LIKE A PLANE

As Lukas drives shotgun
For the first time
He looks at the dashboard
And says
It’s like a plane
It’s night time
And he tries not
To fall asleep
And I remember
My father
And his mysterious friends
One of them
Had a private jet
And we flew
From California
To Arizona
They let me sit
In the cockpit
Next to the pilot
And I tried
Not to fall asleep
But I did
Just like Lukas.

A POEM FOR THE POPE

Everybody
Is waiting for your death
Some have tried to kill you
I hope you make it
I like you
And I am not even
Roman Catholic

MY DEAR GRANDFATHER

As Diego
Chews the strawberries
I remember my grandfather
How he used to
Pick us up at
Kindergarden
And we would walk
To the market
And he would
Buy us fruit
We walked home
Eating mangos
And when a
Car did not stopped
As we crossed the street
He yelled at the driver
With his beautiful
Tequila voice
“Chinga tu madre”
He chanted
His words traveled
Like a flock of birds
Reaching the inside
Of the Volkswagen
My brother and I giggled
Like small children do
He laughed too
It was my first encounter
With poetry

13

I said to the doorman:
A couple of months ago I spoke
To a monk named Akasios
I made reservations with him
And he answered:
No one said anything to me
My wife looked at me
I looked at my wife
He carried on:
But we can see if there are
Rooms available
Did you bring luggage?
I answered I would get it later
He asked us to follow him
We entered the monastery
Walked through its corridors
Very soon I realized I was lost
And would be hard to get out
If I had to do it by myself
We stopped outside a 2 story building
And the monk said:
This is where female guests stay
I said good bye to my wife.

A veces los poetas también son profetas. Me tomé la libertad de traducir un fragmento de Ron Silliman.

"Pienso que los poetas jóvenes —los que hoy tienen diez años de edad y aún no saben que se convertirán en poetas —no serán tan pasivos con su destino. Alguien —y muy pronto— tendrá que clavar una estaca en el suelo con un tremendo efecto polarizador. Cambiará el entendimiento de lo que están haciendo y de cómo el trabajo de una persona concierne con el de otra, y cómo ambos poetas se relacionan con su propio material, etc. No tengo idea de cómo se pueda manifestar dicho evento polarizador, ni de de dónde pueda venir, sin embargo ciertamente no vendrá de ninguno de la generación de los mil novecientos cuarentas a la cual pertenezco. ¿Será un nuevo lirismo? ¿Será un nuevo anti—lirismo? No tengo la menor idea"
Ron Silliman.

A CUSTOMER

She approaches me
Her face has
The stain of cancer
Her breath
The pant of death

Agradezco la colaboración de Éktor en la traducción de mi poesía “Gridlock” A continuación el poema:


PLETÓRICA

La ambición es una
Congestión pletórica
Raudales de almas sórdidas
Como los suburbios
Un experimento refractario
De hombres banales
Ultrajadores de la humanidad
Su veneno
Nutre a la clase media
Incita en ellos
El amor
De Abel y Caín

"En poesía, como sucede con el milagro, lo que importa es la intensidad. Nadie sino el Ser Único más allá de nosotros, a quien no conocemos, podría sostener en el aire, por pocos segundos, el perfume de una violeta. El poeta puede —a semejanza suya— sostener por un instante mínimo el milagro de la poesía. Entre todos los hombres, él es uno de los pocos elegidos a quien se puede llamar con justicia un hombre de Dios."

José Gorostiza

11

When I was
About to make a U turn
We saw sign that read
St Anthony’s
Greek Orthodox
Monastery



12

The entrance was a Mediterranean arch
I stopped the automobile near it
At the entrance there was
A tall and thin man
Wearing a black cassock that reached
All the way down to his ankles
He was so still and quiet looking at us
My wife and I looked at each other
Not knowing what to do next
I told my wife to wait in the car
And I got out and walked towards the monk
Gravel crunching under my feet
I stopped next to him
The monk looked at me and I looked at him
Peaceful stare in the night
The entrance light was above us
This monk had very fair skin
With red hair and a red beard
And serene blue eyes
When it was obvious he was not going to speak
I introduced myself
My name is Juan
I extended my hand towards him
He shook my hand and told me his name
A Hellenic name I can’t pronounce nor remember.