
you’ve got
the night
inside
your basket
imagine
a blind
horse
imagine
the sea’s
a basket
full of
thoughts
a night
you’ve
never seen
will soak you
and you’ll
drown in
the basket
I try
to write
what I see
what I hear
what I can
beneath
the full moon
they went
hunting
guitars and
brought back
this one
pale
delicate
shapely eyes
of inexhaustible
mulata
waist
of wood
with an
opening
the tenor
is in ecstasy
contemplating
the tenor
in the mirror
who is
the same
tenor
in ecstasy
who
contemplates
the tenor
what is
beautiful
is only the
incitement
of the terrible
that we can
yet endure

©robertolavidez2014






















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