El Jaguar y la Paloma. Philip Conover Lazo.
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El Jaguar y la Paloma. Philip Conover Lazo.
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The Huautla Press/Prensas Editoras de Huautla México D.F.
Primera edición 2015. ISBN 968-6744-05-6 DR copyright
Philip Richard Conover Lazo
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher´s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
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EL JAGUAR Y LA PALOMA
The majority of these poems were written in the 1970’ and early 1980’ when I was in my twenties and early thirties. Some were dedicated to friends or lovers like Poemas Racottianos y Gironelinos written to celebrate feelings of neighborly love shared in that memorable location that is Galeana 25 where we shared luminous evenings Sanda Racotta, Alberto Gironella and friends. The poems are rendered as they stand. They are very direct and depend on mood and language. Most of them came unannounced from the unconscious were they had been gathering independently of any volition. They presented themselves as an elemental urge of expression so that there is very little work in then as formal poetry. An example of this is the poem For T.S., a fond reminiscence of Elliot’s poetry, which pleased me for its images and humorous vein which was quite spontaneous and unintentional in its motive and origin, almost the product of a casual encounter. Perhaps we store a miscellaneous wealth of casual images and phrases that our unconscious haphazardly orders to clarify an obsession, giving meaning to things we ignored or wanted to know so that we can repeat them to ourselves for our pleasure, if the music is right, if the image is strong and it makes sense to us… Other poems are the product of my longstanding relationship with History like La Finca de los Sordos and La revolución de las Salamandras, they might represent a desire to make a final peace with the tragedies of The Spanish Civil War and The Lebanese Civil War. The poem, At 40 degrees Celsius I wrote while suffering from chills after a cattle tick bit me late one night while I was reading Suetonius.
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Not all poems make a happy delivery where one is fully satisfied with the outcome, so I want to recite them in public to see if they sound right; if people have connected with them. When I was in the third year of Primary School, with the Marist Brothers of Mexico City, the class would demand my presence to recite poetry. I was often bribed with a present of a toy soldier to come forward and recite. I would sometimes oblige and would render some ditty that was a favorite of the class. And this is how I became initiated into Poetry- unwittingly and haphazardly.
San Angel, October 2015.
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SHORT ODE TO SELF DENIAL
To live a moment of truth For truth alone is its reward‌ The glow of life, Pure and elemental. Thus I leave your lips Untouched, Like the jaguar, Like the dove.
1985.
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CORTA ODA A LA RENUNCIACION Para Paloma
Vivir un momento De verdad Porque la verdad sola Es la recompensa, Vida incandescente, Pura y elemental.
AsĂ dejo tus labios Sin besar, Como el jaguar, Como la paloma.
2015.
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THE CONDOR
The condor Perched over golden cliffs Sits in wait Of Francis DrakePacific Ocean. Rest in peace, Magalhaes.
And if you be a wonderer Come looking for a paradise, Or in search of El Dorado; Do not touch the women Of the Caribs.
1976. 8
We can never come Near a butterfly Hidden as she is Among the green richness Of a tree. Her orange glow Is the glow of life. We cannot Work such miracles. We surrender at Breda And die with the Count of Orgaz.
1980.
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Look: We are the Egyptians, We the eternal, ( We speak to you ). We froze our signs in stone, ( For you ), That you may see How we stood under the blazing sun And did not die. Oh, we waited for death with dignity! See how we sat, A face of stone And the power of life In our hands; Until one day The sacred Ibis, (in flight), Became Osiris And in its free flight We died.
1978.
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NEPTUNE AND APHRODITE ( Mediterranean ditty )
Out of the deep sea There rouse a blazing light, Making us sailors afraid Of so much beauty. The sea had been quiet And blue; And we Argonauts sang A hearty song, Our oars the playthings of children‌ The waters of the sea Cascading with laughter, Ringing like bells In our delighted ears. So strong a mast There never was Nor courageous sails Flapped so elegantly In the breeze. 11
Neither were our hearts Prepared for the awesome joys That swell the minds of men Incontinently. For there now arose Aphrodite From the sea In a conch of pearls, Radiant as day And her smile Was the dawn of brighter joy And the light lit Her shoulders and her feet And the air spread her hair And our hearts in despair And she smiled And was gone And the quiet That remained We could not believe, Botticelli.
1985. 12
I dreamt that a tree Embraced me – To the immense jealousy Of humanity. And he embraced me Because I loved him right For what he was; Spare, straight, steady With a few branches Reaching eloquently For the sky.
Tree so soft Swinging in the wind Tree so strong Breathing in the air – Aerial, terrestrial tree, Spatial tree. Least your roots Renounce the earth 13
And you go sailing Through the sky.
Oxford 1971.
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JUPITER BELENO
El diablo mismo Abrió sucursal En mi calle. Yo le digo que no existe Y él me mira con simpatía, Comprensivo. El sol brilla por entre Las hojas de los fresnos. De entre sus libros Saca uno muy antiguo – Es de Metafísica… Yo no le hago caso, Veo una chica pasar; Y él, Júpiter Beleno, Con sus cuernos de chivo Y patitas de cabra, También la mira pasar
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Me invita a una fiesta, Próxima fecha de inauguración…
Tu eres joven y guapo, ( me dice ), Y esa será tu ocasión. Yo sigo mirando el final de la calle, Veo a la muchacha cruzar. 1987.
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Para Alberto Gironella
A veces Falstaff, A veces Fausto, Siempre Gironella‌ Reclinado sobre El ali-oli, Il fabro.
He drinks his wine With relish Because he is among friends, And the sun shines On him lightly, Let’s fall its heat And spills onto the mantelpiece From the plates.
The wine is for his friends, ( who come to visit), 17
Because he is an old river, A quencher of thirst. A cup of wine rings Straight to the heart Like a bell So do friends‌ And the river flows to the sea Chasing the sun, brilliant. And the current is the current of lifeSalt, sea weed ; garlic, olive oil and spice. Here is to you And to you‌ And for you, Boris Pasternak
A stranger in my own land. A stranger among friends Praising friendship With a gesture
With an act In silence. 18
The sun straddles the stage Over the jacaranda trees, Filling a crimson cup with blood, With golden light. ‘Como una oblea de sangre’, So wrote Stephen Crane. ‘El ciervo herido Por el otero asoma’. The wounded stag Surfaces over the knoll, Said Saint John.
The sun surfaces over the knoll Like a red wafer of blood Over the mazzard berries Over a blanket of iridescent grass For you and for me. Here is to you… and to you, And for you, Boris Pasternak!
1980?
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ALBERTO GIRONELLA
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POR LA AUSENCIA
Para Sanda y Alberto
… dejadla lejos del mar Sin peines para sus crenchas… Lorca
Sin cómplices secretos, De mi oníria exacerbada de ambrosias, Que sé, comprenden mi locura; Que transpasan las paredes en la fuga, Que suben de un tapanco enamorado. Papaloapan alocado, La Amazonia entera desatada, algarabía, Etiqueta rigurosa de mariposa embelesada, Sale Sanda al mercado en la mañana, Flores de San Angel, cempaxúchitl de mi tierra. Vuelvan, vuelvan, vecinos A las mieses de su jaus… 21
( voz Cimeriana de la tundra bosquinómana Que dice JAUS ), Donde piscan la miel en la alborada Colmenitas tempraneras, abejitas muy trabajadoras, Para luego entregarse sin descanso
Al esperpento gollerino de la noche Noche gollana, noche gollesca Noche nochera, Suspendidos en la espera: Cronos, Caronte y Cerbero.
La semilla Gongorina, La Sevilla Gongorina De los sueños Se desliza blanca, iluminada Por un Guadalquivir plateado de España: Entre marismas y praderas, allá en Cádiz, Encuentra el mar.
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Ante el cadalso, en sus cabales, I単igo Conover de Mendoza
Responsable de todo:
TIBURCIO ESQUIRLA 1979.
RETRATO DE SANDA RACOTTA POR ALBERTO.GIRONELLA
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HELENA DRAGOMIERETZ PO U R S A N D A R A C O T T A Sa derniere vie
Helena Dragomieretz Fut prise captive a Paris, De tous les amantes de Varenne Elle fut la septieme au mourir.
Revolution qui baise Son cou Tout nue De princesse Polonaise. Albatrine A son dernier matin Elle mange des clementines Sous la lune. Ayant fait Sa confession Prend le chemin De la mort. 24
On n’aura pas De tort en Pologne Et non plus En Ancone.
Noviembre 1984.
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LA FINCA DE LOS SORDOS
En España Hay un nuevo Alfonso Que se llama Juan Carlos. Tendrá en el brillante Fraga Iribarne A un nuevo Calvo Sotelo. Goicochea será Goicochea Walker, el nieto. En vez de Romanones Habrá un Móntrico. El capitán Molina Se podría convertir En el general Primo de Rivera. Gil Robles Sería Gil Robles. Santiago Carrillo Tiene ya mucha experiencia. El viejo catatónico Recobra la memoria Cada tres siglos; 26
Cuando el cadáver político
De España Se vuelve a dar de garrotazos Bajo el cielo amarillo Que pintó Francisco Goya, Turbulento, Con una nube negra Merodeando El Valle de los Caídos. Ese perro, ( el de la esquina ) De mirada compungida, Es el alma de España Embelesada con la muerte. A las cinco de la tarde… A las cinco de la tarde… A las cinco de la tarde… 1975
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LA REVOLUCION DE LAS SALAMANDRAS
Scientific insects Have shed Their former wings And wear the rigors Of winter, translucent, Without the slightest hesitation, Without the slightest trace of their mutations. Overnight, Young commissars Have learned to read and write And wield the stick of power With persuasion. They discern New symbols in the sky See the pictures In the books And read Paul Valery, ( Le cimetiere marin ), 28
With apprehension. Aged students
Assemble in the night And shout:
“Vive la liberté”! With fearless pronunciation. The eructation Of Chateau Margaux, Pastries of Fouchon Are more amenable To the palate Of the leaders. The soldiers passing by Are very chic indeed Attired in fatigues Designed by Pierre Cardin. They duck bullets In real style And fire AK-47’s 29
With bravado. The bra-less Sans culottes Distribute fresh caviar Among the poor…
Oriana ( Fallacci ) and Gloria ( Steinen ) Are wearing Tennis shoes Because they are Maoists. Having arrived lately on the scene Ready for almost anything After courteous invitation. The workers have long gone To Le Club Mediterranée But that is no great matter. Soul-full drag queens Sporting beards and black berets Fill the joyful streets Dancing to the tunes Of the band from “The Trotsky and Engels”. 30
In the boutiques Pallid flower children Make a point Pass on the joint, Talk of peace The price of hash
And the coming transmigration To the fourth dimension.
1975.
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LECUMBERRI
Oh, eye that meets The eye. Oh, hand that clasps The hand If for a brief moment And through a bar.
‘It is here stated That the convict Todd John Todd Appoints as his Assistant council Lea Ross. Lea Ross. Lea Ross…Etc.
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The blatant edges Of the desk, The blunted edges
Of the judge Are beyond anarchy. But let me make a commentary, Then. Can I please, Make a commentary?! Yes?! Then and when?! Oh, it is too late. He has to go. The meeting is ended.
1975.
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CAFÉ DES ARTISTES CHELSEA THE WORLD’S END
Back then it was… At le café des Artistes… A girl singing In the cellar; And us crowding her Crowning her Our generation As we were. The girl’s noses Slightly rounder Than today, Their skin fresher The lips firmer More joyous Their eyes brighter There was no formality then 34
The amplifiers were strewn all over the place Guys and girls smoked hash in the alley ways
The music was coming on strong And she was the very personification Of our age In her spangled jeans And her silky raw voice That spoke of our loves The exuberant solitude of those days
1976.
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TO ABELE BIKILA
Under the auspices of Pan Philippedes ran from Marathon. This race is an immemorial run, The race of Abele Bikila at Rome.
Solitary, the lion hunter Moves in rhythm with his heart; The breath of life sustains him High, the Ethiopian. Even in flight, Flexing his love Like an unseen muscle He runs alone, For all. His is the simple heart
Of Marathon! That giveth all, 36
Carries him through The Olympian!
In the end he has the grace of a true king. At the end he moves with the eland of a gazelle, The accomplished dancer!
1976.
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THE MINISTRY OF TORTURE
The ministry of torture The ministry of extortion The ministry of corruption The ministration of intoxication The pleasures of incineration The expediency of defamation The necessity of castration The delights of perversion The oligarchy of coercion The illusion of power The belief in predestination The vicariousness of exploitation The splendors of egotism The justifications of narcissism Narcosis and megalomania The comforts of dipsomania. Why should I bother The conscience of the powerful? 38
After all, They worked very hard To get where they are – I am ungrateful.
1976.
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AT 40 DEGREES CELSIUS
A soul Inside a body Twists in pain Afraid of death Compromised in flesh Amidst the splendors Of the world. Sing a song, Lautarus; Play the lute And hail me to my death. Not every bone Is willing to forfeit The flesh, Shivering the flesh Making love to one another These coils of fire Are relentless till the end. 40
Burn the image Of my sacred loved one Least I, paganized, incensed, Fill the earth with fire. Loud and clear, Lautarus, I can hear you well.
1976.
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FOR T.S.
I take it That on this Living planet Nothing is Stationary‌ Living it is. I hear the sound Of the birdies Chirping In the trees. I can see The slow, Tremulous Passage Of water clogged Clouds Ready to deluge Us. The mirth of summer 42
Is in full bloom And the gasoline powered Lawn mowers Of the rich Fill the air With sensuous Noises, Moments of delight And of prosperity. Little shrieks From garden nymphs Echo among The bushes. The berries Are ripe For plucking. Should we Take a walk? Or should we Eat a peach? 43
And should we Dare eat a peach, The fig and pomegranate Would beckon still‌ Reckless Lord Cardigan Took his light brigade A few hours After breakfast. I should not dare Meddle with The marmalade. I am growing old the ruffles Of my pouch Are a mite unseemly. But where shall all this End?! Peacocks Drinking From the fountain Of knowledge, Apricots 44
Blooming On the mantle piece, Lazy summer Filtering through Porcelain and water. I shall have Mutton with cranberry sauce And a thin slice Of black bread. T’is a pity There is not a sheep dog, I could wipe the grease on his fur.
1977.
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FLORA
Muero En amores Muero Me muero Por los amores De Flora, Ay! Si los amores Queman Por quĂŠ no Me quemas, Flora, Flora Me despierta Amores, Los amores Son muy bellos Que toman su tiempo Ello para echar sus flores.
1977. 46
I do not stand By the shadow Of my ancestors I stand by Myself And lend Credence To the shadow Of my ancestors.
1977.
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Las cajeras Sueñan con Irse a Paris. El policía Se quiere ir A comer A su casa. A los cobrantes Les aprieta El corazón, Y los pagantes Tienen las manos Sucias de dinero.
1977.
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LAMB CHOPS
Well, Here you are A Young-old man, worn out In an empty night, on an empty bed Questioning yourself Like a stray goat In a lonely forest. Bleat, sheep, bleat Bleat out Your complaints: bleat, bleat; To the wolfLamb chops.
1977.
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I rather Be an honest dog, A nice big dog With a loud bark, Than one of these Cretins Who destroy The happiness Of others.
There are elements In reality that Would support A twitch Of paranoia Like that Police siren For instance. And who is In authority anyway? 50
To whom Should I Substantiate, Certify My paranoia? When all the world Has gone insane? Let each of us Find his peace; Then we shall talk.
1977.
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THOMAS BECKETT
Exiled From his land The solitary Priest Awaits the call The summons back To Canterbury. Misty cliffs Of Dover White as a humpback Whale You emerge from the sea Like a dream, The illusion Of an island! Sweet heart of mine Burn softly and see Beckon me still Back to my Island.
1977. 52
SHORT ODE TO STEPHEN CRANE AND MATHEW BRADY
I found three bodies today On a field of wheat, on a field of hay; Among the bushes and the berries Three bitter fruits of death.
One was a soldier in blue The other a soldier in gray And the third was a country boy With a round hole on the sole of his shoe.
I approached slow and nimbly Like a phantom suspended on thin air. How placid they laid on the earth, As if sunning themselves in a holyday.
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One, a musician, had three callused fingers to show, The other, an unfinished letter: And the boy, a poor country boy, Had a round hole on the side of his head.
1977.
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THE REIGN OF LOVE
Green, Greener still, Is my fair England. Green wind Green branches, Unremitting green.
Close the factories, The mine shafts. Let us be courageous.
On this world Of three dimensions Only the Sun is king. Man aspires, And He, The One, gives Our daily bread Baked and crackling.
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Make a paradise Of the flesh. The Spirit will animate The flesh and take Us all Into the fourth dimension.
Green trees of fruits So ripe As to dare bare feet Rise towards green branches – Golden dreams unknown.
In this world We can only build A garden.
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World of flesh and bones; Of bark and fire. Circumscribed, ( as we are ). To see The Light It is necessary to die. Green flesh, Green wind, Greenland green, We die first.
1978.
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IN SYMPATHETIC MEMORY OF WILLIAM BLAKE
Tigers Are conscious Participants in History. If I were to Ask a tiger: Tiger, what do you think Of meat? Would he answer: What do you mean? Your generation Or the next? And if I were to ask The Chinese: What do you think of sex? Would they answer: Whom do you mean? This last generation Or the rest? Ask mankind 58
So conscious of History So unconscious of itself. Tiger, tiger of my dreams Tiger, tiger burning bright In the forest of the night.
1978.
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RINCÓN DE GUAYABITOS
Ya brilla a lo lejos el mar Platinado bajo el sol Americano. El que descubrió Balboa, El de mis sueños, El de mi juventud.
Llevaré mameyes frescos, Aguacates, Y un róbalo regular Pa’ guisarlo a la Veracruzana Con pulpos y calamar. Sabor de mar Y de guayabo fresco. También está el guayabito – El guayabo popular… De las cinco abstinencias Hay una que no se acatar.
1978. 60
LA NIEBLA
La densa niebla Emerge de la tundra Como el aliento De un lobo hiperbóreo, Un aullido Que viene dando tumbos De cañada en cañada Sobre el agua fresca de los ríos, Congela los colmillos De la imaginación.
Para después surgir Por el musgo henchido, Respirar la tierra Y el calor del sol, Penetra el aire Y bifurca la luz Al definir un tronco
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Entre la lĂnea solar De partĂculas luminosas Y la sombra de Wotam y Thor
1981.
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This pale mist Casts a sick shadow Over the wonders of the world, Enveloping our hope Shedding doubt Over the green and the blue.
Malevolent and lugubrious The rotor blades Harvest the whirring noise Of approaching doom, Sulfuric and metallic Like a cloud of locusts Like a cloud of helicopters It spreads.
1981.
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TWO EYES
Your beauty is so pure That it seems almost divine. How soft and tender Is the light that flows From your eyes! That if I had to choose To love either one I could not do it in a life.
You know that beauty Is of the mind Wherein rests your soul In peace saddened At the thought
That only through your body You might please,
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Thus shines forth a special Light from you Which knowledge shafted in your heart Hart of harts that you wish And think that it shall be denied.
1980.
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|TO MY MORTAL SOUL
Sometimes, I seem to glimpse The shadow of a past life, An unexplained emotion; As if two ships crossing The silent tide Of a misty sea Haled each other Awakening me To an ancient Mooring Of long ago.
And then, Like the riggings Of a top sail gallant, Like the surging White canvas
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Of the sail itself; Like the fugitive Spray of a squall, Like a nocturnal sea bird Frightened by fire, I shiver and shake And awake And remember that I am alive again!
1983.
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MI ALMA MORTAL
A veces, Sospecho La sombra de otra vida En una emoci贸n inexplicada, Como si dos barcos Se cruzaran en alta mar; En la niebla, Entre la sombra y la marea, Para despertarme En un antiguo embarcadero De anclaje conocido.
Y despu茅s, Como el aparejo De una vela genovesa, Como la lona blanca dilatada De la vela misma;
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Como la espuma fugitiva De una borrasca marina, Como un ave nocturna Asustada por el trueno, Me estremezco Y despierto, Me acuerdo que estoy vivo Otra vez!
1983.
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THE WITCH OF SAMOTHRACE
This priestess of Dionysus Unleashes serpents from her mouth With her short temper And her little hands. Oh, she will never become a wife Even as she is lovely, There lurks inside her An abyss of obscure flint Searching for a heart.
Shadows whisper in the moonlight Words from parchment, orphic rites, And a secret longing to create A season for herself,
A second dominant self For she is a cunning actress Fearful of her father’s gentle gaze.
70
At the mysteries in Samothrace She ran tearing off her garments, Crying out, Possessed by the spirit Of the god. The priestesses sprang up on her: Mare headed, bitch headed, Sow headed. Tore out her heart‌ Supplanted it with serpents‌ ( she is one of them now ), Them witches of Samothrace!
And when Apollo rode his chariot Over the expanse of dawn, Out of the East came dark shadows Floating on the silver sea: Black ships,
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Black men, Ash blackened By the fire of war, Wind- worn ravagers Defilers, savages; Took all under the hulls Of their timber ships And floated off again Over the tides.
The breath of fate Is a white dove Agitated over the sacrificial stone And dawn with her radiant bow Arched across the sky, Shot a beam of light Over the rallying spray, Over the furious waves, Over the sea and the fading star.
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Hercules, son of Zeus, Mighty archer, Slayer of beasts,
Who wore the mask of The Lion, Journeyed far into the regions Of the underworld, Killed the witch, Hyppolyte, Took her girdle And crossed the stream of Oean Far in the darkness of the world Where the Hyperboreans live.
Fallen is the tripod of Heracleon, Hera is banished From the Council of the Gods – Maiden, nymph and crone, A universe now gone‌ The Sun reigns, The Moon wains,
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In twenty eight days, ( half of which are fourteen, my virgin ),
One day the more, one day the less And the Dorians are coming.
1979.
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HACE MUCHOS, MUCHOS AÑOS TUVE UNA NOVIA QUE SE LLAMABA OFELIA, EN DINAMARCA
Ofelia Está dormida Entre Jazmines y azucenas Los jardines de sus penas Los lleva bajo la frente, Musgos y alelíes, Alondras y jilgueros.
De entre las sombras Han salido Todas las ninfas del bosque. ¡Que ojos tan tristes tienen! ¡Que solemnes sobre la barca! Ya se desliza Ofelia Hacia la costa de Dinamarca.
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Una guirnalda de flores Le corona la frente. Príncipes y guerreros En sus afanes quisieron Lirios y azucenas.
Bajo la luna de plata Sus ojos están vacíos; Las brasas se extinguieron Bajo la piel transparente. Con la luz de la mañana Ella flota hacia la luna, La luna ausente-
¡Que pálido su rostro! ¡Que rígida su frente! Cuatro velas la acompañan En su viaje hacia la muerte.
76
Yo no quiero verla Con toda su juventud Envuelta entre lirios Y azucenas, blancas Como las arenas de Vastos arenales muertos.
El sol besa su frente, Y en las aguas de neblina Surcan rayos celestes, Desde las puertas del cielo-
Conducen la barca sirenas Y en las mรกrgenes del lago Guerreros tensan aros Hacia un cielo estremecido.
Crujen sobre los maderos Silbidos contundentes, Las llamas se extienden Sobre linos transparentes. 77
Desde la orilla El prĂncipe de Dinamarca Ve las llamas y suspira.
1978.
78
I do not want The fear of death To make me want to love You, Oh, Lord of love, Instruct me.
If I lack courage Or grow Too tired Conduct me.
And if I should Hesitate Or forget Remind me.
What narrow escape From dissolution, What close encounter With power! I must insist 79
That you should
Help me to resist Least I desist And turn the corner Of desire.
Where You dwell Is The Reality. Towards You I turn And empty my soul Of content. Please, Lord, Receive me.
1978.
80
Ce Noel Les enfants jouent au croquet. Le soleil brille dans le jardin. Les enfants jouent: Bruits constants et sonores Batte contre bille, Bois contre bois, Dialogue lumineux.
1978.
81
SOUPIRES DE MA MEMOIRE
Un litre de vin ordinaire Ou le meilleur Bordeaux, Je m’en fiche, mon amour.
Les vieux copains M’attendent à la place De La Contrescarpe. Ils seront toujours là ; Meme si j’arrive en retard – Tant de paroles cachées Fleurissent dans ma mémoire !
Je regarde le vert clair, Opaline, de mon thé à la menthe. Je t’écoute. Je m’écoute dans l’eau Qui coule dans la fontaine. Le soleil brille
82
Sur ton visage. Le muezzin traverse La cour; il va vers Son minaret Dans la mosquée Mouffetarde.
Ile de Saint Louis, Sein de La Seine, Toujours mystérieux Comme une femme. Bateau phantôme : Je connais tes délires,
Je connais tes désirs, Laisse-moi partir, Laisse-moi partir !
83
Si j’étais Anglais, Et si j’étais Le roi, Je conquirais La France Une autre fois – Belle femme !
Alors, vite; Et fais-moi Le plaisir De me donner Un bon verre De vin.
1977.
84
Je voudrais savoir Si je peux vous rendre hommage, Aujourd’hui, maintenant… Je vous veux, Je vous désire, Je vous aime, Madame.
Douce femme, tendresse ; Tendrement votre présence Caresse mon âme, Battement du Coeur, La douceur lumineuse De L’Alhambre Andaluse… La bonne heure Où je t’ai connue.
Je porterai le plus Beaux costume noir,
85
Un frac, ( Madame ) ; Parce-que j’amerais danser Avec vous, madame.
1980.
86
El amor No es una Victoria‌ Ni una derrota; Es un encuentro Donde nadie sale vencido. El amor Es un encuentro Donde se encuentran todas las cosas perdidas. Finalmente, el amor es un encuentro Con todas las cosas desconocidas.
1978.
87
THESE DOGS OF TODAY
I saw a group of unemployed dogs sitting or strolling about the bazar corner of The San Jacinto garden. They should be provided with facilities. They should be allowed to set up a committee to advertise their services. It is a disgrace that they should be out of work, spending whole mornings in the park, whiling away their time while countless dog hours are lost to the economy and the land.
1978.
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89
LA ESCUELA DE DANZA
Para Guadalupe
Que cada cual reflexione En la soledad del cuerpo Una cadencia graciosa Extendiéndose sobre música.
Un brazo es un arco sutil y delicado. Es una rama, Es un bosque… Bosque de notas, De nociones, de movimientos, De emociones contenidas – A jetée d’esprit, a ‘grande jetée’ Deberá terminar en rigidez. Y el corazón latiendo fuertemente,
Dulcemente; controlado, Con porte, mesurado. 90
¡¿Pero dónde ha volado el pájaro?! ¿El pájaro de fuego, la llama, el amor? La verdadera danza comienzaYo no puedo resistir la presión de la emoción, Extenuado como estoy; Tu cuerpo arqueado Hará estallar mi corazón.
Si fuera yo un bailarín Bailaría para ti. Si fuese yo un cantante Cantaría para ti. Que tristeza que las palabras No tengan Arte – Silenciosas, inmóviles. ¡Baila, baila, baila!
1978.
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THE SCHOOL OF DANCE
For Guadalupe
The school of dance Is a school for each To ponder. The solitude of the body Is a graceful cadence Extending over music. A delicate arm Is an arch, Is a branch, Is a forest… Forest of notes Of notions, of motions Of contained emotions –
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A jetée d’esprit, a ‘grande jetée’, Most end in rigidity. And the heart gently beating, Controlled, poised, meashured.
Oh, but where has the bird Flown? The Firebird, the flame of love? The true dance begins, I cannot resist, for one, The pressure of emotion. Your curved body Will snap my heart.
If I were a dancer I would dance for you. If I were a singer I would sing for you. Words are artless, silent, Motionless. Dance, music, dance!
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