Disclaimer

This blog ran for more than two years with no graphics--and it received about 50 page views. I was advised to add graphics; after seeing the huge public that followed blogs dedicated to homoerotic images, I decided to use that kind. The result was a dramatically increased number of monthly page views, and the number has remained fairly steady. Most of the images were found on the internet; although they are assumed to be in the public domain, they are identified as far as possible. They are exhibited under the Fair Use protections of United States copyright law: their function is simply to attract readers to the poems--I receive no economic benefit from them or from the blog. Nevertheless, they will be removed if they are copyrighted and the owner so desires. 1260 x 290

POEMAS EN ESPAÑOL -- 2009: January 8, April 12, August 3 . . . . 2010: January 13 . . . . 2013: June 30, November 28, December 8 . . . . 2014: September 25, November 30 . . . . 2015: July 9, October 22 . . . . 2016: February 12, August 1, December 28 . . . . 2017: March 2, September 5 . . . . 2018: May 10, July 15, November 3 . . . . 2019: August 4, December 5 . . . . 2020: December 1 . . . . 2021: October 12, December 3 . . . . 2022: April 15, June 21 . . . . 2023: January 3, April 2, May 9, June 6.

Monday, May 15, 2017

THE FAREWELL

                                                      In Memoriam
                                          all the victims of the plague                

   
 
                        The speaker is a gay man dying of AIDS.          


          Now with accelerating force I feel
          the world fall back and reel away from me:  
                  
          Outside my window ceaselessly
          the wind streams by, and every tree
          spends itself terminally in leaves
          that give themselves into the air
          and twist away, fall down the street,
          scud, stumble, scurry out of sight
          under the culverts, into the night.   

          And all night long, beneath my dreams
          the worlds great, rushing rivers drain
          across the continents, down the wide plains,
          into the dark, dissolving sea.  

          All Nature gives itself away
          in perpetual farewell.  

          Now while my body’s failing cells
          detach themselves and drift away,
          you separate yourself from me.
          My hands, that once could keep you near,
          attempt to follow, tentatively,
          and lose themselves in empty air. 
          My eyes still seek your face, no longer there; 
          my ears strain after you, your voice, your feet
          retreating down hospital passageways.  

          My heart is gone;
          my soul has ceased to be my own;
          my thoughts no longer belong to me;
          my peace is broken, my pride pulled down.  

          Great is the power of Nature’s law,
          that every soul and body must obey;
          the writ that runs through every thing,
          the universal flaw;
          that not even Love can stay.                         






Wednesday, April 19, 2017

OEDIPUS AND THE SPHINX


They met again just as before,
since in Hell nothing changes,
and, as before, she taunted him
with his blindness, mixing her lyrical laments
for the tender maternal victim
of your arrogance
with but being a man,
of course you didnt see
He, in his simplicity,
said only, “I was her child, her baby.  
And she tried to kill me.”








Thursday, March 2, 2017

CÁNTICO

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Una sola rosa roja 
         un florero de cristal 

Una sonata para piano 
         agua de manantial 

Un tesorola luz del sol
        en broches y eslabones de oro

Una fuente callada 
        un patio interior 

Una puerta en la muralla 
        una madreselva en flor 

Nubes sobre la montaña 
        el bel canto de un ruiseñor  

Una ráfaga sobre un pozo 
        profundo y oscuro… 
                                 trueno lejano  

Un misterio—y en ausencia       
        un misterio desolador  

Raudal de blancura vacía
        silencio torrencial 

Deslumbrante resplandor 
        catarata de soledad 

Una sombra luminosa 
       una silueta en el umbral  
 
Eres mi huésped de cuerpo y alma  
       una vela en el altar






Monday, January 30, 2017

SONG FOR A ROCK GROUP


I look at you,
You look at me—
You with the eyes of an angel, a demon,
What do you see? 

You take my hand
Is it for real?
All of a sudden I’m falling, I’m flying—
What do you feel?  

I say “Hello,”
You sing the refrain
Of a song that says things that I don’t understand—
What does it mean?  

CHORUS:
I lie awake all night
Thinking of you,
Go around in a daze all day,
Don’t know what to do.
When will I see you again?
Will it be today?
Sometimes you seem to be
So far away.
Sometimes I think I’ll never know
What you mean to say.








Wednesday, December 28, 2016

UN ASCETA


                    (Mt. 10:38, 16:24)


Gracias te doy, mi Dios, por esta cruz,

relámpago que en mi pecho enterrado
me ha llenado de una luz interior,

dardo que en mi corazón hundido
ha encendido ahí un radiante dolor.

Y gracias por el fuego en el que yo ardo,
rosas las llamas son, y el humo espinas.

Gracias por el madero, la viga áspera y dura
que por la vía dolorosa de esta vida

arrastro—Gracias por la esencia pura
que rezuman mis llagas: mirra, nardo,    

incienso de punzante olor, fragancia divina
que destila cada gota de sangre que derramo…

Y por los clavos que me esperan, ¡gracias mil!
¡Mías sean las penas, la gloria sea tuya!

No me las quites nunca, aunque no me las merezca:
La ligereza, mi desnudez después de tal despojo,

Thursday, November 17, 2016

A RIDDLE


Now I am bound taut, drawn down
by those gigantic hands
to the framework that holds me from below. 
The slightest tap upon this rack
can make me quiver into sound.
And when against the cross-pull of the strands
that come and go
I shudder and vibrate,
the whole body of my world resounds.
Yet should I lie slack along all my length
in complete contact with this ground,
nor it nor I would resonate:
there would be no music then.
It is this thing
perversely called a bridge,
that separates
and holds me back
from everything—this hard threshold,
this stumbling block—produces strength,       
gives power to strain,
and makes me sing.
Sometimes so vibrant is the pain
that thrills me through, I know
they are stroking me again
(fingers pressing, probing how
to raise my cries up to a scream)
with that delicate, pitiless bow. 

How they must be enjoying it now. 





(THE STRING OF A FIDDLE)      







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