Friday, May 29, 2009
NOCHE BAJO EL LIMONERO
Me siento en el balcón,
junto al limonero.
Es de noche y sudo.
Llego de correr,
de moverme,
de hacer algo,
algo,
romper el tedio,
la rutina aceitosa,
otro día pegajoso,
áspero largo y corto
todo revuelto,
empaquetado con lazo
de plástico y enviado
por mensajero
a la tumba del tiempo.
La noche ha refrescado;
mejor.
Un limón cuelga
ante mis ojos.
Verde.
Brillante.
Hermoso.
Ajeno
a mi soledad.
Como un perro
que lame los pies
del amo
all llegar éste
a casa,
el limón
parece mirarme.
Lo tomo,
lo acerco a mi nariz.
Inspiro su aroma
suave,
levemente ácido
cómo el perfume
perfecto e improbable
de una mujer
improbable.
Y me emociono.
Un golpe súbito,
Inmediato,
al alma.
El olor, una llave al
corazón, a esa pena
eterna,
profunda,
grabada en
obsidiana líquida.
Roja.
Sangre.
Otro día será
llave de dicha.
Ojalá.
Pero no ahora.
…
El limón reposa sobre
la mesa mientras
escribo.
Admiro su piel verde,
silenciosa.
No habla,
que no es igual
a no decir nada.
Ya no lloro.
El corazón
se ha retirado
del espolón de proa
a su [otra] posición:
la sala de máquinas.
Aquí hay menos brisa,
menos humedad,
y no se ven las estrellas.
La caldera sigue
quemando energía,
tirando del buque,
aunque haya noches
[y días]
en que el océano
es más sumidero
que sendero.
[No me olvidéis].
Thursday, February 21, 2008
ESTHETIC OF LIFE
Because life, mysterious as it is, can't help but be beautiful. Life is a gigantic and fantastic work of art. It's always been so and it will always be. We don't suffer more catastrophes now than 100 years ago; now we just have television. That's the difference. The rest remains the same: men who want to live, men who want to kill and men who don't care either way, men that are already dead.
But Nature is stronger than all of us. It's always been so and it will always be. I trust beauty and love. I know there are lies, nihilism, cruelty, violence, despair and many more calamities but I refuse to give in to them; I refuse to compromise my Liberty.
Liberty to feel excited, to reach out, to fight the good and imperfect fight to be human. Who was the idiot who invented political assassinations?
I like chimeras. Yes, I do. I like them because, first of all, I love the word. It makes me feel the whispering of a pair of sweet and sensual lips pronouncing slowly: chi...me...ra... And who do I care if you don't speak my tongue when you do speak my language?
I also like it because it speaks of windows, of spaces, of new universes, of impossible horizons that become possible simply by defining them. Just like the contours of a painting containing life's perpetually flowing heart and chaos. Because love and art are born from chimeras' uterus; and from a strawberry ice-cream; and from a kiss; from a sunset; from the sweat of a birth; from a wave breaking against the rocks; from your eyes; from a common cause that inspires
us to give our lives (never to take it); from a walk on Coney Island at dusk. Points, marks, memories, sensations, tastes, touches, sounds, scents, colors...
I see men walking down Seventh Avenue, Brooklyn. Some are friends, some are not. The normal thing. The sun rises and sets. In Spring flowers bloom and in Summer we believe we are immortal. It's life, nothing more, nothing less. My esthetic proposal.
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