Five Mixed Poems, with Notes [now is Spanish and English]
1.
Night in Jamaica
[Peruvianism: 1810]
It was a rainy night they say
When don Simon Bolivar
Slept in the arms of beautiful
-Luisa Crober
(of Jamaica); thus an
Assassin missed his mark
When he stabbed Major Amestoy
Sleeping in the dark
In Bolivar's hammock!...
#719 6/7/05
2.
Sacred Something
Love for love
curse for curse
what you plant
(in the furrow):
is what you
get tomorrow.
6/8/05 #720
3.
Epitaph in El Dorado
Ride high, ride high
The shade replied
Over the mountains
To the valley
There upon a cliff
You'll see
A placed called
El Dorado
His madden brain
Was sick with pain
Beholding to the shadow
But he found the gold
And then was told
You'll never leave
The valley?
And so it was
That he grew old
Sitting there in the Valley
Counting gold
Eating toads?
And
I'm sick of this poem
But it needs an end
So my friend, I must say
This epitaph was is his story.
6/9/05 #725
4.
Epitaph of a Shoeshine Boy
[A Macabre poem]
I cannot sleep, I cannot sleep
In moon struck ebony,
My ghostly hands upon my knees-
The dead are dead you see.
The earth is warm under my feet;
As seasons come and go.
I am, am neither wise nor bold,
But cold, am I you see.
I cannot sleep, I cannot sleep
I look upon a bed
I must still love the living best:
Who hate the ghostly dead?
Whereas, I walk alone again
Wandering, aimlessly
I was a shoeshine boy, you know
But who remembers me (?)
Note: When I was a boy of 11 to 13, I used to go from bar to bar in St. Paul, Minnesota and shoeshine (l958-61). I made money that way, until I was 14-years old, at which time I worked for what is now the "Fitzgerald Theater"; where Garrison Keillor (whom I met twice) has his show, "A Prairie Home companion."
5.
Lyric Rain
[A Minnesota Poem]
Ah! Last night it was a night
A night of lyric rain
The trees were swaying, swaying-
Every which-way?
I so love the wild rain
Un-refrained
Its cool breezes, sharp fangs,
Fangs, and empty-eyed;
Replenishing earths strains
Washing away all the grime-
And secretly, nurturing
This rhyme?
Note: It rained out last night (a storm), in St. Paul, Minnesota, USA; 3:30 AM. My mother used to be frightened by such storms, but I cherished them it seems; odd are we not, so different in what we value. #721 6/8/05
In Spanish
Cinco poemas Mixtos, con apuntes
1.
Noche en Jamaica
[Peruanismo: 1810]
Esta fuè una noche lluviosa ellos dicen
Cuando don Simón Bolívar
Dormido en los brazos de la hermosa
- Luisa Crober
( de Jamaica); mas un
asesino fallò su blanco
Cuando apuñaló al Comandante Amestoy
Durmiendo en la oscuridad
¡En la hamaca de Bolívar!...
#719 6/7/05
2
Algo Sagrado
Amor por amor
maldición por maldición
lo que usted planta
( en el surco):
es lo que usted
conseguira mañana.
6/8/05 *720
3
Epitafio en El Dorado
Alto al Paseo, alto al paseo
La sombra contestaba
Sobre las montañas
hacia el valle
Allí sobre una roca
Usted verá
Un lugar llamado
El Dorado
Su cerebro enfurecido
Estaba enfermo con dolor
Contemplando a la sombra
Pero él encontró el oro
Y luego dijeron
Usted nunca se marchará
del valle ?
Y entonces fuè
Que él envejeciera
sentado allí en el Valle
Contando oro
Comiendo sapos ? y
Estoy harto de este poema
Pero esto necesita un final
Asì mi amigo, debo decir
Este epitafio era, es su historia.
6/9/05 *725
4
Epitafio de un Limpiabotas
[ Un poema Macabro]
No puedo dormir, no puedo dormir
En locura golpeó el ébano,
Mis manos fantasmales sobre mis rodillas-
Los muertos están muertos usted ve.
La tierra està caliente bajo mis pies;
Como las estaciones vienen y van.
Soy, soy, ni sabio, ni valiente,
Pero frío, soy yo, usted ve.
No puedo dormir, no puedo dormir
busco una cama
Todavía me debe gustar vivir mejor:
¿Quién odia la muerte fantasmal?
Mientras que, ando solo otra vez
Vagabundo, sin rumbo
Yo era un limpiabotas, usted sabe.
Pero quien me recuerda (?)
Nota: Cuando yo era un muchacho de 11 a 13, solía ir de bar en bar en Saint Paul Minnesota y lustraba botas (l958-61). Gané dinero de esta manera, hasta que yo tuve 14 años, en el cual trabajé para lo que es ahora el " Teatro Fitzergerald "; donde la Guarnición Keillor (con quien me encontré dos veces) tiene su espectáculo, " A Praire home companion"
5
Lluvia lírica
(Un Poema de Minnesota]
¡Ah! Anoche esto fue una noche
Una noche de lluvia lírica
Los árboles se balanceaban, balanceaban-
por todo lado ?
Así me gusta la lluvia salvaje
inrefrenado
Sus brisas frescas, colmillos agudos,
Colmillos, y mirada -vacìa;
Rellenando tensiones de tierras
lavando toda la mugre-
Y secretamente, nutriendo
Esta rima.
Nota: llovió afuera anoche (una tormenta), en Saint Paul, Minnesota, EE. UU; a las 3h30. Mi madre solía estar asustada por tales tormentas, pero yo los abrigue eso parece; extraños somos nosotros , tan diferentes en lo que valoramos.
Poet Dennis Siluk http://dennissiluk.tripod.com the book, "Spell of the Andes," is almost ready for the public, got a note today saying it is going to press...this is the best of Dennis' poems on Vietnam and Peru, and Copan, Honduras Rosa
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Ceasar Vallejo: Black Roses [In English and Spanish]
Cesar Vallejo: Black RosesBow down your head ol' poet-To face God's grace aheadThere are no more trenchesTo dig today?In the forest of your head,So-:Bow down, bow down,Ol' barbaric poet!Death rides the horse aheadI hear the crackling of a whipSee the crazed eyes of death.He summons you to his den-The devil and his wind,So-:Bow down, bow downYour blood stained browsHe will take you to the edge.
The Dead God of Copan (in English and Spanish)
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My hero, my best friend, my Grannio (a.k.a my Grandmother)
She raised me like I was her own daughter from the day I was born 32 years ago.She loved me like nobody else has ever loved me in my life.
Ocean Heal Me
Ocean Heal MeOcean heal my woundsLet your waves curl and foam on my bodyWash away blood, heal scarsOcean renew me with your powerAs unceasingly you rollGiving strength that's been drainedOcean keep me warmWrap me in your brineCaress me with your tidesOcean disperse my tearsAs they flow in youI cleanse my soulOcean let me grow in your depthsColor me vibrant blue, coral, greenClear = revitalizedOcean your spray anoints meCool and refreshedMy spiritual renewalOcean be my friendHold me flowing in your currentsEver moving, ever changingOcean, heal me.© 1983 Susan BaconSusan Bacon is a researcher, author and teacher.
Grandpas House & From Iraq with Love [Two Poems]
Grandpa's House[The ole Real House]The house needed paintingSun-blistered and flakingGrandpa started to have usBoys-Mike and I- startDoing some scraping-While he, pealed off the olePaint, and started painting?Just a humble wooden houseWith several rooms, but Strong enough to keep theWinds and winter snows out,How he loved that ole house!..
Mechanical Poetry - Part Three
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Life is a Fantasy
LIFE IS A FANTASY!A pink-eyed rabbit, fuzzy whiteHops in bedrooms filled with frightA child of six with much to knowHer father's basest feelings showShe knows of LOVE, only through himHe satisfies his every whimHe leaves, she wipes himfrom her chin!Her mother NEEDS to see the bestHe answered her God requestTo have a roof to comfort bringA yard where all the birdies singTell me how she could really knowWhat source for learning could she go?Her mother regularly beaten if not worseThe cycle of violence - a woman's curseConflicting visions, dependenciesOne can endure many idiosyncrasiesShe could not make him defendant beDenial, avoidance? she disbelievesThe rabbit hides beneath tall trees.At thirteen a step-grandfatha'Finds a well-trained girl that oughta'Do what powerful men requestNever knowing what is bestAnd run away she does at lastFreedom can be such a 'blast'A rabbit's foot upon a chainThe FANTASY her 'safe' domainHow long in life must it remain?To protect her from these menWho always for her lips, do 'yen'A state trooper in Tennessee Like every other man does see Her lips so full and luscious red Through the bars, not in a bed.
The Butcher of Lima and Footprints to Mantaro Valley (Two Poems)
Footprints to Mantaro Valley(Peru; in English and Spanish)In what retreat art hid?-Where falling mountains groanIn shadow and amongThe rapids of the Rio?Is not your name Mantaro Valley?Beyond the footprints of the Andes--?I can hear your voice in echoesI can hear thy voice, divinely low.I do but know thy by a glanceAs the clouds above me know? .
THe Monster Mash, A Graveyard SMASH (short story I wrote when I was 11)
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Expressing an Emotion - The Art of Writing Poetry
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Opposites Do Attract Quite Well
When I am climbing up, you are stepping down.When I wear a smile, you wear a frown.
Kens Poem
How wonderfully sweet to be a dwellerdwelling on the road of goodbye.Bittersweet tears fall as I thinkof all the places I'll never see,all the faces I'll never know,all the joys I'll never share,as I head for the unknown.
Death & the Supernatural: Poetry/Five Poems
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Storm Rising along the Lima Coast
Storm Rising along the Lima Coast [Summer of 2002]?wind was blowing furiously It never left for a moment Bursts of fury I found it difficult to keep My feet placed, thus, I clung to my knees For one blissful moment I could not now disguise it From myself Some subtle feeling Manifested itself Then the current drew Sharply away from me With her mystery-Back out into the open sea Yet-, still it roared back at me! It was an expressed release It made my head swim I noticed it kept-step With my exultation!?#761 7/14/2005Notes: There are mysteries to the sea, at times it seems as to have its own mind, its own character; as if nature was plugged into all that exist. Earth itself being an entity with its own lively soul.
I Hate The Wait (Weight)
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Breathing-in, Minnesota [a poem: now in Spanish and English]
In early fall, in Minnesota, the rain falls, falls, In buckets, buckets and more buckets-: dropsLikened to music from its many streams-landOf ten-thousand lakes; moistened gravel, gravelEverywhere?Grandpa sits on the porch-daydreaming of, ofSomething, perhaps winter around the corner-;As the flies disappear, with the mosquitoes?Leaves will soon vanish, shadows will come earlyMaybe he's thinking about summer: miles and milesAnd miles and miles of cornfields; his childhood nowLong gone, he hums a hymn, a song; looking at theMetal-piped fence, he made, with three poles, on theEmbankment, leading up the steps to the porch;It's worn-out like him.The winds in Minnesota smell fresh, fresh from allThe foliage, there's a lot of it.
Africa
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Elizabeth Barrett Browning: A Discussion of How Do I Love Thee?
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Ambiguity and Abstraction in Bob Dylan's Lyrics
To many people contemporary poetry is a turn-off. The reason for this is that the majority of these poems are boring.
Savage Nature: The Life of Ted Hughes
One of the most important poets of the post-war period, Edward James Hughes (1930-1998), was drawn towards the primitive. He was enchanted by the beauty of the natural world, frequently portraying its cruel and savage temperament in his work as a reflection of his own personal suffering and mystical beliefs - convinced that modern man had lost touch with the primordial side of his nature.
