My Body of Water

My body of water

Evaporates in the breeze

Condenses, accumulates

Falls from the sky in little tears.

Runs free through the rivers

Waterfalls and rapids

Sleeps among the lakes

And plays in hot springs.

Weary of its travels now

Impatient in the low lands

It slips out discreetly

To sleep in calmer waters.

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Translated by… Martin Boyd

Renacimiento

Nací, y otra vez y a partir…

Sigo naciendo a cada equinoccio, a cada solsticio,

a cada tiempo se renueva esta piel de áspera corteza

y recobra su místico brillo de ámbar.

Nací, en un principio,

del bautismo cristiano que no pudo ser

y del otro que fue en aguas de rio pedregosas

en las afueras de la ciudad de los santos,

los mismos

que ahora penden orgullosos de mi cuello.

Nací, y otra vez y a partir…

Sigo naciendo a cada luna llena, a cada tormenta

a cada página que leo y a cada otra que escribo

reinventandome en/o historias ajenas,

acertijos,

buscando siempre

la ignota causa primera de mi unidad universal.

Nací sin pretenderlo

un día

del verso mas desesperado de Neruda,

de la rosa mas fragante del milagro

de Ibarbourou,

de la sonrisa pagana de Hipatia,

de una principesca imagen de melancolía

en Sonatina,

de el Quijote y su lúcida locura,

y

del mas onirico delirio de Exupéry.

Sigo naciendo, sin detenerme,

mutando,

a ratos consciente y en otros, pareciera que dormido,

en piel de serpiente,

ave, cocodrilo,

poesía

o metal.

Y otra vez y a partir…

Sigo naciendo libre y con rima,

fluyo del verso y el universo me aproxima

a la formula etérea y por de más arbitraria

de mi creación inmaterial.

Porque antes fuí roca,

y ahora

una quimera

con largos brazos como puentes

o ríos

sobre los que cruzan mis fantasmas,

todo lo que fuí, lo que soy

y la única certeza de lo que un día

seré,

la palabra escrita.

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Huesitos de pollo

Acurrucada en mis pies, te duermes serena
pero oscuras tus artes y en mi panza despiertas,
no soy acaso de ti tu almohada predilecta?
por que me castigas entonces con tu indiferencia
y lenta te levantas, mi niña ¡despierta!

Pareces flotar con tus patitas de algodón,
de un mueble a otro saltas cual rayo veloz,
pero nunca te cansas nubecilla ruidosa
y exiges cual reina mi atención, caprichosa.

Me enojo, te escondes, taimada regresas
oscuras tus artes y de un brinco me contentas,
aveces me pregunto si realmente me quieres
o son tantos cariños el pago a mis deberes?

Corro, me persigues, te grito y me ladras
te estiro la cola y te jalo las patas
el día languidece y juntos dormitamos
yo en la mecedora, tu en mi regazo.

Eres de mi vida, su altanera dueña
mis manos tu peine y por cuna mis piernas
te aprieto a mi pecho, me comes a besos
como no escribirte ¡mi niña! estos versos.

Para ti son mis cantos que te saben a arrullo
mis breves corajes, mis desvelos nocturnos,
todas mis almohadas y caricias constantes
el sol de las mañanas, la brisa de las tardes.

Por si fuera poco y no menos importante,
te doy mi paciencia ¡mira que es bastante!
también de mi sonrisa te guardo su miel
y estos ojos, que lo sabes, te saben querer
y por ultimo, mi niña, y si te portas bien,
huesitos de pollo al atardecer.

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I Am My Own Labyrinth

Brown
my landscapes were conceived,
and haughty
my hillsides rose up,
Castilian
my ideas suddenly flowed
and my hairs
were a thousand serpents.
I was borne out of the ancient
bonfires of my demons
without the weighty vesture of my body,
then covered in alabaster was
my system,
in cosmic dust my core,
in marble and stone, gold and blasphemy,
and in ceremonial rite
my sacrament.
I am…
the shipwrecked eyes
of my father
and of my mother, her fragile spine,
my hands are from Aquarius,
my science inexact
and delicate
my silhouette hazy,
ancient is my blood
as ancient are my words
they are always written taciturnly,
time and again
my wandering words
time and again
are written, again
inebriated
under the light of the moon.
I am my own labyrinth,
changeable, deep,
covered in mirrors, some broken
I am a thunderous voice
that pronounces curses,
I am destruction!
splendor!
cataclysm!
a smoldering footprint,
the eternal flame,
my labyrinth gobbles me up
wholly and verse-by-verse,
at times it spits me out and I escape in silences
but then I return
frightened,
lost,
my labyrinth calls me
singing falsehoods
and I enter
unconscious
into its boreal bosom.
Brown
are my landscapes and haughty
are my hillsides,
Castilian my ideas are born
and my hairs… a thousand serpents.

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Translated by  Marie Garcia

The Woman inside

I sing to the girl who sleeps
between my eyebrows,
and between dreams of utopian cities
and hellish fears
she lies awake.
The torchlight woman
of my beaming eyes,
the one who grins, plays
in my unbridled hair,
the one in my arms,
the one in my legs,
the one who weaves gold and silver huipils
with my veins.

The crazy poet
who dances in my hands,
the barefoot warrior
who directs my footsteps,
the one who is born when I laugh,
the one who dies between my sobs,
the one who, running, escapes
in my desperate
screams.

I am a woman of linen,
woman of stone,
woman of mystic philosophy
and ethereal,
crazy woman!
perverse!
deranged!
the roaming wanderer
among frenzied words,
silhouette of dark rites,
illuminated.

I sing to the woman who lives
in my skin,
in my lips,
the sigh that fulminates
in every orgasm,
the erotic woman, naked
hidden within my sexes,
and blended into every moist kiss,
she becomes verse.

Fire does not burn her,
the moon idolizes her,
I sing to the woman inside who,
incarnate
in an eternal verse of love,
dances, dances, and dances,
passionate.

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Translated by  Marie Garcia

My Roots…

…Grow

slowly and slowly they spread,

infinite

and, timid, they feed but do not cease, they devour everything and everything is never enough, they want more.

From my mouth they flow sonorous, they change everything like prose gilded in glinting letters, but pay them no mind… run! hide! they lie, a structureless world cannot be real.

Through my feet they split the concrete, leaving steaming, seething tracks. Through my blood, black and starry like the night, the myths of my existence move densely, written in cosmic ink… my legends. And through my eyes they die, poisoned by nostalgia, drowned by so much reality.

But then…

like spontaneous combustion,

my hands revive them with their boiling touch and through sex they seep out as scalding fluids and my skin becomes drunk on their salt.

They grow, slowly, they continue growing inside and out, they expand furious and furious they burn me, they distance themselves from me, they drink up everything, everything, thirsty and fat, rotund they return.

They burn me, slowly, they burn me,

tangled around my body they penetrate me, my roots

inside and out in a

mortal flame.

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Translated by  Marie Garcia

Solo quiero bailar!

La calle se larga luminosa
y promiscua se arquea indecorosa
a la altura del teatro y mas allá,
una sonrisa se esgrime tentadora
y un par de ojos me guiñan a la sombra
pero yo, solo quiero bailar.

La muchedumbre se arremolina
intoxicada de expectativas
en las esquinas, los restaurantes
tlac tlac tlac, los tacones parlantes
pantalones ajustados, miradas furtivas
romances audaces que solo brillan
cual estrellas fugaces
el cruce de una calle y nada mas.

Una puerta y un custodio
guardando una torre de mármoles y oros
en la esquina de Boylston y Pine st.
entro sigiloso, a paso firme y tormentoso
mas guiños, mas sonrisas
tactos que saben a brisa, y algo mas
pero nada me detiene y subo de prisa
y en la cumbre de la torre, la pista!
y yo… solo quiero bailar.

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Mi cuerpo de agua

Mi cuerpo de agua

Se evapora con la brisa

Se condensa, se acumula

Cae del cielo en lagrimitas.

Corre libre por los ríos

Cascadas y raudales

Duerme entre los lagos

Y juega en manantiales.

Ya cansado de viajar

Impaciente en tierras bajas

Se filtra sigiloso

A descansar en aguas calmas.

Poema seleccionada como parte de la colección “Your body of water” Poetry on busses 2017. En el que aparecerá tanto en portal digital cómo en un transporte publico de la ciudad de Seattle, WA.

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Before the First Kiss

For me… for me speaks my voice, my nervous fingers, my short memory that needs to think more than once about how to describe this feeling to you, what is and what you cannot understand, that which escapes from my sad eyes in its frustrated attempt at being, even if just for a moment, understood. For me speak my lips, which I bite with every deep sigh, my impatient feet, my lost but attentive gaze, my smile, freely given and honest, and wishing to be reciprocated. For me speak these restless hands to tell you, even through silly gestures, how much I like your eyes, and how much it scares me that I like them so, and my own, my eyes, want to tell you that it doesn’t matter that there are no articulate words, that I don’t need any because my scalding mouth will learn your language with every touch, in every breath there will be a story, and in each kiss… my secrets.

I want you to know, with the clarity of my stilted words, more because of nerves than anything else, that I will give this night to you completely, from the first kiss to the farewell sun, for you to see in every stutter, in every misspoken word, that I am enchanted by your scent, your infinite nose, your crooked eyebrows and the shape of your neck, for my madness about you, about this night, about the rain that won’t let you leave and which I don’t want to end, to last forever, like your gaze that traverses me. You must realize once and for all that I am weakened by you, by your breathing, vulnerable to your hands that deliberately caress mine and by your strange accent that confuses me and interlaces clumsily with my own, that like this, so close, without saying anything, I tell you everything.

For me speaks my native language, my breath, this beating heart that I hand over to you, my foreign past and my present now with you, my uttered lies, my hidden truths, my reason for being right here on this night, and in short, and before stealing the first kiss … my desire.

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Translated by  Marie Garcia

My Harvest Moons

Sometimes, my eyes become huge like two moons and want to absorb everything, and everything seems to fit inside them. Their lashes scrape against the wind with every blink and my eyebrows raise disdainfully like the legs of a ballerina, my nose wrinkles up mystically, the volcanoes beneath my cheekbones explode and I bite my lips, thirsty for honey, hungry for warmth and another’s lips. Now and again, I forget about the imagined monsters and the ghosts of faraway houses, then my back straightens, arching ambitiously, my hips become promiscuous dancers and my defiant alabaster legs break through fears with every step. Some nights, I do not recognize myself and prefer not to, I only want to let myself be carried away by the sudden bubbling impulse that inebriates me. At times my moons become so restless that they, like lighthouses, curiously scan the streets, bars, and seas of other moons for mutual desire. Nothing troubles me but everything seduces me, corrupts me, and reduces me to the ultimate puzzle seeking to be solved, only between another’s sheets.

That’s why, when you see my moons light up like this, like comets, sparkling and rotund with secrets, as if it were October in the middle of May and all of my vernal skin could be contained in a dry autumn leaf, do not avert your gaze for an instant, hold it firm, challenging me, bite your lips and take me away with you, because this will be the only night that I… belong to you. 

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Translated by  Marie Garcia