Estaciones sans Route

O saisons, ô châteaux,
Quelle âme est sans défauts?
-Arthur Rimbaud

sorda sed de sol
hambre muda de caricias

ciega omisión de senderos
para el sonámbulo

el río ha perdido los ojos

arrope mortal en sus cuencas vacías

regando restos erguidos
que exhiben su acertijo
de lógica causa final
la lluvia bruja de mayo
resiste repartir encantos
por cosechar mano a mano
cada hechizo de noviembre

--

Stray Litter On the Beach

---
soy el perro que en la luna escarba una hoguera de signos
                                              -Pedro Casariego Córdoba 

(No reservations, just standing by
one crossroad turnoff too far
under a close grey hollow sky)

Dogs are lonely loud tonight
barking onshore overtime
at each & every passenger
as the failing light of day
shuts out in sudden fright

A roaring swell stops draining
into stagnant summer's ebb--
The waning moon refuses
thinning comforts in a drowning tide

Omega male against the seawall--
bottom pup will not yelp out
his single fear of life that ticks
down in his unsafe dune

O hold me warm O hold me cold
to sink in two
as a raging wave
breaks old reflection down
--

TemporaDa

--
el verano acaba
circulando la cabeza
en picada

fértil secreto
que limpia su meta
de olvido

ya es hora
de sellar señales
en ceniza
--

Shadow Routed Folk

---
Your quaint country road
snakes unwinding through woods
leaving no not one
none of your troubles behind--
as they drag like a vintage
trailer on four hissing flat tires

Mark my word: mark it well:
trouble will spring ahead
-- stop you dead in your tracks
at each hard hairpin turn
staring pinholes into dim delusion
like a startled young doe
gleaming damp-bright but brittle
in the blinding headlights

Every crossroad & fork
will test your resolve
in a clutter of signs
that confuse all direction
with circles & arrows & pithy
commands that defy comprehension
yet demand full attention
in clear contradiction
with the long-cherished heart
of your harsh-hammered inner conviction

(Still you plunge on ahead
into thick tangled night
through the moon's dented swelling
& spilled orange wash
as it pools deep about
the fresh-felled oak scars...)
--

Menos Menso Trigo Entre Pajas

...Ich trink so lang, bis dir mein Herz erdunkelt,
so lange, bis Paris auf seiner Träne schwimmt...
--Paul Celan

SE BUSCA celda de incomodidad acogedora
y apropiada dimensión para el deseo que decae
-- el horizonte recogido al marco en pantalla
refleja la sombra contraluz de Oriente

(-- qué abundante y generosa es la evasión
que no reconoces por mi gran culpa)

El pequeño cuenta en Francés y crece
con los años, con el terror a la muerte
(--continuará...)

Te hablo, me dirijo a tí pero mis pies
no logran salvar la distancia
ni suenan mis palabras

Sin embargo continúo interpelándote
con señas de humo y de manos, de marcas
y medios que hunden su paraíso perdido de teorías

Los huesos de mis brazos se quiebran
por alcanzar tanto muerto extrañado
(tan íntimos como el hermano menor de cariño borracho
--tan dolidos de distancia como PeCasCor y Bolaño)

Hay tantas razones para aferrarse a la vida
como para querer rendirse y abandonarla
de un salto, de un tajo, de un rayo

(no es batalla desigual: la vida
nos cuesta la vida y en esa cuerda floja
triunfamos al rendirnos exhaustos)
---

Deep Ecology Thoughts

---

question the cat's instinct or deny
solitude's mirror in song?

who's the dummy, whose voice
is being thrown?

who dares texting rhyme
to nature's roaming hum?

---

Tiempo en el Tiempo: Weather in Time...

...

en blanco cada nueva ocasión:

no quiero acortar mis días, por el contrario
pretendo extender la condena más allá
de todo plazo mensurable, de cualquier horizonte
duradero: traduciendo en tiempo
indivisible-- ¿indefinido? el espacio más reducido
--el de la memoria que alcanza singularidad
contra toda dispersión
contra ningún pronóstico de racionalidad

los desechos del día (its remains)
son la locura del mismo (la folie)
:restos que me excluyen a grito sordo y ajeno

no tengo nada
¿vibrará este cadáver, a pesar del silencio infinito?
...

Ground Into Moonlight (--amStrand: August Awaits)

---
Break away from louder company before
hot wind dies down into stale air, to fall
back in my hammock on th hollow'd shore

At full sluggish tide a sea of oil gleams flat
under the blue half-moon, tangled fast
in branches hung with sickly shadow 

Aimless motion by any other name
would not rock you to sleep nor shake
me awake but nudge us lovingly o'er
the crumbling cliff's edge

I play catch-up at best & at worst
I second-guess my truest instincts false
to prop the mute fractured fort up
'round about the wary waiting child.

---
(Sept.'01- July '09)

For Hibbing's Age of Wicked

(Fragments for a Paternity Day Ballad -- apologies to Robert Milkwood Thomas)

From that very first morning
after I'd been well-spanked
I looked out to the tracks
quickly receding

From stormchild early warnings
I ran but by degrees
my feet too tight on soles
too loose for beating

I won't give up, you know I won't
I shouted at my elders
who rule the world in terror and in silence
I won't give up I will set sail
against the spiral raging in the balance

From earliest awakening
I stumble against rank
to bury my source back
into its gravel

We have no origins or seed
our sages all agree
there is no whole cloth
from which lives unravel

(I won't give up, you know I won't
I whispered at my schoolmates
who rule the world in terror and in silence
I won't give up I will set sail
against the spiral raging in the balance)

Remember O rememberer
your failures all in bloom
to press your sagging wrinkles
into towers

Remember O rememberer
some saving grace of youth
might yet scream stormy daybreak
into flowers

I won't give up, you know I won't!
I whimper at my comrades
who rule the world in terror and in silence
I won't give up I will set sail
against the spiral raging in the balance

---