"cortazar" poems - Hello Poetry

This is the ladder---your first steps into the height. There are no apples. There are no angels. There is only broken shadow and socket; a rounded house of milk and voltage. Now, as you unscrew the bulb with fingertips, listen for the sand. It is sand from ancestral beaches were all families of glass have been blown. A beach where dinosaurs are continually struck by lightning. Continue swiveling until the blown-out bulb is free from the ceiling. Come down, but do not look down. Use the eye in each shoe to find the lower rungs. Place the old bulb in with the dish of pears. The new carton of bulbs are close by, sleeping. Unwrap a fresh bulb from its onionskin pajamas and ascend the same ladder previous. Using your musical hand, insert the threaded end up into the unthreaded beginning. Turn gently in the direction of sunrise until snug. Pull the chain, for the light of God's echoing equation will now sing. Squint and descend.

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Apr 24, 2014

Apr 24, 2014 at 8:13 PM UTC

stephen-lindow

CHANGING A LIGHTBULB after Julio Cortazar

This is the ladder---your first steps into the height. There are no apples. There are no angels. There is only broken shadow and socket; a rounded house of milk and voltage. Now, as you unscrew the bulb with fingertips, listen for the sand. It is sand from ancestral beaches were all families of glass have been blown. A beach where dinosaurs are continually struck by lightning. Continue swiveling until the blown-out bulb is free from the ceiling. Come down, but do not look down. Use the eye in each shoe to find the lower rungs. Place the old bulb in with the dish of pears. The new carton of bulbs are close by, sleeping. Unwrap a fresh bulb from its onionskin pajamas and ascend the same ladder previous. Using your musical hand, insert the threaded end up into the unthreaded beginning. Turn gently in the direction of sunrise until snug. Pull the chain, for the light of God's echoing equation will now sing. Squint and descend.

1

Que era la noche del porvenir girando en pies de terriccola aventurado y un pez naufrago en un universo perdido en los ojos de una mujer, despues de todo la noche se esconde en la boca y el ayer es del entonces y un ciego se rie de chistes de un gato son balance, que era la chistosada de meditar drogado de ***** y los gatos siguen en movimiento y Cortazar ya que es Bolaño y su vientre se come ha estraños? lluvia envez de pelo de color azul marino, Wenennefer y musico llamado Jimmi, sus ojos duelen ver, eran de un time future. Y la dolienta sangre de sus manos dolian al escribir fortunas.

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Jun 22, 2014

Jun 22, 2014 at 7:30 PM UTC

Borges

Porvenir del Invisible

Que era la noche del porvenir girando en pies de terriccola aventurado y un pez naufrago en un universo perdido en los ojos de una mujer, despues de todo la noche se esconde en la boca y el ayer es del entonces y un ciego se rie de chistes de un gato son balance, que era la chistosada de meditar drogado de ***** y los gatos siguen en movimiento y Cortazar ya que es Bolaño y su vientre se come ha estraños? lluvia envez de pelo de color azul marino, Wenennefer y musico llamado Jimmi, sus ojos duelen ver, eran de un time future. Y la dolienta sangre de sus manos dolian al escribir fortunas.

2

Que se explica si el se llama Bowie: corazones de japon, corazones de america, gente importante, solos los hombres, solas las miujeres, solito el camgbio el mundo, solito el cambio, su imagen cambio su estilo de manejar su musica, fue heraclito, fue hombre, fue alien, las manos de exageradas visiones, los dedos libros de Bolaño, de Borges, de Cortazar, la imagen de su visage, fue Paris, fue Russia, fue Japon… fue Bowie, la la la la lo

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Nov 10, 2022

Nov 10, 2022 at 8:28 AM UTC

Borges

David Jones

Que se explica si el se llama Bowie: corazones de japon, corazones de america, gente importante, solos los hombres, solas las miujeres, solito el camgbio el mundo, solito el cambio, su imagen cambio su estilo de manejar su musica, fue heraclito, fue hombre, fue alien, las manos de exageradas visiones, los dedos libros de Bolaño, de Borges, de Cortazar, la imagen de su visage, fue Paris, fue Russia, fue Japon… fue Bowie, la la la la lo

23

Everything is an illusion The baby birds live on my balcony I sleep there too--my confusion I read Julio Cortazar I shop at local Bazar I dress at the second hand store I drink in the park Nothing can be more pretentious but I fully embark my emptiness, my fullness and my despair I sleep on the coach, and I sleep on the chair. I read many books and I know many words nothing can be more sinful than serving two gods Yes, I am so unusual but I am boring too The Immortalist is in my purse He is my king Tutahkhamun for the night he is my curse my interplanet flight I drink ***** I am turning hands, and I am burning my gods. I am burning my guts. I am making fans Nothing can be more pretentious than to die alone Sunday Minsk, and despair and I sleep alone...in the chair...

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Sep 25, 2021

Sep 25, 2021 at 6:32 PM UTC

mara-kennet

Sunday Minsk

Everything is an illusion The baby birds live on my balcony I sleep there too--my confusion I read Julio Cortazar I shop at local Bazar I dress at the second hand store I drink in the park Nothing can be more pretentious but I fully embark my emptiness, my fullness and my despair I sleep on the coach, and I sleep on the chair. I read many books and I know many words nothing can be more sinful than serving two gods Yes, I am so unusual but I am boring too The Immortalist is in my purse He is my king Tutahkhamun for the night he is my curse my interplanet flight I drink ***** I am turning hands, and I am burning my gods. I am burning my guts. I am making fans Nothing can be more pretentious than to die alone Sunday Minsk, and despair and I sleep alone...in the chair...

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