Monday, January 22, 2007

De Cartinas

Es la una y media de la tarde, llevo la capucha de un buzo bordo puesta en la cabeza, un cigarrillo prendido se consume a la izquierda del portátil. El frió boreal entra por una de las ventanas abiertas del living de casa. El correo llegó temprano hoy, unas postales de amigos viajeros hicieron de la mañana algo distinto. Dos para mí, y una para Victoria.

Las pegué en la pared con las demás. A mis amigos que ocasionalmente y a los que asiduamente leen el blog les digo que manden o sigan mandando postales, de verdad me hace muy feliz saber por donde están y que están haciendo de su vida. Es una forma de mantenernos comunicados y de seguir alimentando una pasión que en algún momento nos juntó y que nos sigue uniendo a pesar del distanciamiento físico.

Una postal a mil correos electrónicos. Una poesía a diez oraciones banales. Una historia a una respuesta sin ganas.

Monday, January 15, 2007

Dublin City Jazz Session

Vol. V

The other evening we introduced ourselves
in the cold winter night,
Temple Bar was the scenario,
dark and powerful,
a tiny crowd listened our pains
and sorrows,
street people was the audience,
more than I’ve expected.

My friend in the guitar arranged
this beautiful and apocalyptical rhythm
to follow my poetry,
chemistry was there man,
I’m sure ‘bout it,
I was hot and tempered
with the sensation that I belonged there,
with my mic and my poem
in the other hand,
shaking my soul
to the naked crowd.

As I was reading and rattling
my bones,
a hammered negro lady came
at the scenario
smiling white and deeply
presented her twisted state
of mind,
she sang and laughed
and screamed
gaelic rambles,
the music of the streets,
the outskirts,
the margined story telling of the
damned and crazy,
the naked words of a candle
that’ll never
fade away.

Everybody was hanging out,
glass eyed junkies half smiling
half rediscovering
forgotten feelings,
now fearless to cry out loud
unselfish secrets,
provocative slang images
from laughter
born in their holiest

Well we were up all night
high with life,
wine bottles in plastic cups
warmed the spirit,
that night sold me
the idea
that for a while
I could pretend to be that someone
I've always dream
to be,

And to be honest,
I was never able to
sleep again.

Capel Street 09/01/07

Picture: Ha'Penny Bridge.

Saturday, January 06, 2007

Dublin City Jazz Session

Vol. IV

Look for me and
You’ll find me
Where the boroughs
have no name,
Where the roads are sinuous and
Follow a non direction sign,
Where the stars collapse at
the break of dawn,
Where the ocean meets the land and
breaks in a furious wave,
Where a man is no man but a
forgotten smile,
Where the grape melts down
in the warm of a belly,
Where the river flows and
tracks down the pebbles of mankind,
Where she moans and cries and
breathes in a white silk bed,
Where the ticket is torn
in a one way go,
Where the dark strikes in a
warm Saharan night,
Where the old man fights for his life in a
nuthin’ to win chess match with Lady Death,
Where the sun turns red and blue and green and pink
when in agony gasps for a last beaten breath,
Where the poet suffers for love and
feels desperate alone,
Where the city forgets its past, present and future
but opens it heart for the delirious of life,
Where the drunk drinks the last drop of beer and
pretends is the last one
Where the beat weeps
understanding the beautiful side of life,

I’ll be there watching,
Understanding and by no means
So if you want to pick me up
Just follow the beaten

Temple Bar, 19/12/06

Picture: Dart Railway over the Liffey River.

Friday, January 05, 2007

Dublin City Jazz Session

Vol. III

I stare at the dim yellow walls
Of my room,
Street noise coming from
The open windows,
A sudden chill runs
Through my spine
Feel cold
And desperate

Maybe I should try closing
The windows
But I don’t wanna,
I like to hear the sound of
Car breaks,
People shouting nonsense screams
And old ladies selling
Vegetables for the pack,

Victorian neighbor flats
Stay put in front of me,
Grey pebbled bricks rise from
The colored stores ground floor,
Open and bright windows in the
Cold of the nigh
Rise the light that shines
In my eyes,

Hush’s the wind that hardens
The depth of winter,
I better close those tiles
And shut that window,
Tomorrow’s another day
Where clouds and fog
Will meet again,
Like two lovers afraid
To die in solitude.

Capel Street, 17/12/06

Picture: The Spire.