Words

Words

Words

(Bardo Thodol, Homer, de Sa Carneiro,

Macedo, Juhasz, Bonnefoy, Eluard, Amichai,

Seneca, Orghast, Schehade, Pilinszky, Sorescu,

Pennati, Medici, Ovid, Wedekind, Aeschylus,

Lorca, Sidran, Racine, Euripides, Pushkin)

by Roberto Lavidez

what has

happened

to me?

what has

happened?

a surge

would

uproot me

and shatter

me on

rock-edges

sluicing

my whole

trouble

to nothing

I want

to pull

myself

together

but go on

disintegrating

I fight

I enforce

useless

I float off

when

the mirror

is broken

open

your

nakedness

and mine

whisper

together

against us

everyday

a hundred

bullets

blast me

off my

feet

every day

get up

a hundred

times

more whole

the eyes

wind on

what

fleetings

of death

and it is

us in this

wind

in this

water

in this

cold

now

you rise

the water

opens

you lie

down

the water

spreads

but through

the wound

on my chest

God peers

into the

world

from the

beginning

to the end

the road is

laid down

human

scheming

is futile

kshhmaibya

geus

urva

gerezhda

kahmai

ma

thwarozhdum

ke

ma

i-e

i-e-o

i-e

a-e-u-i

ni-e

nia-e-ka!

those

black birds!

everywhere

I go

the crows

are watching

you comb

your hair

in the

mirror

silently

as in

a coffin

of glass

suddenly

a whistle

shrieks out

behind a

passer-by

master of

the sense

of emptiness

and of

the sense

of fullness

the tiny ant

brings

the sun’s

flame

burning

and clear

out of the

ancient caves

she murmured:

which god

jealous of

beautiful

youth

plots now

to slay

this one?

it’ suddenly

so dark

I can’t see

my hand

in front

 of my face

look there

now

a heart

pounding

thick with

hatred

behind the

door

the moon

leaves

a knife

hanging

in the sky

an ambush

of lead

that lies

in wait

for the

agony of

blood

the night

is unreal

quiet

like hell

which

does not

exist

all my

studied care

to preserve

myself

has brought

me

to this

I have lost

myself

I search

but I cannot

find myself

words!

don’t

you see

what has

happened?

with the

word

burn the

hearts of

the people

©robertolavidez2015 

remains of Lorca

by Roberto Lavidez

why was I

born among

mirrors?

the daylight

revolves

around me

the heart

feels like

an island

in the

infinite

silence

death is

looking

at me from

the towers

of Cordoba

can you

see the

wound

I carry

from my

throat to

my heart

if I am

dying

leave the

balcony

open

through

the laurel

branches

I saw

two doves

of darkness

the one

it was

the sun

the other

one

was lunar

ever

ever

garden of

my torture

your body

flies from

me forever

the rose

was not

looking

for the

rose

was

unmoving

in the

heavens

the lamps

went out

the crickets

lit up

through the

olive trees

they come

bronze and

dream

the gypsies

leave

my hard

ivory skull

forever

have pity

on me

a peal

from the

belltower

lost in the

dimness

every song

is the

remains

of love

©robertolavidez2015 

what’s going on

here Vallejo?

by Roberto Lavidez

what’s going on

here, in this

son of man?

the city shouts

and in the hall

of the Louvre

a child cries

in terror

at the sight

of the portrait

of another child

my mother

turns up

the collar

of my

overcoat

not because

it is beginning

to snow

but so

it begin

to snow

today

on one cheek

north

and on

one cheek

east

came out

of the poor

neighbor

of the wind

today

a splinter

has gotten

into her

the word

of man

free from

adjectives

and adverbs

which

woman

declines

in her unique

female case

even among

the thousand

voices

of the

Sistine

Chapel!

I look at

the hungry

man’s pain

and see that

this hunger is

so far away

from my

suffering

that were

I fast unto

death

at least

a blade

of grass

would always

sprout from

my tomb

let there

be milk

in blood

let a candle

be added

to the sun

eight hundred

to twenty

let eternity

pass under

bridges

the steps

have left

the kisses

the pardons

the crimes

what continues

in the house

are the foot

the lips

the eyes

the heart

confidence

in wickedness

not in the

wicked

in the glass

but never

in the liquor

in the corpse

not in the

man and

in yourself

alone

in yourself

alone

in yourself

alone

the low point

of my life

hasn’t

happened

yet

I will die in

Paris in a

downpour

a day which

I can already

remember

©robertolavidez2015 

Pasternak’s ink

by Roberto Lavidez

wide

wide

wide

river

and field

stretch

away

snow is

falling

all is lost

the whole

world’s

streaming

past

our gatherings

are testaments

so the secret

stream

of suffering

may warm

the cold

of life

the candle

burned

on the table

the candle

burned

when did

the stars

sweep

down

so low

midnight

sink

so deep

in tall grass

consciousness

started

to flash

here

it seems

flooding

in play

even the

corners

of mind

where it’s

always

bright

as day

it seems

a primal

happiness

was setting

it seems

the wood

was sunk

in sunlet

dream

at twilight

the swifts

have no

power

to hold

back

that pale

blue

coolness

that moon

a numb

hound’s

tongue

is there

frozen tight

that mouths

like the

forgers

of coins

are stung

as if into

unprecedented

faith

I cross

into this

night

poetry

tonight

I’ll squeeze

you out

to make

the parched

sheets

flower

under

the blind

the steppe

plunges

from step

to star

below

the black

shows

through

and the

wind’s

furrowed

with cries

beyond

it’s Sunday

breaking

branches

the glade

running off

sliding

on leaves

has the

birch

copse

stopped

fading

staining

its shade

more watery

still

and growing

then?

isn’t its

meaning

for endless

lives

squandering

on nightingales

your glory?

I’m alone:

the Pharisees

are met

to live’s

not to

cross

a field

I’ll moisten

my lips

listening

whether

as ever

I’m loneliness

and ready

maybe for

weeping

better to

spread

the coat

on the

ground

here

beneath me

I think

I can

call on

words

that will

last:

you are

there

and I

found you

always

my favourite

reading

I am

finished

but you

live on

©robertolavidez2014  

an endless sum

of Borges

by Roberto Lavidez

if there is

no beginning

no ending

and if what

awaits us

is an endless

sum of

white days

and black 

nights

we are 

already

the past

we become

then my

life is

a flight

and I will

lose all

and all

will belong

to oblivion

or to that

other

we live

discovering

and forgetting

that sweet

familiarity

of the night

the ancient

name of

a street

the colourations

of a map

an unforeseen

etymology

a book

a dream

reveals that

they are

forms in

a dream

once dreamt

in Brittany

the moon

of these

nights

is not

the moon

the first

Adam saw

let the

glaciers of

oblivion

take and

engulf me

mercilessly

the reddened

mirror 

facing to 

the west

where burns

illusory dawn

fate

permits me

the gift

of choosing

for once

that silent

flower

where will

the rose

in your hand

exist that

lavishes

without

knowing

intimate gifts

the slowly

leaves

recall a child

who gravely

dreams

vague things

he cannot

understand

at dawn

I seem

to hear

a turbulent

murmur of

multitudes

who slip away

tonight

the moon

bright circle

fails to

dominate

space

I know

the customs

and souls

and that

dialect

of allusions

that every

human

gathering

goes weaving

at dawn

I gaze

at my hands

in my hands

the veins

there

in the

twilight

there persists

what’s almost

non-existent

bold

sad

an ancient

murmur

of bibles

war

I’ll erase the

accumulated

past

I’ll make

dust of

history

dust of dust

the afternoon

you gaze on

prove your

last

I think

of things

that weren’t

but might

have been

assiduously

I plot

these lines

in twilight

emptiness

a man

who as

Voltaire

wished

cultivate

his garden

©robertolavidez2014  

what am I to do with it?

(Akhmatova, Mayakovsky, Voznesensky,

Pasternak, Khlebnikov, Mandestam, Pasternak)

by Roberto Lavidez

these days

we’ve got

to take

brass

knuckles

and split

the world’s

skull open

in everything

I feel like

reaching

straight

to the

heart

of the

matter

dreams

are a harm

and it’s

useless to

fantasize

like a

burden

henceforth

superfluous

the shadows

of songs

and passions

have

disappeared

through the

silence

sails

a soundless

chorus of

midnight

birds

I want

to go home

to the

enormity

of the

apartment

that inspires

sadness

a body

is given

to me

what am  I

to do

with it

so whole

and so

much

mine?

to leave the

handwriting

of my dust

on the stern

windows

like an

inmate’s

autograph

what are you?

what?!

you look

with longing

into books

through 

windows

but where

are you

there?

I would

have laid

out

verses

like a

garden

trembling

in all their

veins

streets

are our

paintbrushes

public squares

our palettes

you think

on the

cheeks of

the café

it’s the sun

that lovingly

caresses

love

love

love

madly love

love itself

as the

windows

dissolve

into the

garden

and suck

in the lilac

©robertolavidez2014  

Kafkaesque

obscurity

by Roberto Lavidez

there are only

two things

truth and lies

explained by

the obscurity

of ancient times

I am standing

on a piece

of waste land

dancing the

dances of

the age

in order

to be safe

from the

sirens

escape like

steam in

the very

moment

between

one’s own

words and

one’s own

convictions

this life

appears

unbearable

another

unattainable

a nibbling

at our own

limits

it must end

in the realm

of the

inexplicable

the answer

prowls

round the

question

the thing

is to darken

or even

indeed

to blot out

to annoy

or to deface

or to destroy

completely

yet I do

nothing

to change

anything

there was

a buzzing

and whizzing

in the fields

he who

seeks

does not

find

even the

glimmer

of the

undying

fire

only a

state of

being

that craves

the last

breath

©robertolavidez2014  

the song of

Jim Harrison

from songs

of unreason

by Roberto Lavidez

I’m an

old man

surging

upriver

on the

back

of my

dream

horse

that I

haven’t

seen

since

I was

ten

out of

almost

nothing

for practical

purposes

nothing

then back

as ancient

children

to the

great

nothing

again

the song

of man

and water

moving to

the ocean

nothing to

console

the morning

but the

dried

grasshopper

on my

desk

who fell

apart

at my

powerful

touch

I see

today

that

everyone

on earth

wants the

answer to

the same

question

but none

has the

language

to ask it

in truth

I am

puzzled

most in life

by nine

horses

many of us

live full term

never seeing

the bullet

the empty

plate of

hunger

the invisible

noose of

disease

a few years

back

I began to

lose the

world of

people

I’ve spent

a lifetime

trying to

learn the

language

of the

dead

of course

we are

condemned

to life

without

parole

until the

gods usher

us in to our

executioners

who live in

a hot

windowless

room

always

dark

you walk

through

doorways

in the mind

you can’t

walk out

then one day

you discover

that you’ve

learned

to fly

were it not

for the new

moon

my sky

would

collapse

tonight

so fed by

the waters

of memory

on a cool

night

there is

a break

from the

struggle

of becoming

I suppose

that’s why

we sleep

we want

to sleep

a long time

not forever

but then

to sleep

a long time

becomes

forever

doom

should be

ashamed

of itself

it’s so

ordinary

happening

to billions

of creatures…

would I still

love the

the creek if

I lasted

forever?

©robertolavidez2014  

not Ginsberg’s fault

by Roberto Lavidez

I’m an

old man

now

and a

lonesome

man

in Kansas

but not

afraid to

speak my

lonesomeness

in a car

life seems

a passage

between

two doors

to the

darkness

hopeless

the poems

of Dante

and

Shakespeare

such stuff

as dreams

are made of

millions of

babies

watching

the skies

bellies

swollen

with big

round eyes

ah!

together

ah!

make peace!

ah what is

this lightness

that we know

body empty

and the mind

just a lot

of words

and propaganda

I been

spreading

getting

scared of

my own

bullshit

too tired

to go out

for a walk

too tired

to end

the war

too tired

to save

body

too tired

to be

heroic

we all

drop

myself

the poet

aging

on the

stool

how fix

a broken

leg?

ease a

heart attack?

deliver

a baby?

breathe in

the mouth

of a man

dying at

oceanside?

I write

poetry

because

I suffer

confusion

not knowing

what other

people

think

it’s everybody’s

fault

but me

I didn’t

do it

I didn’t

start the

universe

the death

of consciousness

is terrible

and yet!

when all

is ended

what regret?

I always

wanted

I always

wanted

to return

to the body

where I

was born

only return

of thought

to its

source

will

complete

thought

consciousness

changes

nightly

dreams

flower new

universes

in brainy

skulls

©robertolavidez2014  

let me drown

my sorrows

( Fu, Shen, Shangyin, Changqing,

Yengwu, Qi, Yu, Binwang, Haoran,

Tingyun, Zhen, Zhizhang )

by Roberto Lavidez

I’m an

old man

and I do

not know

where I

shall be

heading

looking

east

towards

my old

home

the road

stretching

on and on

I can no

longer

dry my

tears

my heart

is broken

in pieces

so let me

drown my

sorrows

in countless

pints of

Xinfeng ale

there is

no way of

knowing

the ways

of the

world

learn

drinking

songs

instead

the affairs

of the

world

are in

disarray

and hard

for me

to assess

I have

offered up

verses

for ten

years now

but nothing

has come

of them

the road

to heaven

is dim and

dangerous

hard to

clamber up

sad

so sad

at the

pointless

way

I have

wasted

time

in hope

no one

believes in

creatures

noble and

pure

who will

convey

what is in

this heart

of mine

a cold wind

blows in the

emptiness

the moonlight

spreads

in waves

left out

and lonely

what am I

hoping for

anyway

facing the

autumn

waves

I weep

in vain

at the river

my eyes

will just

stay open

wide

all through

the night

to make up

for the fact

that during

your life

you always

furrowed

your brows

they laugh

and ask

where

have you

come from

stranger?

©robertolavidez2014  

in (parentheSwiss) poetry

(Genoux, Jenni, Famos, Voelin, Meier,

Wandelere, Pusterla, Lerjen-Sarbach,

Tappy, Giovanni Orelli, Plouda, Chessex,

Giorgio Orelli, Lansel)

by Roberto Lavidez

something

in me

resists and

chokes

blazes up

at the

slightest

breath

no longer

to the future

but to

the past

your

thoughts

will go

moments

fleeting

lizardlike

bid us

savor life

to the full

words

this day

coming back

to graze

my lips

the udders

of cows are

emptied

and tomorrow

those in

the cities

drink

the milk

everyone

will leave

without me

I’ll linger

among

the leaves

near the

lime tree

needing

only to

sense time

in the new

world

after the

fall of

syntax trees

and main

clauses

the loss

of certainties

and

affirmations

left

will be

parentheses

incidentals and

interjections

whenever

I’m all alone

you are

all here

all our

mingled

lives

only the

wind will

revolve

around

our vanished

voices

in the

depths of

the earth

in the

center of

the world

in my face

traces of

time

smile

at me

when

melancholy

would

invade me

with the

earthly

smell

of the

rain

amid such

a familiar

silence

the dead

live more

than the

living

the laurels

on your

graves are

meaningless

human glory

is worth

nothing!

the pleasure

of pissing

without

a hint

of worry

about the

moon or

the wind

©robertolavidez2014  

odes of

all Nerudas

by Roberto Lavidez

I like you

as clay

and sand

I hold you

and shape

you

as you

shaped me

I touch you

and you open

like a faded

rose that

revives for

me alone

my breast

opens like

a bough

light’s

poppies

quiver in

our hearts

the water

flows and

sings

the sky

overhead

is a warm

corolla

your heart

of earth

lent

fertility

and force

to my songs

odes of all

colors

and sizes

seraphic

azure or

violent

odes to eat

odes to dance

odes to track

to be and

not to be

between

waves

that flooded

the universe

with light

of song

I paused

suddenly

to dedicate

a line of

my ode

you would

think that

horses were

galloping

across the

sky

white

mountains

fall

chairs and

armchairs

fall

and so

it was

that night

shadow

and space

earth

and time

something

that flows

and falls

and passes

oh

the land

of nights

we have

never lived

©robertolavidez2014