E stima L reflectors:
After a very special weekend, start the program with a guest whose single visit improves the prospect of the week that unwinds as serpentine before my eyes. You can not control a serpentine. Once the first spiral shoots paper roll, follow the other, there is no stopping her. One is resigned to seeing the tousled curls on the floor, like a muse abandoned.
Speaking of muses, mine went for a walk without me last weekend and I in the opposite direction, toward the Perote the Muses, in the community of Sto. Sunday Tables. My experiences are worthy of story and I want to take them as such. And God ... which story.
That is fine with the Muses is Javier Romero Hernández, the young Panamanian poet with us, whom I consider a flame of hope on the altar of the letters of my land. Hope, because there is talent in our youth, and even more desire to work (read: break the back without expecting anything in return ... if you receive something in return that's job!). Javier planting. Javier harvest.
I love his work because it has grip, dexterity, rhythm and color. His poetry, awarded since its inception as a writer, earned him the publication of his first book "Meditation in a maze and other aberrations" (Stock Hardware, Editorial 9 Signs), a poetry book that compiles the verses with which he won honorable mention Competition Gustavo Batista Cedeño 2006 and launch took place on January 30. Javier's poems have been published in literary magazines hospitalizations, Ants Cathedral (Cuba), Letralia (Venezuela) and this is just the beginning of his career. For homework, I leave the purchase and reading of Meditation in a Maze, which is already on sale in bookstores and pharmacies, to enjoy deep work, cool (can be both at once), as compassionate and fierce . This is our youth and so the poet has managed to capture it for us. I hope the serpentine
life unrolls in colors for all you are doing Here sheet.
The Fruit
Written at my dear friend, Joe Murillo.
Because your shadow
always hang like a dark fruit,
you might want to transform into a bird and not fall
litter as a heartbeat to nowhere:
then be useless down the tree, plant another seed
not tremble,
close the door and hide forever
rope could not contain your absence;
of your tongue where stars grow winter
gods and those who lived their sadness in us. Therefore
will climb your tree when it rains,
and take an umbrella,
and give you a cloak, and the midday
a glass of water will shut down your fear, your rope aflojaré
and a bit to talk to me,
for tell me ant
confuses his lair with your chest, waking dog
you still looking at night hikes,
in uncultivated lands where everything suffers
your hot gravitation, where we often feel
emerge as the secret hunch that we were denied ,
the small body of a can
or ocher cloth affliction
contesting its quiet on the weed.
And I'll tell you I'm here, you
me
listening to the precipice of your voice in my sorrow,
the murmur of my veins and other
as sleepwalking roots lost in myself.
And I'll tell you I'm there,
without you in my only
is this clot nocturnal blood
sleepy vertigo, nausea
a day latitudes, because I feel a green
harassed,
feel branches that break on my brow and a suspended death
my neck I awake, because I feel those
leaves that shiver in your body and wounded
faltering lips in a kiss.
Violeta
And always find between those things that awaken drenched
the remains of your shadow.
caught between my poems,
find living under one roof,
using a pair of shoes where the rain never come,
confronting in your human form of loneliness.
True, Violeta,
the sea is everything a creature of nostalgia and tears content, a wounded man
which summarizes the hope, because I look
sea and I think you may also view
during those hours when birds and trees are found;
and I think also we managed to find, there, in that dispersion
foam and reverberations parallel
which brings the time and
beats all those things we wanted to love.
born September 2, 1983 in the town of Chorrera. In 2002, won the Demetrio Herrera Sevillano, organized by the University of Panama, with his collection Delusions of Blood. In 2004, gets honorable mention in the National Youth Poetry Award Gustavo Batista Cedeño, with the book "Poems to find a human being." In 2006, again received mention in the same event, with the poetry book "Meditation in a maze." A Javier likes the music of Fito Paez, Gustavo Cerati, Moenia and, of course, Pablo Milanes.
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Lili Mendoza
Story
I missed three times. I was late. I've locked my keys in the car. I had no spare key, also found a locksmith. I struggled with testosterone half the town, throwing wild options while I tried a maneuver maguiver with a coat hanger. So crazy, after an hour of struggle, it sounded beautiful: one of the windows would break with the hammer wielded a Gentile audience as major league bat. Spending my God Spending! Told the crowd - I break I said. I could not. Shit. To hell with this. He broke the owner's deck. Meanwhile, my thin, is foreign, everything looked like a dream. I missed the poetry reading in the park. We wanted to eat, because nothing else was and I missed it. Again. Another hour and found the hotel. While waiting for the key that would open the rest, a stranger took the guitar serenades skinny for me while the owner of the guitar (the skinny one), watched in amazement, how the world unfolded in techno-color-surreal (1). Leaving the hotel, heading to the inn, I spent a high I have ever seen. I hit a taxi. I wanted to pay the driver for damages, but declined. The police came. Hours passed. I wanted to rush to the police and he told me how no ma'am, quick take her to the cops. I gave up. I slept in the reclined seat of my car and squeezed sad paw of the beloved. I said - Flaco, home camíname
.- (1) In the world of music, playing the guitar outside the woman's touch is as a musician. Guitar touch the wife of a musician with his own guitar ... that is a mortal sin.
How the muse left me stranded in Santo Domingo a Cursed Saturday night.
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