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Max Neumann Dec 2019
Afghanistan needs hellopoetry
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Yemen needs hellopoetry

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Why? Because people from all over the world have found something here: a place of belongingness.

Please note that I am just a poet on hellopoetry who loves this website sincerely. I am not affiliated or personally related to the founders of hellopoetry.

I rarely ask to get my poems reposted, but I would encourage everyone to spread the message, possibly even outside of hellopoetry, for new active users and possible contributors.

It would break a lot of hearts if hellopoetry wouldn't exist anymore.
The Randomness of things
is inexcusable

How randomly we meet
and part our ways

We fall apart
estranged from what we loved

For no reason at all
and no governing rules

Fresh meat becomes
Leftovers of tomorrow

Fresh love is turned
into a surge of pain

The randomness of days
is inexcusable

How randomly the night
steals us away

And never to return
from its mysterious depth

our eyes
get adjusted to the dark
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2016
they never tell you about the seagulls and the pigeons, do they?
sure sure, they have the bees and the birds covered,
your #mama and your #papa - you overheard them doing the
piston orchestra and said: the sort of onomatopoeia that
sounds just like you, that silences the sort of: just like you.
but why not listen with covert  benignant anticipation -
i did think English was a rotten
tongue, but i think French is worse...
                                                        ­  endear you? sure:
                 they put these additions
to the encoding, but never, ever explain how it works...
if dialectical is gone then diacritical
remains...
                                          ­                               and it's there,
a pink ostrich doing the go-g'ah dance
imbecile pigeon: neck a strut and half
by half nearly hanging off a desecrated body that's in limbo
on the scaffold where Charles I met his first cousin ******
thanks to Ollie Cromwell.... none of the Versailles
i have you know....
                            there should be a Greek
                   Kn                  symbol....
             not K as in potassium... something more.
and i'd never hear ****** jesus' i'm
the mountain                            on the radio,
thank you advertisement.
               but that thing about Jihadist French?
well... it's here,
                               i thought the English
were bad with not using diacritical marks,
second in command? diacritics,
first in command? dialectics?
abandon the first, the second is hyenas' razor
sharp: bite and smile at the same time.
           no, i'm not joking...
i'm choking you.
                             this is what the Jihadist in France
saw...
                            main example? how diacritical marks
**** around the syllable laws...
             bypass them straight... past them...
             main example? they never teach this...
i was never taught this, i was taught this in
an anti-alphabet ruling - it's not atomic
(but it really is), hence it's compounded -
but it's really atomic,
               where are the ancient atomic scientists now?
nowhere.
                         all of this came from
a footnote from maldoror, by isidore ducasse -
i too thought about putting Uruguay on the map -
                    in the notes, the use of "accent",
yes, a revelation from on high -
                      look at the French, how they speak it:
aplatissement
                             apply diacritic revision
and cut off the excess: aplatissemą -
                             (humiliation) -
          if only the French, then only the French know
how to create dyslexia... excess spelling
where distinct phonetic units should exist -
they never teach you how diacritical marks change
the syllable cutting up, the butcher's or forensic's inquiry -
                 they never teach you the use of diacritical
marks like they might teach you punctuation markings -
                  they never do the science of liberated pause -
liberated i.e. understood -
                                    you're just given the fudge
and told... CHEW! CHEW! CHEW!
                                    they never tell you how to
cut-up words as they should be cut up..
                                   never did they say
colon = umlaut over u and means prolonged
   i.e. uu          or omega
                                        because never was the
current aesthetic questioned...
                             Dictator Blue, adherent of
the dictionary bible said: already said, rex, rex, ego rex.
                    but there's this thing going on
from above - on high -
                           and all they want is to understand...
                  even i would hate to be left out...
still from the notes from the book maldoror -
                s'arrêter à             (to dwell on /
                                     stress) -
ê (circumflex) is like the grave approach -
                 the circumflex is binding -
            i.e. the -er is optional, but a necessary
aesthetic for the form to be written, but not said -
meaning the sound units disappear -
                  hands on the joints, a book is closed -
ê represents this: s'arrêt
                                                         ­  (-er) -
                   saret -
                                            ugly, isn't it?
well, if you wrote             saret
                rather than      s'arrêter               you wouldn't
be looking at the Louvre -                again, even without
diacritical marks you don't say     Louvré -
                                          but Loùvre -
               so the ê
                                     binds the r and t
   and makes                  the   -er obsolete -
which is why French is worse than English:
it utilises diacritical marks
                                       for odd syllable intakes
and other surgeon oddities -
    to learn the proper use of diacritics (using French
as a canvas) is to learn syllables again, and again...
all over again... one might say:
at least the English do not use diacritical markings
and subconsciously are so thoroughly
accommodating to alien cultures...
                       and that's justifiable, they are the fathers
of globalisation... they use phonetic encoding
without diacritical markings to enshrine
a Bangladeshi English, as much as a German English...
   they are the propagators of accents -
even the Scots are speaking proudly about the
matter of fact...
                            so indeed, diacritical marks
are not only concerns for aesthetic reasons,
but is pronunciation markings within words,
                          not between words:
intra                     v.                inter                  (wording);
they never teach you how to extend a sentence
with a semi-colon (;), because they only managed
to tell you that means wink: ;) -
                          in the same way that they didn't tell
you that a colon is (a) making a list, but also
       (b) an emphasis - the alternative to italics.
they didn't! i know they didn't because they didn't
teach me this!             i had to learn it myself!
              which is why i find diacritics so fascinating
that dialectics and its abandonment can rot in hell...
at least i don't have to deal with nuanced opinions
or the discussion or the non-discussion of
                 opinions...
                                       i can look at something
and see the blatant pronunciation dynamics at work...
            not between words, but inside words...
French is the best to investigate...
                        maybe that's why the Jihadists are
attacking France, from sheer frustration at not being
given access to the cordiality of speech when
settling into their envisioned Caliphate misnomer -
                    but diacritical marks are precisely that:
and when amateurs teach they never bother explaining
the atoms, they just say: turkey! gobble up that frying pan!
and you do! you are never given the most basic units,
you're never told what the time-span between a
full dot (.) and a semi-colon (;) is...
                                        ****: you can run a mile or
100 metres in under 10 seconds, but when it comes
to an aesthetic pause you're told to start
the hyperventilation sequence or blame it on asthma
rather than
                                 what's actually the archaeology of
rhetoric - these are rhetorical symbols...
                                   and that's the foremost question
that needs a debate: how to make rhetorical puncture
symbols into aesthetic symbols -
                   how to steal from rhetoric and do a Robin
Hood for aesthetic? primarily because there are
punctuation signs above letters, or below letters -
                   < (more than)
                                 > (less than)
      and the circumflex and caron -
                                         tilde
  or approx. 5                              i.e. ~5...
            and the millionth additive to make decimals
shake...
                                you never get told this...
if i was told the basics of diacritical markings enabling
a smoother syllable dissection i'd probably speak German
fluently...
                       when i should have been given crumb-like
understanding of a language, i was given a whole
loaf of bread, for ***** sake; that ain't cool -
          teach me language from the basics,
on the promise of teaching me a language like i might
be taught penguin talk: on the promise of
an onomatopoeia deciphering: it sounds like this...
                   : + u = oo             onomatopoeia e.g.:
                       pool                    /                  pull -
yes, the quiet literal representation -
  but English can be ***** by this appropriation -
not utilising diacritical marks makes certain words
sound alike but be spelled differently,
            via the same methodology extending into
certain letters being pronounced as entire words;
e.g.                   why                                  &             y.
reason? missing diacritical marks.
             oh, and the most blatant form of Judaism
  given              y               h                    w               h
                   without Abraham, without Moses,
without circumcision         without Jesus...
                                                               choice is yours.
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Lost love

I will relate this true unforgettable love story the desert is a forlorn lonely place it runs the gambit stark even sullen and then at
A single turn it enthralls captivates and then the many moods feelings in-between it could really be a telling of human life in so many
Ways my memory of Salt lake is a nice one we were moving to California I remember the climb up the mountain that was some what
Unpleasant I even stopped in Laramie Wyoming had the U Haul checked out it acted like it had a four banger engine would cut out on
The straight a ways and it wasn’t that long ago back then that I put ten cars in the junkyard they were too old and I was two young I
Tried to out run and out do Robert Mitchum when he played a southerner who ran white lighting in Thunder road the time I was driving
A long fifty eight Pontiac without a muffler on the back roads to Herrick town was sort of a reenactment the muffler came off a few
Nights before I don’t understand why my mother left the car behind when she and sis went to Pennsylvania with her sister she even
Took the keys with her talk about lack of trust what can a seventeen year old get into well in a long drawn out search a key was found
And more than usual group of guys were sleeping out why not leave lakers go up and take ma’s car out for a spin start out slow well
Out of the side yard anyway a little more tricking putting it back so past Black desert Ray Cherry’s on the back road to Assumption by
Now the accelerator is stuck to the floor the problem a lead foot anyone have teenagers driving pray good and hard I God and hands
of steel holding the wheel when literally my blood felt like it turned to ice water from the thrill that was now in God’s hands I hit the
small bridge back this way where the road turns back left where there used to be oil well operations right there I was flying low at one
Hundred and fifteen miles an hour soon would be Dukes of hazard air borne all four tires and car at least twenty five through the air
The front tire came down with a hard jarring bang ice water veins and a heavy wide poncho and God kept it upright went down turned
Around lost ten miles an hour of nerve went back one hundred and five miles an hour same little shorter flight but this time we
Landed right on top and in the middle of three chug holes if it had been the tire and it had went in I wouldn’t be writing this or anything else
But the muffler came off with a fine howdy doo as the car banged back on the ground so I gunned the car down by Besons turned it off
And coasted back into the yard went in and told a barley awake grandfather at two thirty in the morning how the county ripped off the
Muffler he fell for it next day I tried it on Ma all I got was right did rack off nice through the hills and bottoms. There is a high that goes with
Speed but there is also is a special quality that emerges out of slow deliberate movement as witnessed by my slow climb up the
Mountain pulling a T bird and a load of furniture more pleasurable on the down grades your still fighting not to over brake but the black
Night the air and the road the trees all enters your conciseness these feelings returned as Yvette set in studio and told her story it is
A story of youth, innocence lost to mindless cruelty it happened with the little dell reservoir shimmering bright under a full moon thats reson
Zack’s mother calls him the man in the moon and the purpose of the trip Zack was into black and white photography he
Wanted to photograph this lovely vision capture it where it would be a favorite item to share with his many friends it would be what
Lived on or at least one tangible part Yvette laid the background of the story how all through high school Zack and her were in all the
Classes together and when she would enter he would all ways make a comment she grew to enjoy and look forward to what he would
say it was tender young love taking it faltering first steps on this night he called and asked her to go she didn’t think anything of it she
Hadn’t done anything special as far as dressing in fact she had washed her hair hadn’t even dried it there is something basic naturally
Raw about a woman with wet hair whatever it is it causes the male heart to beat faster anything is powerful when left untamed. They would flash out to the place this story unfolded the quiet silence the full moon electrifying the water with a glorious sheen and the grass back lit with light causing the gold
Grass to beam without words or action there was a shout coming from nature’s heart and soul it reminded me of the modern western
I read thirty years ago called Goldenrod this perennial plant found in meadows served as the name of the ranch in the story. Yvette says as they
Turned into the final lane that led to the parking she felt a hint of a first kiss in the offing everything was picture perfect and it was nothing
Strange when the white pickup pulled into park that happened all the time at first the stranger kept his distance but he slowly worked
His way toward them finally just feet away he asked them where the path went to they gave him an answer she turned her back she
Said she hoped Zack turned also because at that moment the stranger pulled out a gun and started shooting the first shot killed Zack
He emptied his gun one bullet knocked her down then the shooting stopped then she realized he was reloading in that moment her
Father’s voice spoke in her mind if attacked by a grisly play dead more shots she felt the wind and speed of the bullets pass her head
One on the side caused a ugly exit wound but through it all being shot four times she lay still with her eyes open then the killer touched
Her leg she said she didn’t have a concept of being shot but now it was something that terrified her she thought he was going to ****
Her everyone thinks about that he put his face close to hers she could feel his breath on her neck his purpose was robbery as he went
Through her pockets he withdrew and she heard Zack’s car start later as she retold this two a group in Utah’s Capital building where
She is now a lawyer and a victim’s advocate it must have been strange to get in the person’s car you just killed and have Neil Diamond
Come an and sing. So when the gunfire died down and the night swallowed the terror a future wedding and life with Zack was forever
Gone his spirit dispersed among the stars and his spirit captured and held in natures wonder the new life reality capture was swift since
He left his vehicle his story an immigrant from Uruguay first stop New York then Utah unhappy with life he became obsessed with
Death he just wanted to watch someone die pathetic he was going to then **** himself guess what he had a change of heart got a plea
Deal to avoid the death penalty Zack’s family finally agreed they didn’t want the day twenty years in the future when he would be put
To death then the protesters do like they were doing as timing would have it in Texas at that very time praising almost the killer’s life
And demeaning the victim so he got life without parole then as a true snake has tried five appeals saying he was depressed at the time
This was his last appeal and finally the family has peace, Yvette suffered victims survival syndrome she left her heart on notes she left
On Zack’s grave it showed the depths of love that was dammed far more so than the little Dell ever could be Yvette married but the
Young man in the moon was to powerful a hold so she divorced she does have a seven year old little girl that helps push back the dark
Shadows of that night Zack sister was the one who had the children her one son bears her brother’s name and even looks like him
Yvette’s ending words was she just once to run up and hug Zack and talk to him about that night when love flew away on wounded
Wings to hurt to fly far so in the desert the wind whimpers love denied finds not a heart as its home lost fulfillment blows among the sage
In the eyes of a special woman there is a haunting stare you can read there torment sorrow pathos in the raw she found comfort
In service of helping others this is her and Zack’s story and severe as it is it is also a story of youth that is gone the same as our stories
I want to relate one other special story in this exaggerated time of *** nonsense without love or consequence or responsibility this
Happened in a youthful time of innocence it was moving touching and in one way reflects the time you fell in love this won’t get you
But as the saying says the glory contained in the rose comes by the price of pain from the thorn to walk in the past you can tear a hole
In the heart and soul where tears are stored in abundance I found this out for myself I set down from Carol’s house in tower hill at
a church in the parking lot as I relived those special moments between two people young innocent love that would ignite and through
Days and nights that were to short proved it wasn’t to be what was it I can’t really say but I’m sure you know as well as any of us can
know I know it came from left field not expecting it but it’s all right to cry in a church yard even if you’re my age any time innocence
And love is called or damaged it carries poignant painful waves to roll over you sometimes with other things at play in life they can be
Too much there is a song that says I wouldn’t take anything for my journey now no and neither would I take anything for my memories
Of friends and youth and lost love.
He told me I could search the world over and I would never find anything anywhere quite like him

I'm a Leo  

So I took that as a challenge and headed out on a journey

I returned to his door two and a half years later triumphant

When he opened his door I stated with pride "I did it!"  

"Prove it." he demanded quietly leaning against his door frame, looking, both intrigued and unconvinced.

I took off my back pack, set it on the step, reached in, carefully withdrew a mason jar and passed it to him.

"What's this?" he asked

"You."

"It's an empty mason jar."

"It's not at all empty. It's filled to the brim with all the stuff you're made of."

"Oh? What kind of stuff?"

" Inside that bottle is the magic of a rainbow I found in Greenland, star light I found in the North West Territories, wind from each of the four corners, air that's been caressed by butterfly wings from St. Lucia, sun beams from Samoa, the innocence of a newborn from Uruguay, the passion of a gypsy from Romania, the heat of a thunder bolt from South Carolina, the fragrance of the first bloom of summer from England, the poetic joy of Ireland, and one salty tear of a mermaid from Fiji.  You."  I said again triumphantly

"All that's in here, eh?"

I nodded.

"Well, you must be tired, being right can be exhausting." he said with a grin as he reached out for my hand

"It is and I am." I admitted placing my hand in his

"Would you like to come in?"

" Yes, I would like to come in. I'd like that very much."
Después de todo qué complicado es el amor breve
y en cambio qué sencillo el largo amor
digamos que éste no precisa barricadas
contra el tiempo ni contra el destiempo
ni se enreda en fervores a plazo fijo

el amor breve aún en aquellos tramos
en que ignora su proverbial urgencia
siempre guarda o esconde o disimula
semiadioses que anuncian la invasión del olvido
en cambio el largo amor no tiene cismas
ni soluciones de continuidad
más bien continuidad de soluciones

esto viene ligado a una historia la nuestra
quiero decir de mi mujer y mía
historia que hizo escala en treinta marzos
que a esta altura son como treinta puentes
como treinta provincias de la misma memoria
porque cada época de un largo amor
cada capítulo de una consecuente pareja
es una región con sus propios árboles y ecos
sus propios descampados sus tibias contraseñas

he aquí que mi mujer y yo somos lo que se llama
una pareja corriente y por tanto despareja
treinta años incluidos los ocho bisiestos
de vida en común y en extraordinario

alguien me informa que son bodas de perlas
y acaso lo sean ya que perla es secreto
y es brillo llanto fiesta hondura
y otras alegorías que aquí vienen de perlas

cuando la conocí
tenía apenas doce años y negras trenzas
y un perro atorrante
que a todos nos servía de felpudo
yo tenía catorce y ni siquiera perro
calculé mentalmente futuro y arrecifes
y supe que me estaba destinada
mejor dicho que yo era el destinado
todavía no se cuál es la diferencia

así y todo tardé seis años en decírselo
y ella un minuto y medio en aceptarlo

pasé una temporada en buenos aires
y le escribía poemas o pancartas de amor
que ella ni siquiera comentaba en contra
y yo sin advertir la grave situación
cada vez escribía más poemas más pancartas
realmente fue una época difícil

menos mal que decidí regresar
como un novio pródigo cualquiera
el hermano tenía bicicleta
claro me la prestó y en rapto de coraje
salí en bajada por la calle almería
ah lamentablemente el regreso era en repecho

ella me estaba esperando muy atenta
cansado como un perro aunque enhiesto y altivo
bajé de aquel siniestro rodado y de pronto
me desmayé en sus brazos providenciales
y aunque no se ha repuesto aún de la sorpresa
juro que no lo hice con premeditación

por entonces su madre nos vigilaba
desde las más increíbles atalayas
yo me sentía cancerbado y miserable
delincuente casi delicuescente

claro eran otros tiempos y montevideo
era una linda ciudad provinciana
sin capital a la que referirse
y con ese trauma no hay terapia posible
eso deja huellas en las plazoletas

era tan provinciana que el presidente
andaba sin capangas y hasta sin ministros

uno podía encontrarlo en un café
o comprándose corbatas en una tienda
la prensa extranjera destacaba ese rasgo
comparándonos con suiza y costa rica

siempre estábamos llenos de exilados
así se escribía en tiempos suaves
ahora en cambio somos exiliados
pero la diferencia no reside en la i

eran bolivianos paraguayos cariocas
y sobre todo eran porteños
a nosotros nos daba mucha pena
verlos en la calle nostalgiosos y pobres
vendiéndonos recuerdos y empanadas

es claro son antiguas coyunturas
sin embargo señalo a lectores muy jóvenes
que graham bell ya había inventado el teléfono
de aquí que yo me instalara puntualmente a las seis
en la cervecería de la calle yatay
y desde allí hacía mi llamada de novio
que me llevaba como media hora

a tal punto era insólito mi lungo metraje
que ciertos parroquianos rompebolas
me gritaban cachádome al unísono
dale anclao en parís

como ven el amor era dura faena
y en algunas vergüenzas
casi insdustria insalubre

para colmo comí abundantísima lechuga
que nadie había desinfectado con carrel
en resumidas cuentas contraje el tifus
no exactamente el exantemático
pero igual de alarmante y podrido
me daban agua de apio y jugo de sandía
yo por las dudas me dejé la barba
e impresionaba mucho a las visitas

una tarde ella vino hasta mi casa
y tuvo un proceder no tradicional
casi diría prohibido y antihigiénico
que a mi me pareció conmovedor
besó mis labios tíficos y cuarteados
conquistándome entonces para siempre
ya que hasta ese momento no creía
que ella fuese tierna inconsciente y osada

de modo que no bien logré recuperar
los catorce kilos perdidos en la fiebre
me afeité la barba que no era de apóstol
sino de bichicome o de ciruja
me dediqué a ahorrar y junté dos mil mangos
cuando el dólar estaba me parece a uno ochenta

además decidimos nuestras vocaciones
quiero decir vocaciones rentables
ella se hizo aduanera y yo taquígrafo

íbamos a casarnos por la iglesia
y no tanto por dios padre y mayúsculo
como por el minúsculo jesús entre ladrones
con quien siempre me sentí solidario
pero el cura además de católico apostólico
era también romano y algo tronco
de ahí que exigiera no sé qué boleta
de bautismo o tal vez de nacimiento

si de algo estoy seguro es que he nacido
por lo tanto nos mudamos a otra iglesia
donde un simpático pastor luterano
que no jodía con los documentos
sucintamente nos casó y nosotros
dijimos sí como dándonos ánimo
y en la foto salimos espantosos

nuestra luna y su miel se llevaron a cabo
con una praxis semejante a la de hoy
ya que la humanidad ha innovado poco
en este punto realmente cardinal

fue allá por marzo del cuarenta y seis
meses después que daddy truman
conmovido generoso sensible expeditivo
convirtiera a hiroshima en ciudad cadáver
en inmóvil guiñapo en no ciudad

muy poco antes o muy poco después
en brasil adolphe berk embajador de usa
apoyaba qué raro el golpe contra vargas
en honduras las inversiones yanquis
ascendían a trescientos millones de dólares
paraguay y uruguay en intrépido ay
declaraban la guerra a alemania
sin provocar por cierto grandes conmociones
en chile allende era elegido senador
y en haití los estudiantes iban a la huelga
en martinica aimé cesaire el poeta
pasaba a ser alcalde en fort de france
en santo domingo el PCD
se transformaba en PSP
y en méxico el PRM
se transformaba en PRI
en bolivia no hubo cambios de siglas
pero faltaban tres meses solamente
para que lo colgaran a villarroel
argentina empezaba a generalizar
y casi de inmediato a coronelizar

nosotros dos nos fuimos a colonia suiza
ajenos al destino que se incubaba
ella con un chaleco verde que siempre me gustó
y yo con tres camisas blancas

en fin después hubo que trabajar
y trabajamos treinta años
al principio éramos jóvenes pero no lo sabíamos
cuando nos dimos cuenta ya no éramos jóvenes
si ahora todo parece tan remoto será
porque allí una familia era algo importante
y hoy es de una importancia reventada

cuando quisimos acordar el paisito
que había vivido una paz no ganada
empezó lentamente a trepidar
pero antes anduvimos muy campantes
por otras paces y trepidaciones
combinábamos las idas y las vueltas
la rutina nacional con la morriña allá lejos
viajamos tanto y con tantos rumbos
que nos cruzábamos con nosotros mismos
unos eran viajes de imaginación qué baratos
y otros qué lata con pasaporte y vacuna

miro nuestras fotos de venecia de innsbruck
y también de malvín
del balneario solís o el philosophenweg
estábamos estamos estaremos juntos
pero cómo ha cambiado el alrededor
no me refiero al fondo con mugrientos canales
ni al de dunas limpias y solitarias
ni al hotel chajá ni al balcón de goethe
ni al contorno de muros y enredaderas
sino a los ojos crueles que nos miran ahora

algo ocurrió en nuestra partícula de mundo
que hizo de algunos hombres maquinarias de horror
estábamos estamos estaremos juntos
pero qué rodeados de ausencias y mutaciones
qué malheridos de sangre hermana
qué enceguecidos por la hoguera maldita

ahora nuestro amor tiene como el de todos
inevitables zonas de tristeza y presagios
paréntesis de miedo incorregibles lejanías
culpas que quisiéramos inventar de una vez
para liquidarlas definitivamente

la conocida sombra de nuestros cuerpos
ya no acaba en nosotros
sigue por cualquier suelo cualquier orilla
hasta alcanzar lo real escandaloso
y lamer con lealtad los restos de silencio
que también integran nuestro largo amor

hasta las menudencias cotidianas
se vuelven gigantescos promontorios
la suma de corazón y corazón
es una suasoria paz que quema
los labios empiezan a moverse
detrás del doble cristal sordomudo
por eso estoy obligado a imaginar
lo que ella imagina y viceversa

estábamos estamos estaremos juntos
a pedazos a ratos a párpados a sueños
soledad norte más soledad sur
para tomarle una mano nada más
ese primario gesto de la pareja
debí extender mi brazo por encima
de un continente intrincado y vastísimo
y es difícil no sólo porque mi brazo es corto
siempre tienen que ajustarme las mangas
sino porque debo pasar estirándome
sobre las torres de petróleo en maracaibo
los inocentes cocodrilos del amazonas
los tiras orientales de livramento

es cierto que treinta años de oleaje
nos dan un inconfundible aire salitroso
y gracias a él nos reconocemos
por encima de acechanzas y destrucciones

la vida íntima de dos
esa historia mundial en livre de poche
es tal vez un cantar de los cantares
más el eclesiastés y sin apocalipsis
una extraña geografía con torrentes
ensenadas praderas y calmas chichas

no podemos quejarnos
en treinta años la vida
nos ha llevado recio y traído suave
nos ha tenido tan pero tan ocupados
que siempre nos deja algo para descubrirnos
a veces nos separa y nos necesitamos
cuando uno necesita se siente vivo
entonces nos acerca y nos necesitamos

es bueno tener a mi mujer aquí
aunque estemos silenciosos y sin mirarnos
ella leyendo su séptimo círculo
y adivinando siempre quién es el asesino
yo escuchando noticias de onda corta
con el auricular para no molestarla
y sabiendo también quién es el asesino

la vida de pareja en treinta años
es una colección inimitable
de tangos diccionarios angustias mejorías
aeropuertos camas recompensas condenas
pero siempre hay un llanto finísimo
casi un hilo que nos atraviesa
y va enhebrando una estación con otra
borda aplazamientos y triunfos
le cose los botones al desorden
y hasta remienda melancolías

siempre hay un finísimo llanto un placer
que a veces ni siquiera tiene lágrimas
y es la parábola de esta historia mixta
la vida a cuatro manos el desvelo
o la alegría en que nos apoyamos
cada vez más seguros casi como
dos equilibristas sobre su alambre
de otro modo no habríamos llegado a saber
qué significa el brindis que ahora sigue
y que lógicamente no vamos a hacer público
My blood is marked by genocide
on the two sides
of these Atlantic lines

My fate was sealed with the blood stains
of cotton workers from Marash
slaughtered by the ottoman
and the mixed blood
of conquerors
and massacred
of masters and estranged slaves

The rot of colonialism
lurks underneath
our 15 second democracy

My eyes were numbed
by what I hadn´t seen
after the ***** war was over
after the bowels of the Earth
had vomited
bones in Uruguay
lifeless infant mummies
in the soft heart
of Africa

after the tide brought in
the loot
of generals,
green men of power and no shame

My past was carved with knives
on children´s bones
in the mountains
of Leninakan
with hanged peasants
on the slopes of Ararat

My human pride was dumped
in Rio de la Plata
one summer night
in a death flight
that time when I
had learnt to sing
before I grasped
the word
The word was born
from the colonial rot
under our soil
and under Africa

The word was black
and cast a deadly storm
before the sun

The word was Genocide
Había una vez un poeta portugués
tenía cuatro poetas adentro y vivía muy preocupado
trabajaba en la administración pública y dónde se vio que un empleado público de portugal
gane para alimentar cuatro bocas

Cada noche pasaba lista a sus poetas incluyéndose a sí
mismo
uno estiraba la mano por la ventana y le caían astros allí
otro escribía cartas al sur qué están haciendo del sur
decía

De mi uruguay
decía
el otro se convirtió en un barco que amó a los marineros
esto es bello porque no todos los barcos hacen así
hay barcos que prefieren mirar por el ojo de buey

Hay barcos que se hunden
Dios camina afligido por el fenómeno ése
es que no todos los barcos se parecen a los poetas del portugués
salían del mar y se secaban los huesitos al sol

Cantando la canción de tus pechos
amada
cantaban que tus pechos llegaron una tarde con
una escolta de horizontes
eso cantaban los poetas del portugués para decir que te amo
antes de separarse
tender la mano al cielo
escribir cartas al uruguay

Que mañana van a llegar
mañana van a llegar las cartas del portugués y barrerán la tristeza
mañana va a llegar el barco del portugués al puerto de montevideo
siempre supo que entraba en ese puerto y se volvía más
hermoso

Como los cuatro poetas del portugués cuando se preocupaban
todos juntos por el hombre de la tabaquería de enfrente
el animal de sueños del hombre de la tabaquería de enfrente
galopando con como josé gervasio de artigas por el hambre mundial

El portugués tenía cuatro poetas mirando al sur
al norte
al muro
al cielo les daba a todos de comer con el sueldo del alma
él se ganaba el sueldo en la administración del país público
y también mirando el mar que va de lisboa al uruguay
Yo siempre estoy olvidando cosas
una vez me olvidé un ojo en la mitad de una mujer
otra vez me olvidé una mujer en la mitad de portugués
me olvidé el nombre del poeta portugués

De lo que no me olvido es de su barco navegando hacia el sur
de su manita llena de astros
golpeando contra la furia del mundo
con el hombre de enfrente en la mano
Hannah Johnson Apr 2011
spring time

is

root root root

for the home team

but more importantly

ernies coffees

made exactly the way I like

mango

and

Mediterranean

empanadas

and

endless stories

from uruguay
Bathsheba Jan 2011
I waited long
I waited hard
I sunk real low
I used
The Bard
You tease
You taunt
You lure
You flaunt
But most of all
To me
You haunt
Unleash your soul
Tell the tale
Give me wind
Beneath my sails
For I am partial
To the gossips
Of wanton lustful fun
Come on guys
Bare your souls
Your secret should be spun !!!*

I'll never tell
of what went right
Where fireworks exploded
and we rocked the night
I'll not breathe a word
of lascivious acts
that went on unwarranted
that had us both on our backs
I won't whisper
a lie
I won't tell
and you won't cry
I'll not ever utter
that the earthquake
in Uruguay
was caused by an evening
of Outback fun
Take on an Aussie chick?
Well, be prepared to come undone

oppsss.... I told! UmAh!

— The End —