Tag Archives: poesía contemporánea

Elqui Burgos

RES MISTICA
ah
nacer 2 veces
mirarse en el espejo
y descubrir
que salvo tú en este instante
cuerpo mío
todos los dioses son barro destruido
pero qué manera de olvidarme
qué manera de engañarse
y ser sólo vuelo
pluma de sol
y jamás ala de nada

GLORIOSI CORPORIS
el cuerpo es memoria
una simple lata de conserva
ahí estoy anterior a mi nacimiento
agallas de pez
corazón palpitante y cálido de lagarto
panza arriba escrutando
un cielo azul
azul
y ciego y a oscuras
con los ojos del alma
nunca vi arcángeles
que entre nubes de arena revoloteando
junto a mí me acompañaran
solo este cuerpo y su sombra
clavado
en el centro de 3 desiertos
el cielo / el mar
y yo
solitaria locura solar
brizna de mi nada y mi todo
ah este fabuloso querer sólo tú mi sol encarnado
no otro querer sino tú mi locura y mi límite
tú mi abismo y mi risa de mono
no otro sufrir sino tú mi llaga y mi pena
tú mi comercio con la palabra
nada es bello fuera de ti
nada sin saber leer
mi flor de escritura
plural en carne viva
nada si vivo mal en mi cuerpo
ah y ser sólo este cuerpo
huevo cósmico
/ ombligo y mentira
que abre los ojos
como quien descubre
por vez primera
el mundo

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The song of the needles

Needles have the sudden beauty
of a first line.
They’re always new and surprising
as they burst from their paper covering.
They sing as they hit the air.

You catch sight of them
out of the corner of your eye,
glinting softly to themselves
as they contemplate their next move.

What they’re suggesting is inspired,
but a certain sadness
attends their description
of what is going on.
You don’t know whether to look away,
or accept what they’re saying.

If you’re lucky you’ll feel a pop
as one of them enters your fistula
and a cool feeling of recognition
spreads up through your arm.

By Hugo Williams
(UK, 1942)
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Joshua Edwards

Cathay
Wrongheaded and obsequious
on vacation, unnerved
by new surroundings, I miss
the bright feeling of belonging
and the familiar patterns of my country,
its virginity and schizophrenia,
my several stolen bicycles.

 


Symbolic gestures feel
bound not by referential expression,

but by mystery and drama. If all
languages are essentially alike,
then softness or firmness is a matter
of tissues in which blood takes a clausal

complement. Taste for etymology,
however, comes from the poetry of
crucial decision making, fruit in one

hand and broad-bladed knife in the other.

 

Late morning
In a vending machine I see my reflection
alongside the sun’s, and I watch these two
impervious flowers of being merge, transpose,
and dehisce, faces ghosted together on parallel
planes of glass, laughing over the foaming ocean.
To imagine the self as the sun or its warmth
is pleasurable, but something else is needed
to purge the urban smell from the dank
library of late morning. Walking along
the seawall, I feel waves and wind beating
against the island’s rocks and shoulders,
I see citizens filled with sorrow that expands
as water orchestrates their slow effacement.
Just as I arrive home, two salesmen accost me.
They want to sell me my preternatural face.
They tell me that although time is running out,
I can still find happiness, romance, and eternity.
I reply that I believe in an impersonal life,
I’m hermetic, and my blood is on fire.

 

Problems of knowledge
Translation broadens language
as divorce and remarriage extend family.
Born to fade and break, facts
huddle inside black brackets.
Work means inquisition as a child
separates a cricket’s wings from thorax.
Ideas come apart as monads, metastasizing
rhapsody on the edge of delicate dusk.
Thunder sounds in the distance or television,
always on in this constant rain.

Poems by Joshua Edwards

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Aram Saroyan

Minimal Poems by Aram Saroyan
(New York, 1943)

[You can read the whole book here

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Youdhisthir Maharjan

 

Altered texts by Youdhisthir Maharjan

For more great pieces you can visit his Tumblr !

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