THIS WEEK’S POEM, MY ATTEMPT AT POETRY

I’m continuing to write weekly poems. Here’s this last week’s first draft:

LO QUE DECIMOS DESPUES

Como narcos, lenguaje en tu boca,

mentiras, fragmentos de lengua, o

fraccíones de vidrio,

espejos oscuros en uno cuerto

de crepusculo.

Digame, niña, ¿Que te quieres?

Te quiero, pero…

Tiempo no es fáctico, no es lineal,

en mi cerebro los círculos

tocan, se besan,

con labios secos, poco de

sangre, pies descalzos y manos

abiertas.

Despues, puños cerrados.

 

I wrote it in Spanish, but here’s my English translation:

WHAT WE SAY THEN

As drug traffickers, language in your mouth,

lies, fragments of tongue, or

fractions of glass,

mirrors, dark in a room of twilight.

Tell me, girl, What do you want?

I love you, but…

Time is not factual, is not linear,

in my brain the circles

touch, they kiss,

with dry lips, a little bit of

blood, bare feet and hands

open.

Later, clenched fists.

 

 

 

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On Writing?

The Argentine poet Alejandra Pizarnik wrote this in the middle of one of her poems in 1965 (when she was 29) and it made me think of the writing process:

“And there is, in this waiting,

a rumor of breaking lilac.

And there is, when the day arrives,

a division of the sun into smaller black suns.

And at night, always,

a tribe of mutilated words

looks for refuge in my throat…”

In Spanish, it’s a little different, but the same idea (for example, “espera” could mean “waiting” or “hoping” in this context, etc.):

“Hay, en la espera,
un rumor a lila rompiéndose.
Y hay, cuando viene el día,
una partición del sol en pequeños soles negros.
Y cuando es de noche, siempre,
una tribu de palabras mutiladas
busca asilo en mi garganta…”

Prologue poem from Blood Dazzler

Patricia Smith wrote a Hurricane Katrina collection that published in 2008. It’s gorgeous, dazzling in its use of sound and metaphor. I wanted to record one of poems but there are too many excellent pieces to choose from. So I went with the opening: “Prologue – And Then She Owns You.”

Here’s the prologue poem – click to watch.

Rejection Limerick?

I just received a rejection from a literary journal, and although I only read the form-rejection email once, I’m pretty sure it went like this:

We just read your pathetic attempt at a story

At the end, three editors were snoring

We turned it around

Flipped the page upside down

Yet the manuscript was still incredibly boring.