Friday, February 29, 2008

"¿Conoces al boticario del pueblo al lado de Candelario?
En vez de cabeza,
Tiene una cereza.
No ve ni torta, claro."

(Do you know the apothecary
from that village next to Candelario?

Instead of a head,
He's got a cherry.
He's as blind as a bat, of course)

Laurence Saum wrote something like this years and years ago and for some strange reason his daughter remembered it today.

Thursday, February 28, 2008

Bleak Rabbits

Long, lank, bleak,
Black or dark blue.
He always left them behind,
Every morning I would find
One of them.
Heydays, even two.

Long, lank, bleak,
Black or dark blue.
He would ogle down to them
With tender resolution,
A pamper touch,
A cushioning nest,
They deserved a good
Long day rest. In
His denim left pocket.

Long, lank, bleak,
Black or dark blue.
I would get dressed
And perfumed in ink scent, I
Would give a cursory look
On the skew, a
Scanty glimpse
Of his stationary jewelry.
Color scrutiny,
Bleak black or dark blue.

Why would he left them behind?
Didn't he care for them?
He was devoted to their shape,
Color and baneful intentions.
I had seen it happen,
Seen them laying abandoned,
On my murky desk,
Waiting for the grasp
Of his right brown hand,
A lift, an elevation,
A jean, a tight warren,
For pens, for they are not rabbits,
Long, lank, bleak,
Black or dark blue.

A.

Sunday, February 24, 2008

Peasant Patch

"Fold your hands,
Child,
You walk like a peasant"

Going to the vegetable
Patch,
Choosing the right peas to
Carry in your apron pocket.


Pocketing little round
Worlds full of little round
Eyelashes wishes.
Green worlds born
Through your beetle eyes.


Choosing the shiniest
Cockroaches, the biggest
Sluggish slugs,
Sticky and with their tinny
Hearts ticking
Under their tender gluey skin.

So easy to squeeze.
He always cherished
His bugs.


The biggest bugger bug of all,
A king's fruity heart.

He took me to his vegetable patch,
He chose the roundest peas, and
His favorite slugs and marble beans.
A bugger world just for me.
I smiled and put it in my apron pocket.

A.

Sappy. Soap. Soup.

Sappy.
Soap.
Soup.

Sappy, soapy soup.
Tomato soup
In a bread bowl.
In my T-shirt,
Running down my arm pit.

Pita bread,
Playing Ping-Pong
In bed.
A shower pond.

The soapy soup
Of our first shower,
Hot soup
And a spoon of glower.

Running drops,
Soapy soup,
Creamy me,
Sappy you.
The shiny smile,
Of curtailing steam.

A.

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

In a manner of speaking
I was told
I loved your silence
Beyond words

A

Monday, February 18, 2008

Disgrace

(Sometimes it's better to borrow someone else's words...)

But one day we woke to our disgrace; our house
a coldness of rooms, each nursing
a thickening cyst of dust and gloom.
We had not been home in our hearts for months.

And how our words changed. Dead flies in a web.
How they stiffened and blackened. Cherished italics
suddenly sour on our tongues, obscenities
spraying themselves on the wall in my head.

Woke to your clothes like a corpse on the floor,
the small deaths of lightbulbs pining all day
in my ears, their echoes audible tears;
nothing we would not do to make it
worse

and worse. Into the night with the wrong language,
waving and pointing, the shadows of hands
huge in the bedroom. Dreamed of a naked crawl
from a dead place over the other; both of us. Woke.

Woke to an absence of grace; the still-life
of a meal, untouched, wine-bottle, empty, ashtray,
full. In our sullen kitchen, the fridge
hardened its cool heart, selfish as art, hummed.

To a bowl of apples rotten to the core. Lame shoes
empty in the hall where our voices asked
for a message after the tone, the telephone
pressing its ear to distant, invisible lips.

And our garden bowing its head, vulnerable flowers
unseen in the dusk as we shouted in silhouette.
Woke to the screaming alarm, the banging door,
the house-plants trembling in their brittle soil. Total

Disgrace. Up in the dark to stand at the window,
counting the years to arrive there, faithless,
unpenitent. Woke to the meaningless stars, you
and me both, lost. Inconsolable vowels from the next room.

Carol Ann Duffy. Mean Time

Sunday, February 17, 2008

Saliva bomb

You dropped the bomb
Y hace frío en mi corazón.

Like an obliterating storm
Revolviéndolo todo a mi alredor.

Nothing keeps me from swallowing
Mi corazón de hielo,
But it's too cold and hard and
I need to ask you for help.
Un torrente de saliva, caliente.
La mía,
Or is it yours?

Escupe dentro de mí.

A.

Friday, February 15, 2008

Transcription Note

Transcription Note

I believe it is about time to open the contents of this blog to public reading and criticism. I did not want to rush their cyberspace exposure as words are characterized by their volatile nature and hasty reading could have led to misunderstandings.

The pages included in this blog were found in a remote corner of conscience around December 2007 and ever since then I have carried out the task of translating and classifying them. As it happened with early 20th Century novels in Spain, the editor has remained loyal to the written words, maintaining the original style and even spelling mistakes, just as they appeared in the original notes. Nonetheless, as it happened then, the editor has chosen to delete and hide certain paragraphs and entries whose crudity could upset the gentle reader. The final result could be interpreted as maimed, but certain things are better kept quiet.

The eerie editor,
Kangaatsiaq, 15th February 2008

Monday, February 11, 2008

Traffic silhouettes

A boy with a cherry flavor chap stick.
Long, black, plastic hair, wavy and reflecting
Red and green lights.
She can only see his
Silhouette.
Traffic and cherry drops of running condensation melting
On the window pane like a
Teenage peccadillo.

She lifts
A finger and presses
Against the glass.
A wake of mint and cherry shivers follow
Her. Half a hook starting from the top right, the beginning of a Spanish kiss.

They become silhouettes when their bodies finally met.

A.

Thursday, February 7, 2008

-I like the name: eerie conditions

If only you knew how really eerie they are

regular shooshee


Today, talking to you, you kept repeating this Malay word whenever we had a coincidence.
Podría escribir mi vida contando casualidades. I should pay more attention to real shit instead of gamboling from cloud to cloud.

Even now I feel the thrill of danger.

Man, I could kill for half a dozen Philly rolls.

Abbreviations

Abbreviations: HUS, hemolytic uremic syndrome • D+ HUS, diarrhea-associated hemolytic uremic syndrome • DIC, disseminated intravascular coagulation • SP-HUS Streptococcus pneumoniae-associated hemolytic uremic síndrome