Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta Poemas. Mostrar todas las entradas
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta Poemas. Mostrar todas las entradas

11 septiembre, 2008

Hay días en que todo hace sentido después de este poema.

The Hollow Men

Mistah Kurtz—he dead.

A penny for the Old Guy

I

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

II

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom



III

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

IV

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

V

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.


Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

24 noviembre, 2007

También quise ser poeta

Sí, desde los 1o quise escribir, y me dedicaba a hacerlo en cualquier momento que tenía disponible. Muchos de esos textos los perdí entre mudanza y mudanza y algunos otros se fueron cuando un virus invadió mi computadora, perdí toda la información. Pocos sobreviven gracias a publicaciones universitarias modestas que ya no circulan, pero que en ese momento me significaban todo, al igual que los ciclos de lectura que con mucho gusto (y ego crecido) daba con amigos de la UNAM y de CADAC en el Hijo del Cuervo y otros lugares coyoacanenses. Hoy, arreglando algunas cosas, descubrí la primera revista universitaria en la que me publicaron algo y no resistí la tentación de releer lo que venía ahí. Aquí uno de los poemas que escribía antes. La verdad, me sigue gustando.

en la indiferencia del tiempo
discurren mis brazos vacíos
para conquistar la ausencia
causal de mi cuerpo si el tuyo

en la indiferencia del tiempo
me desplomo
para así
recorrer tu rostro
robando la textura
que mis dedos empeñados
marcaron en sus yemas

(felicies usurpadoras de tu esencia)

14 noviembre, 2007

rumi

Deprimida por la pérdida de mis llaves, me entretuve buscando algún poema de
Jalaludin Rumi, poeta sufi del siglo XIII


if you pass your night
and merge it with dawn
for the sake of heart
what do you think will happen

if the entire world
is covered with the blossoms
you have labored to plant
what do you think will happen

if the elixir of life
that has been hidden in the dark
fills the desert and towns
what do you think will happen

if because of
your generosity and love
a few humans find their lives
what do you think will happen

if you pour an entire jar
filled with joyous wine
on the head of those already drunk
what do you think will happen

go my friend
bestow your love
even on your enemies
if you touch their hearts
what do you think will happen

Translated by Nader Khalili