By Rommy Martinez (Chilean):
You left the strands tangled
You didn’t loosen the knots.
that is not done
You will not advance in your way.
Tomorrow you will have looked at the past
And you will see that your mistake was
Not having valued this fabric.
Tangle in the heart,
You don’t do that, friend, You don’t do that, friend.
By Veronica Zondek (Chilean):
1.- In: memory facilitiesAlchemy Editions, 2013, Chile
An eye carves the window with its nails in the time that the deterioration occupies. The story is not written. The walls do not speak. The window is blind. The ground does not keep traces of any animal. In front
other walls
other lives
another oblivion
A pain is embalmed.
A silence engraves his hand on the tall, light blue notebook.
An eye is a time stuck in the sand of the clock.
2.- Fragment: the book of valleys2003, LOM Editions, Chile
Is standing. The intense eye is nailed to the cleft landscape that travels embedded in the mount. The cleft digs, undermines, makes its way, widens a plane, supports the winding of water, turns green, opens as if to show him that this hard land of closed rock is nothing before the forest of time. Is standing. Look. Observe how the valley is made, devours itself and returns, it is undone right there, it is dismantled and consciousness flows like a river that wets its beard. It flows and carves, flows and reduces, flows and marks, valley after valley after valley, until it spells out the earth and shows the vowel of the eternal groan.
Of Yanko Gonzalez (Chilean)
1.- In: elabuga (2011, 2019)
Dear Leopold, please read this very, very slowly.
And believe me I have no other way to say it.
If you have read in a hurry up to here
I ask you to start over.
I dare not press your number
And burn what little breath we have left.
I won’t be the one up, I won’t be the one to leave
To stay in the middle and empty.
Don’t rush, don’t trust my brevity
Because this brown day will end on the same brown day
That will persist unchanged in another brown day.
My dear, today at four thirty in the morning
Our son left us. His eyes no longer show or feel pain.
Forgive me. I have lost a body to arrive
And I have lost a body to return.
2 in: torpedoes (unpublished)
XXXV. trial. how to get out of a meeting part with a prologue in a low voice for example that you are dying to hear what jj brunner has to say about higher education. for example, thank not once but three times for the opportunity that the director has given you to attend. position yourself on the opposite side of the end of the room or from the person leading the congregation. When they start with the lights, the projection, move your chair away from the table against the wall, put your hands and knees on the floor, avoiding protruding feet, ankles, shoes, fallen papers. don’t try to escape by crawling under a round table, it only works on a long table, from square to rectangular. If you are discovered, say that you are looking for a pen, a chain that has dropped a shackle, a ball that does not disappear because you have children and you cannot give up. if all goes well wait until a colleague from beyond speaks to them. they will always recite from very to very much so distinguish each tone and concentrate on the ones that are further away, on the ones that blow a chest C that vibrates in posterity. That is where your eyes will go, leaving you the flat path, the cleared forest of legs, the slavery you have earned, the void, the corridor, the vain.
The entrance Posts from the south, tribute and siege to Guillermo Deisler: 5 poems was first published in THE NATIONAL.
