My OperaThe doze
Thursday, May 29, 2008 6:15:16 AM
Every word is a drop of water running through my veins, and every space and every silence is a bubble of soap washing away the doze...
It is clear that spinning is the world of the day. I don't know if it is the lack of hunger, the lack of food, the lack of faith or the lack of confidence, but a mere approach to the subject might lead into the idea that it always spin, any idea, any thought, any of those infinite 'me' that I am so fond to tag in posts like this one. *goes to tag the post with the word 'me'* They all spin. Around other points, around references, around my work, around the future that is, spinningly talking, surrounding the miriad of points of view that are being built by my own brain, the unintentional lack of stillness that worries me and my normal me, the one that lacks the most of intelligence, surrounded and connected by the same come and go that fills me, in this and other kind of dimensions. Is good to be still? or am I still when I constantly move? Note the ironic, but precise and 'down to earth' use of the word 'constantly', 'constant', 'upper lambda'.
My brain is loaded, overflown, tired and constrained to one POV at a time, while ordering my body to fix a poem in every cell, by osmosis...
[quote el español...]
Quiero bajar al pozo,
quiero subir los muros de Granada,
para mirar el corazón pasado
por el punzón oscuro de las aguas.
El niño herido gemía
con una corona de escarcha.
Estanques, aljibes y fuentes
levantaban al aire sus espadas.
¡Ay qué furia de amor, que hiriente hilo,
qué nocturno rumor, qué muerte blanca!
¡Qué desiertos de luz iban hundiendo
los arenales de la madrugada!
El niño estaba solo
con la ciudad dormida en la garganta.
Un surtidor que viene de los sueños
lo defiende del hambre de las algas.
El niño y su agonía, frente a frente,
eran dos verdes lluvias enlazadas.
El niño se tendía por la tierra
y su agonía se curvaba.
Quiero bajar al pozo,
quiero morir mi muerte a bocanadas,
quiero llenar mi corazón de musgo,
para ver al herido por el agua
[/quote]
Every word is a drop of water running through my veins, and every space and every silence is a bubble of soap washing away the doze...
(13%)
Patritzya # Wednesday, June 4, 2008 1:32:40 AM
...
with you, always.