Monday, June 23, 2008

Adam Smith's Breath

Is there any poetry after capitalism…?
Poetry survives…
What gets hooked on a nightmare is business
Business
Business... a massive crowd-puller of greedy smiles...
Is there any poetry after capitalism…?
The answer is plain…
Yes but it hurts!

Sunday, June 22, 2008

El Aliento de Einstein

¿Hay poesía después de Hiroshima…?
La poesía sobrevive…
Lo que se lía en una pesadilla es la Inocencia
Inocencia
Inocencia… el albedrío ya no es pueril… nunca más.
¿Hay poesía después de Hiroshima…?
La respuesta es contundente… ¡Por supuesto!

***

La adultez ahora está aquí
La adultez
La adultez permanece ergida
Para ser culpada.
***
De regreso al poema en Inglés

Friday, June 20, 2008

El Ojo del Observador

Déjame beber tu belleza
sorbo a sorbo
mientras degustamos
esta transparencia.

Déjame beber tu belleza
sorbo a sorbo
mientras compartimos
lo que nos da diferencia.

Déjame beber tu belleza
sorbo a sorbo
y mostrarte que la belleza
no es sinónimo de evolución.

No hay ecuación, terrestre,
ni elemental ni compleja,
que invente alguna igualdad
para belleza y evolución.
No obstante, déjame beber
tu belleza, sorbo a sorbo
y mostrarte que el amor
más que ciego es visceral.

Thursday, June 19, 2008

Hemisferios

Hemisferios: dos.
De este lado, el indagador, deshuesando
Un asunto con herramientas de herrero;
Y del otro, el escrutador, hostigando su presa
con recursos que no ocultan su descaro.

Sí, dos: trueque indistinguible… una esfera.
De este lado, semeja “un…” estado mental;
Y del otro, semeja “el…” estado mental”.
Cuán lejos, de la verdad como de Dios,
Están los unos, los otros… ¡Sí, dos, otra vez!

De este lado, el paradigma (???¡¡¡) de la razón;
Y del otro, el arquetipo (¡¡¡???) de la fe…
Hemisferios: dos. Esfera. Ser humano.

The Inaccurate Linkage

The lady,
-Without any gesture–
Remained upright
Assuming anything else! Suddenly,
Without any doubt
The other gender was plummeting,
Tasting the chasm,
As a bird that knows
A lot about pits.
However, such a farce, failed!
The woman stood straight
Facing such finale, which was unable
Of decoding her riddle.

The Overturned Stepladder

There is a time in which
control is nicely voguish!
There was a time in which
&&&&&&&&&&&ideas were influential weapons.
There was a time in which
&&&&&&&&&&&ideas were terrific means for freedom.
There was a time in which
&&&&&&&&&&&freedom was chiefly a concept from awareness.
And humans believed
&&&&&&&&&&&it was time to be friendly and brotherly,
&&&&&&&&&&&therefore, alike.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
There is a time in which
&&&&&&&&&&&ideas are not weapons anymore.
There is a time in which
&&&&&&&&&&&our ideas are not terrific any longer.
There is a time in which
&&&&&&&&&&&Media is just everyone’s appraisal.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
There is a time in which
&&&&&&&&&&&life is just overwhelmingly comfortable.
There is a time in which
&&&&&&&&&&&everyone looks so enjoyably perfect
&&&&&&&&&&&that seems to be the ultimate evolution.
There is a time in which
&&&&&&&&&&&we are seated just before
&&&&&&&&&&&a perfectly and overwhelmingly
&&&&&&&&&&&hygienic silver screen.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
There was a time in which
&&&&&&&&&&&Landscapes used to be human: not walls!

Monday, June 16, 2008

The Message

"In Brueghel's Icarus for instance:
how everything turns away / Quite
leisurely from the disaster;..."

Musee des Beaux Arts (Big Image)
W. H. Auden

Your meticulous fall was spotless
And your endless achievement arrives
From the very past, as clean light
That brightens our gloomy presents.

Stand up, Icarus. And show us the way,
Teach us your intrepid lecture which

Surpasses your failure and survives
To the judgment of the hardened elders.

Come on, Icarus, teach us your wisdom
And lighten our wished victory......

However, oh no, our young generation
Stays aloof, busy and intoxicated by
The comfortable and fussy placebos of
The 20th century schizoid amusement.

Sunday, June 15, 2008

Judas Sweat

Fate is a notion,
By which we can assess,
People reliability;
Let me say it differently,
Destiny is a notion,
By which we can assess,
People dependability … ours!
***
The task was fastidiously designed,
What can I say?
The duty was intelligently designed.
***
In the beginning, a straightforward script,
In those days an amusing performance;
Everyone was in the hunt for a thrill.
***
Fact and prophesy
Are no longer distinguishable
And it turns out to be merely interchangeable:
A permutation becomes combination.
***
Judas is dead, extras are aged
And grown-ups are richer… but now
I'm neither Cain nor Caiaphas,
I'm neither Moses nor Abraham,
And so dear friends,
You just have to realize,
Not just the mission was there
But always has been…
***
***
Addendum
***
It is said that ID apologists
Are just direct descendants
Of a lineage of outstanding performers
Since Cain and Abel and through Judas and Caiaphas.

Saturday, June 14, 2008

A Hölderlin

Por Rainer María Rilke
(
La versión original en alemán) Mi propia versión enseguida:
Demorarse, aún con las cosas más familiares,
Tampoco nos es permitido. Desde las imágenes llenas
Se precipita el espíritu hacia las súbitamente llenables. Los mares
Son primero en lo eterno. Caerse aquí
Es lo más adecuado. Del sentimiento entendido
Volcarse hacia los vislumbrados y más allá.

Para ti, oh soberano, para ti, oh conjurador, la imagen
Apremiante fue una vida completa; cuando la proferiste,
El renglón se cerró como un destino, una muerte estuvo
Hasta en el más apacible, y tú entraste en ella, pero
El dios que te precede te condujo a la salida del otro lado.

Oh tú espíritu errante, ¡tú, el más errabundo! Cómo ellos, sí todos,
Habitan en cálidos poemas, domésticos, y largamente
Permanecen en estrecha comparación: cooperadores. Sólo tú
Te mueves como la luna. Y debajo se clarea y oscurece
Tu nocturno, el sagrado y conmovido panorama
Que en tus adioses experimentas. Ninguno
Lo reveló más sublimemente, lo devolvió al todo
Más intacto y más prescindible. Así también,
A través de los años que ya no cuentan, jugabas tú sagradamente,
Con la felicidad infinita, como si no estuviera dentro ni yaciera,
Sin pertenecer a nadie, en el suave
Césped de la tierra, dejada por los niños celestiales.

¡Ay!, lo que apetecen los altísimos, sin ganas tú lo pusiste
Piedra sobre piedra: permaneció. Por cierto, su mismo desplome
Ni siquiera te aturdió.

¿Por qué, ante tal semejante, eterno, aún desconfiamos
De lo terrenal; en lugar de, sinceramente, aprender
De lo provisional, los sentimientos para cuál
Inclinación, venidera en el espacio?
(An English version)



To Holderlin

We are not permitted to linger, even with what is most
intimate.  From images that are full, the spirit
plunges on to others that suddenly must be filled;
there are no lakes till eternity.  Here,
falling is best.  To fall from the mastered emotion 
into the guessed-at, and onward.
.
To you, O majestic poet, to you the compelling image,
O caster of spells, was a life, entire;  when you uttered it
a line snapped shut like fate,  there was a death
even in the mildest, and you walked straight into it; but
the god who preceded you led you out and beyond it.
.
O wandering spirit, most wandering of all!  How snugly
the others live in their heated poems and stay,
content, in their narrow smiles.  Taking part.  Only you 
move like the moon.  And underneath brightens and darkens
the nocturnal landscape, the holy, the terrified landscape,
which you feel in departures.  No one
gave it away more sublimely, gave it back
more fully to the universe, without any need to hold on.
Thus for years that you no longer counted, holy, you played
with infinite joy, as though it were not inside you,
but lay, belonging to no one, all around
on the gentle lawns of the earth, where the godlike children had left it.
Ah, what the greatest have longed for: you built it, free of desire,
stone upon stone, till it stood.  And when it collapsed,
even then you weren't bewildered.
.
Why, after such an eternal life, do we still
mistrust the earthly?  Instead of patiently learning from transience
the emotions for what future
slopes of the heart, in pure space?
.
~ Rainer Maria Rilke
from Uncollected Poems
translated by Stephen Mitchell

Monday, June 9, 2008

Still they rock! Lively after all these years!...

Deutschland: deutsche Gedichte!
Friedrich Hölderlin
(Image) (Between two Titans: Greece and Christianity!)
Novalis (Image) (Longing for a Blue Flower or human condition disclosed)
Heinrich von Kleist (Image) (Is there any poetry after Kant?)
Rainer Maria Rilke (Image) (After Rilke, just the New!)
Georg Heym (Image) (Is prophesy a theological monopoly?) [Readings ex1]

Michael Hamburger (Obituary)
(Disinguished translator and Poet!)

France: Poésies françaises!
Charles Baudelaire (
Image)
Arthur Rimbaud
(Image)
Stephan Mallarmé (Image)
Paul Valery (Image)

Sunday, June 8, 2008

Joplin-Hendrix-Morrison’s Breath

Is there any poetry after the 60’s…?
Poetry survives…
What gets hooked on a nightmare is freedom
Freedom
Freedom... a massive avoidance of everything but thrills...
Is there any poetry after the 60’s …?
The answer is plain… Yes, there is!
***
Previous Elvis' Breath

Friday, June 6, 2008

Lennon’s Sweat

Rock & roll is a notion,
By which we can assess,
People establishment;
Let me rephrase it again,
Rock & roll is a notion,
By which we can assess,
People establishment… ours!
***
Despite being a non-believer
The fact is overwhelming
And that's certainty.
***
The dream was overturned,
What can I say?
The dream is overturned.
***
Yesterday, a daydream revolt,
Nowadays an amusing leisure
Everybody's looking for a thrill.
***
Merchandise and consumer
Are no longer distinguishable
Marx’s guess is now establishment.
***
Lennon is dead, groupies are aged
And grown-ups are rich… but now
I'm neither john nor paul,
I'm neither mike nor keith,
And so dear friends,
You just have to realize,
Not just the dream is over
But never was…
******
[Based on a song by Lennon himself: "God"]*

Czeslaw Milosz

Un Poema para el Fin de la Centuria

***(Versión de José Juan Góngora Cortés)
***
Cuando al fin, todo estuvo bien,
y la noción de pecado se había esfumado
y la tierra estaba lista
- en paz universal -
para consumirse y regocijarse
sin credos ni utopías,
***
yo, por razones desconocidas,
sitiado por los libros
de profetas y teólogos,
de filósofos, de poetas,
seguía buscando una respuesta,
frunciendo el ceño, haciendo muecas,
despertando en la noche y balbuceando al amanecer.
***
Lo que me oprimía de tal forma,
era un tanto vergonzoso.
Haberlo dicho en voz alta
no hubiera mostrado tacto ni prudencia.
Y hasta hubiese aparecido como un ultraje
en contra de la salud de la humanidad.
¡Por desgracia!, mi recuerdo
no quiere abandonarme.
Y en él viven seres...
cada uno con su propio dolor,
cada uno con su propio morir,
con su propia trepidación.
***
¿Por qué, entonces, la inocencia
en las playas paradisiacas:
Un cielo inmaculado
sobre la iglesia de la higiene?
¿Es acaso porque Eso
fue hace mucho tiempo?
***
A un hombre sabio y santo
- reza un cuento árabe -
dijo Dios un tanto maliciosamente:
«Si yo hubiera revelado a la gente
cuán buen pecador eres tú...
ellos nunca te hubieran alabado?»
***
«Y yo», contestó el hombre pío,
«si hubiera develado a ellos
cuan misericordioso eres...
nadie te hubiera tomado en cuenta?»
***
¿A quién debo dirigirme
con este asunto, tan sombrío,
de dolor e incluso de culpa
en la arquitectura del mundo,
si, ya sea aquí mismo... abajo
o allá arriba en las alturas,
no hay poder que pueda abolir
la causa y el efecto?
***
No pienses, no recuerdes
la muerte en la cruz,
aunque cada día muera
el Único que ha amado,
quien, sin necesidad alguna,
consintió y permitió
que existiera todo lo que es,
incluyendo los clavos de la tortura.
***
Totalmente enigmático.
Imposiblemente intrincado.
Es mejor parar aquí mismo.
Este discurso no es para la gente.
Bendita seas celebración.
Las vendimias y las cosechas.
Aún y cuando no a todos
les haya llegado la calma.
***

Elvis' Breath

Is there any poetry after Rock & Roll…?
Poetry survives…
What gets hooked on a nightmare is Business
Business
Business... a huge parasite of rebellion...
Is there any poetry after Rock & Roll …?
The answer is plain… Yes, there is!
***
Previous Marx's Breath

Breaths So Far (An Index)

  1. Nietzsche’s Breath
  2. Einstein's Breath
  3. Darwin's Breath
  4. Abraham's Breath
  5. Leonardo's Breath
  6. Galileo's Breath
  7. Kafka's Breath
  8. Marx's Breath
  9. Elvis' Breath
  10. Joplin-Hendrix-Morrison's Breath

Thursday, June 5, 2008

Adornos’ Sweat

Setback or discovery?
Evidence or puzzlement?
***
I’m so sorry comrade Adorno,
After Auschwitz,
There’s Poetry yet: Survived!
***
But amusingly, what gets obsessed
Is a different kind of veiled fact
And its mammoth statement:
***
A cozy narrative
A snobbish self-esteem
A no name but: Religion.
***
I’m so sorry comrade Adorno,
After Auschwitz,
There’s Poetry & so on.

Wednesday, June 4, 2008

Kafka's Breath

Is there any poetry after Bizarreness …?
Poetry survives…
What gets hooked on a nightmare is Progress
Progress
Progress... an ongoing deed of our self-indulgent civilization...
Is there any poetry after Bizarreness…?
The answer is plain… Yes, there is!
***

Marx's Breath

Is there any poetry after Money…?
Poetry survives…
What gets hooked on a nightmare is Capitalism
Capitalism
Capitalism... a ceaseless blunder of our narcissistic civilization...
Is there any poetry after Money…?
The answer is plain… Yes, there is!
***
Previous Kafka's Breath

Galileo's Breath

Is there any poetry after inquisition…?
Poetry survives…
What gets hooked on a nightmare is Belief
Belief
Belief… ambiguous leftover of an archaic psyche.
Is there any poetry after inquisition …?
The answer is plain… Yes, there is!
***

Darwin's Breath

Is there any poetry after Evolution…?

Poetry survives…

What gets hooked on a nightmare is Theodicy
Theodicy
Theodicy… enduring shock to human unfinished awareness.
Is there any poetry after Evolution…?

The answer is plain… Yes, there is!
***

Sunday, June 1, 2008

The Hidden Holocausts (There are more than one)

Act 1: The Protagonist
....©SFWY

The sumptuous Blame sings like a mask,
Louder than the naked evidence. Nudity
Which persists behind the deceptiveness
Whose dignity seems to be delightful.
....©SFWY
Like a disguise, the Blame keeps quiet,
Better than the victims' silence. Hush
Which survives behind the craftiness
Whose protocol seems to be enchanting.
....©SFWY
Act 2: The Accomplices
....©SFWY
The stage would have been the unclothed
Clue where to find the unspeakableness
But suddenly the oily Ignorance shew up
Distracting the brains with its glamour.
....©SFWY
What a performance!, said the Indifference
Grasping the undamaged people's awareness
With its bewitching tentacles while bravos
And hoorays were erupting from them, noisily.
....©SFWY
Epilogue: The Fact.
....©SFWY
Meanwhile, the blame sings a silky tune
And dances a graceful choreography over
The brittle bones of victims' silence:
Without skin-color, without human-race