miércoles, 17 de septiembre de 2014

Samuel Beckett

Irlanda (1906-1989)

photo: Jerry Bauer

à elle l'acte calme
les pores savants le sexe bon enfant
l'attente pas trop lente les regrets pas trop longs l'absence
au service de la présence
les quelque haillons d'azur dans la tête points enfin
morts du coeur
tout la tardive grâce d'une pluie cessant
au tomber d'une nuit

à elle vide
lui pur

Collected Poems in English and French

martes, 16 de septiembre de 2014

Leonora Carrington

Inglaterra-México (1917-2011)

Tuesday, 1987

lunes, 15 de septiembre de 2014

Alejandra Pizarnik

Argentina (1936-1972)

Para que las palabras no basten es preciso una muerte en el corazón.

La luz del lenguaje me cubre como una música, imagen mordida por los perros del desconsuelo, y el invierno sube por mí como la enamorada del muro.

Cuando espero dejar de esperar, sucede tu caída dentro de mí. Ya no soy más que un adentro.

El infierno musical, 1971

domingo, 14 de septiembre de 2014

Macky Corbalán

Argentina (1963-2014)

Cuando se detiene una para tomar
respiro, es que desaparece el escenario,
y lo que brillaba es una bruma donde
siluetas de a dos, cruzan velocísimas.
Todo pasa, apenas se retoma el ritmo.

El ritmo del amor no tiene notas ni signos ni escalas.
Sólo un apabullante silencio, átono, arcaico.

martes, 9 de septiembre de 2014

Robert Creeley

USA (1926–2005)

The Language

Locate I
love you some-
where in

teeth and
eyes, bite
it but

take care not
to hurt, you
want so

much so
little. Words
say everything.

love you

then what
is emptiness
for. To

fill, fill.
I heard words
and words full

of holes
aching. Speech
is a mouth.

The Collected Poems of Robert Creeley, 1945-1975, University of California Press

lunes, 8 de septiembre de 2014

Samuel Beckett

Irlanda (1906–1989)

[...] time she stopped
sitting at her window
quiet at her window
only window
facing other windows
other only windows
all eyes
all sides
high and low
time she stopped

Rockaby, 1980

miércoles, 3 de septiembre de 2014


Minoan Snake Goddess from Knossos, Crete, circa 1600 BCE

martes, 2 de septiembre de 2014

Luca Erizzo

Italia (1924-2014)

Milano, 10 junio 2014

lunes, 1 de septiembre de 2014

Max Ernst

Alemania-Francia (1891-1976)

La ville pétrifiée, 1933 (Manchester City Galleries)

viernes, 29 de agosto de 2014

Joseph Cornell

USA (1903–1972)

Untitled (Ship with Nude), 1964-1966

miércoles, 27 de agosto de 2014

Arthur F. Kales

USA (1882-1936)

The 39 Steps, 1922

martes, 19 de agosto de 2014

Dahlia Ravikovitch

Israel (1936-2005)

foto: Dina Gona

The Fruit of the Land

a farewell song to the good old days

You asked if we've got enough cannons
They laughed and said: More than enough
and we've got new improved anti-tank missiles
and bunker busters to penetrate
double-slab reinforced concrete
and we've got crates of napalm and crates of explosives,
unlimited quantities, cornucopias,
a feast for the soul, like some finely seasoned delicacy
and above all, that secret weapon,
the one we can't talk about.
Calm down, man,
the intel officer and the C.O.
and the border police chief
who's also a colonel in that hush-hush commando unit
are all primed for the order: Go!
and everything's shined-up like the skin of a snake
and we've got chocolate wafers on every base
and grape juice and Tempo soda
and that's why we won't give in to terror
we will not fold in the face of violence
we'll never fold, no matter what
'cause our billy clubs are nice and hard.
God, who has chosen us from all the nations,
comforteth with apples
the fighting arm of the IDF
and the iron boxes and the crates of fresh explosives
and we've got cluster bombs too,
though of course that's off the record.
Serve us bourekas and cake, O woman of the house,
for we were slaves in the land of Egypt
but never again,
and blot out the remembrance of Amalek
if you can track him down, and if you seek him in vain,
blessed be the tiny match
that a soldier in some crack unit will suddenly strike
and set off the whole bloody mess.

translated by Chana Bloch and Chana Kronfeld

sábado, 16 de agosto de 2014

La Girola


lunes, 11 de agosto de 2014

William Burroughs

USA (1914-1997)

domingo, 10 de agosto de 2014

Franck De Las Mercedes

Nicaragua-USA (1972)


sábado, 9 de agosto de 2014

Alejandro Bustos

Argentina (1984)

Como la rosa estrella que habita en el centro de la piel, fruto que ilumina la hora más dulce, el nuevo encuentro.
¿Dónde está la nocturna paz si no es en los ojos de quien brilló en la perla-cúpula del venturoso deseo?
El aliento de la luna escribe su oración primera, roja y profunda entre los jardines de luz, como una herida eterna.


jueves, 7 de agosto de 2014

Alejandra Pizarnik

Argentina (1936-1972)

Te hablo

estoy con pavura.
hame sobrevenido lo que más temía.
no estoy en dificultad:
estoy en no poder más.

no abandoné el vacío y el desierto.
vivo en peligro.

tu canto no me ayuda.
cada vez más tenazas,
más miedos,
más sombras negras.

sábado, 12 de julio de 2014

Cormac McCarthy

USA (1933)

They trekked out along the crescent sweep of beach, keeping to the firmer sand below the tidewrack. They stood, their clothes flapping softly. Glass floats covered with a gray crust. The bones of seabirds. At the tide line a women mat of weeds and the ribs of fishes in their millions stretching along the shore as far as eye could see like an isocline of death. One vast salt sepulchre. Senseless. Senseless.

The Road, New York: Vintage International, 2006, p. 222

lunes, 7 de julio de 2014

Gonçalo Tavares

Angola/Portugal (1970)


a geometria abre a linha para deixar passar a Imaginação.
Do que antes foi, hoje sai Sangue.
Inundar o VAZIO: o FUTURO inunda o VAZIO.
Porque todo o vazio tem por INIMIGO a Imaginação.
Porque todo o vazio tem o Inimigo.

Investigações. Novalis.



la geometría abre la línea para dejar pasar la Imaginación.
EL FUTURO sale de la HENDIDURA y de la HERIDA.
De lo que antes fue, hoy sale Sangre.
Inundar el VACÍO: el FUTURO inunda el VACÍO.
Porque todo vacío tiene por ENEMIGO la Imaginación.
Porque todo vacío tiene ENEMIGO.

viernes, 4 de julio de 2014

e. e. cummings

USA (1894–1962)

somehwere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands