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Newsletter Dated: 7/27/2005 5:13:44 PMSubject: Poetry/Poemas
NEWSLETTER BILINGUAL MCA
http://www.bilingualmca.bravehost.com
A)POWELL ORIGINAL POEMS IN SPANISH
B)POWELL POETRY IN ENGLISH
C)FRANCISCO GOMES DE MATOS, POEMS BY HIM AND TRANSLATION TO SPANISH FROM ENGLISH BY AZCONA
D)POEM BY ANDRE BENDAVI BEN YEHU
E)POEMA POR SILVINA CASTELLANO
10 POEMAS CORTOS EN ESPAÑOL
Por Adam Donaldson Powell
1)
AMÉRICA, NO TE RECONOZCO.
Imágenes de mi patria
Destruídas por la realidad:
Fronteras cerradas,
Sospechas y
Paranoia inherente..
Impresiones digitales obligatorias ..
Registro electrónico de inmigrantes ..
Guerras preventivas de guerras .
América, no te reconozco.
(Shhhhh....)
América .. No te reconozco.....
No te reconozco...
América....
2)
BOLERO MODERNO.
Las estatuas de los ángeles
Tiemblan de miedo.
Las madres valerosas
Lloran en secreto
Al comienzo
De cada día de escuela.
Mentes bellas de jóvenes
Torcidas
En un baile
Perverso ...
Descarado.
Mientras
Las bombas estallan
Las vírgenes prometidas
Juegan al escondite...
Y no se oye más música.
3)
VERDE.
Manzanas,
Peras, aceitunas,
Apio, espárragos,
Brócoli, aguacates,
Árboles, esmeraldas,
Chakra corazón,
Ojos seductores,
Culebras del jardín,
Uniformes de Boy Scout,
Política ambiental,
Chaquetas militares,
Dólares americanos,
Avaricia, celos -
Verde.
4)
HOJA DE SABLE.
Nuestra danza es ritual;
Obsesión sin sensaciones
Entre dos polillas que
Juegan con fuego.
Ni cadenas, ni látigos.
Sólo servidumbre....
Y la dulce consecuencia
Del filo del sable.
5)
ANTES DE LA MUERTE DE MI AMOR....
Pienso en ti ..
Y muero
Lentamente
En mis sueños.
Pienso en ti ..
Y ahora
Lo único que queda
Son la música,
Unas palabras perdidas
Y .. quizás
Una que otra lágrima
Errante..
Pienso en ti ..
La lluvia oculta
La arrogante apatía,
El retórico insoportable.
La apología
Sin rostro
De los que piden perdón.
Despierto y descubro
Lágrimas
Que baten
Ventanas con grietas
Y sueños quebrados ..
De súbito ..
No puedo llorar más;
La lluvia ha parado.
Bajo el cielo desnudo
La vieja pintura se descolora.
Y yo pienso aún en ti ..
Hasta olvidar
El silencio que ya existía
Antes de la muerte de mi amor.
6)
TAL VEZ.
¡ Fuerza !
El amor
¡ Fuerza !
El sexo
¡ Fuerza !
Las mentiras
Y tal vez te encuentre
En mis sueños errantes.
7)
EL ÚLTIMO TANGO.
Las reglas más importantes
Con respecto a la vida
Nos fueron revelados unos momentos
Antes del amanecer en
Una de las grandes avenidas
Que siempre están en discordia
Con la logica de las cosas útiles:
El vino joven ..
El sexo promiscuo ..
Las compras compulsivas
Y quizás .. el ir a la iglesia
En un día de trabajo.
Nos reconocemos en los
Sueños vivos capturados en
Las pinturas de Goya y El Bosco.
Y allí, bailamos nuestro último tango;
Lenta ..
Y religiosamente ....
Y huimos de la memoria exacta
A la sombra de nuestras
Últimas
Indiscreciones.
8)
NO SÉ ..
No sé a quién debo culpar ..
No hallo la respuesta
Ni en el Fado ni en la Jota ..
No sé a quién debo culpar ..
Pero esa cucaracha
Será castigada seguramente
Si no escapó
A la botella de vino
Que acabo de lanzar contra la pared.
No sé a quién debo culpar ..
No sé a quién debo culpar ..
9)
ALEGRÍA.
¿Dònde buscamos la alegría?
¿En la sonrisa del niño
En su fiesta de cumpleaños?
¿En la cara del adolescente orgulloso
Que alcanza su primer orgasmo?
¿En la mente del padre
Cuando nace su primer nieto?
Repito...
¿Dònde buscamos la alegría?
¿En las noticias: que los gobiernos ricos
De occidente han dado
Otra dura lección?
¿Escuchar que todo esta bajo control y
Que los insurgentes han sido detenidos?
¿En el anuncio de que la economía mejora
O que pagaremos menos impuestos?
Repito...
¿Dònde buscamos la alegría?
¿En nuestras calles hermosas
Llenas de mendigos y de ladrones?
¿En saber que la gente pobre del mundo
Goza de más justicia y de menos pobreza?
¿En el trabajo por la paz y
La igualdad en un mundo para todos?
Repito...
¿Dónde buscamos la alegría?
10)
MieNtras esperamos...
Pacientemente - nos mantenemos,
Desesperados por creer en Dios,
En la justicia y la humanidad.
Repetidamente - sufrimos
Nuestra propia ignorancia e inmovilidad.
Admirablemente - nos hacemos mártires,
E intentamos paliar nuestro dolor con santidad
Y consideración.
Inevitablemente -- nos vengamos,
Con las mismas tácticas de nuestros agresores.
Últimamente - nos avergonzamos
Por todos los que pensaban que éramos extraordinarios.
Típicamente - esperamos
Que el mundo reconozca sus equivocadas críticas
Irónicamente -- no aprendemos nada,
Y no se olvida ni se perdona.
Telephone:
54-11-4383-2576
Website: de Adam D Powell en
Bilingual MCA Poets & Writers for Peace
Iflacenarg
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Reviewed by Erin Kelly-Moen 7/25/2005
Though I could not, unfortunately, read these poems, I went to Adam D. Powell's website, where I read 'Shelter', 'Boundaries', 'Zodiac', 'Of Fools and Kings', and the achingly echoing 'Whispers', my persoanl favorite, the last by Adam D. Powell and Diana Oabey.
In addition, I entered Adam Powell's painting gallery, where I enjoyed the obverse colorful meldings and minglings of nontraditional patterns, whether of oblique subtleness or overt rapturing, of inner vision. I was taken in particular with 'Reflection', 'Singapore Night', Vinduer', 'Tattered Veil', and the boldly vivid 'Jefais Souvent'.
Adam D. Powell is a talented, and accomplished, international Artist and Poet, and, I am grateful to have had the pleasure of familiarizing myself with his creative work.
Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
Reviewed by Margarita Caligaris (Reader) 7/25/2005
La "Poesía de Adam D Powell" es muy linda. Cada poema acelerò mi encanto y el deseo de estudiar a este poeta.
The "Poetry of Adam D. Powell" is a tray of ambrosias...
A full course meal to nourish the souls of the readers.
Thank You Poet María Cristina Azcona for the Bio Translation of
this Master Poet. You are always a cultural working BEE!
Margarita Caligaris, Litt.D., Ph.D.
Reviewed by Andre Bendavi ben-YEHU 7/24/2005
Los poemas, America No Te Conosco, Bolero Moderno, Verde,
Hoja de Sable, Antes de La Muerte Mi Amor, Tal Vez,
El Ultimo Tango, No Sé, Alegría; y Mientra Esperamos,
son muestras de la pluma encantada del
Maestro Adam Donaldson Powell, la poética
de un corazón que siente la vida.
Me encantó conocer los trabajos de este Maestro Poeta.
Saludos,
Andre Emmanuel Bendavi ben-YEHU
------------
biography, books, links, poems
http://www.geocities.com/adamdonaldsonpowell/writings.html
Daedalus:
an ancient epic
for modern man
an epic reconstruction of the Cretan myths
Act 3
Theseus 1: Appeal
Lulled by the gentle
Cradling of the waves
And the soft shimmer of
The early morning moon,
The sleeping ship coasts
Upon the foamy crests
In dreamy quietude.
The insouciant reverie
Is dutifully maintained
By the mesmerizing
Tonalities and rhythms
Of creaking planks
And ocean spray.
And keeping sole watch over
Survival and expectation
Are a lunching rodent
And the insomnious Theseus,
Kneeling in silent supplication
To the celestial guardians
Of love and beauty.
Ariadne 1: Infatuation
Today, Mother Goddess,
I fear that I fell quite foolishly
In love with an extraordinary new
Slave-attendent bearing wine.
No sooner did I take but one sip
Than the resplendent face of Theseus
Captivated both vision and dreams.
I swam in the cool underwater grottos
Reflected in his emerald eyes,
And basked in the dawning borne
Of his sweet parting lips until
The brightness of his celestial smile
Broke my reverie and I found myself
Scampering about on my hands and knees,
Retrieving my fallen cup and
Blotting the runaway wine from
His perfect feet, while stammering:
"I'm terribly sorry ….
I thought you were someone else."
Theseus 2: Thread and Dagger
Armed with clew of thread, dagger and
An invincible strength of purpose,
Theseus of Athens stealthily winds
His way through the maze of dark
Corridors cluttered with hair,
Excrement and mortal bones in search
Of the beast known as the Minotaur.
Verily, the Mother Goddess shakes
Her head in disapproval and shame,
For beasts and the imperfectly-formed
Have a special place amongst the
Beloved of her Kingdom.
Death of the Minotaur
Writhing and moaning
With human-like expression,
The innocent offspring
Of passion and lust
Succumbs to nonexistence
Without knowing why --
Sacrificing his presumptuous
Right-to-life in deference
To the overriding popularity
Of physical beauty
And social convention.
And in his confusion of
Pity, revulsion and respect,
The valiant young Theseus
Replaces the blood-soaked
Dagger into its sheath and
Closes the distended eyelids of
His disabled opponent in combat.
Escape from Gnossos
Stealing through secret passageways
Past sleeping palace guards,
Bare-breasted Ariadne leads Theseus
And the thirteen to safety
With feminine will and insight.
Her pride of success is tarnished
By the inexplicably strange feeling
That she is seeing her past and
Intended future for both
The first and last time.
As she glances back briefly
Upon the impenetrable dormant fortress,
A vagabond tear stains the kohl
Outlining her eyes and she quickly
Turns to resume her traitorous mission
Into the betraying clutches of loneliness
Known only to women who bleed for love.
Ariadne 2: Jilting at Naxos
With the passage
Of a single cloud
Over the persistent sun,
The image of a victim of
Psychological rape is
Eternally engraved upon
The chronicles of history --
As tearing out her hair with
Contorted face and gaping mouth;
And the incessant wailing of
Passionate desperation yields
To rage as the near-drowned
Nymph crawls from sea to land
In a half-hearted attempt
At survival.
Changing of the Sails
The appearance of the Port of Pireaus
On the horizon transforms mirage into reality
As the vagabond ship rocks steadily between
The waves on the 27th day of summer.
Burning rays of sunlight fuel the fervor
Of moving muscles on bare-backed men
Hoisting ropes and alternating sails
From black to white, thus signalling
Their triumphant return from the
Grasp of death into the bosom of victory.
And at the helm stands the young hero Theseus,
Staring without seeing and smiling with
Non-expression: his concentration is
Distracted by the solitary image of a
Young woman in love, screaming his name
In vain.
Cataclysm
Sudden panic on the island of Atlantis
Is precipitated by intestinal gurgling
Within the volcanic cone of Mount Thira.
The impending cataclysm evokes terror
And fear amongst priests and sybarites alike
As the end of the world becomes self-evident.
In a final gesture of prayer and submission,
The doomed hostages of angry gods and nature
Kneel before images of the Great Mother
With fists to brow while the riotous movement
Of bubbling lava and gases escalates into
A hysterical danse macabre to-the-sea as
The earth is purged of decadent overindulgence.
In-flight
Father and son fly high above the
Spray of the sea in an attempt
To escape fatidic injustice through
Science and romanticism.
The synchronous flutter of waxen wings
On these daring charlatan-birds denotes
An intentional defiance of nature,
Punishable by death or evolution.
And so it is, with destined irony,
That the triumphant exhilaration at
Conquering the elements is necessarily
Moderated by mourning and sadness
At the realization that life as known
Can never be the same again.
The Drowning
…. And the scribe of the gods
impartially observes for the
annals of history:
"Daedalus looks on with helplessness
and horror as the youth is pulled
into the blue-green depths and
consumed by the jowls of destiny."
Act 4
Daedalus 3: Elegy
Icarus, my son --
In all honesty I guess we were
Always walking on the edge.
Suspended tautly between highs
And lows, we feared mediocrity
More than imbalance.
For us, challenge was but
The means of attaining individuality;
A space unto ourselves and
Forever out of reach of
Those who dreamed but
Never dared to risk.
We soared like eagles and
We fed on desires that
Sting the heart, yet
We neither gave nor received
Beyond our passion for
Excellence through solitude.
And now that I have witnessed
The birth of my conscience,
There remains no other recourse
Than to reinvest myself in
The ongoing saga which is the
Phenomenon of life.
Heretofore, I'd always thought
That phenomenon is emptiness;
But having now lost all
That has been dear to me --
I realize that emptiness
Is a kind of phenomenon.
The Riddle
Leading the procession of
Thirty haggard mercenaries in
Tattered finery was a short,
Dark-complexioned man with
Dirty black curls and a
Glint of twilight and
Magic in his eyes.
The demeanor of this
Broken-down gypsy with
Affectations of pomposity
And courtly grandeur incited
Both laughter and suspicion
Amongst the curious Sicanians.
Yet -- his fixed smile and
Piercing gaze betrayed nothing
But charm as he extended his
Palm holding a simple spiral
Seashell, and said:
"I'll bet you can solve this riddle!??"
Vengeance 2: Sicily
King Cocalus was taken by surprise
In the twenty-fourth hour when
Minos and his band of thirty
Burst into the royal bedchamber
Armed with torches, swords and
A dagger positioned against the neck
Of the fair princess of Camicus,
Held in ransom for he who
Solved the riddle.
Looking into his frightened daughter's
Eyes, Cocalus knew at once that the
First battle had been lost but
Conceded with a smile as his
Bitter mind was already scheming
At a plan for final victory.
Minos
In an expression of growing impatience,
The disapproving gods comment with a sigh:
"Must we be continually aggravated
by these shadows of a man
of stature and consequence,
now diminished into comic parody
by desperation and delusion?
The truth is that no one
Really cares about a star
That has lost its shine ..
A king without a kingdom is
Either a pirate or a buffoon."
The Scalding
The slow dripping of water
Upon blistered skin and flesh
Stages the final element of torture
For the deposed king as each
Drop threatens to erode more
Permanently all hope for
Recovery and revenge.
Melodic shrieks of agony
Maintain symphonic balance
Against the rhythmic trickling,
Indicative of the ironic horror
Endemic to nature's inevitable
Triumph over civilization
And artificiality.
Perhaps the greatest severity
Is the cruelty of mortality;
For chronology minimizes
Individual humanity with
Each passing moment.
Daedalus 4: Lament for a Dying King
It shatters me to see you
Lying there so helplessly;
Playing the 'waiting game'
Without judgment or choice.
Fearing life now more than death,
You transcend the impatience of desire
Through constancy of pain and
Resignation to the inevitable.
In a singular gesture of compassion,
Your pale lips force a smile
Which silences the teardrop
Skidding down my face; and
Momentarily I turn away inside myself,
Embarassed by my own self-indulgence.
Still smiling,
You take me by the hand and
Squeeze a bit of your precious life
Into mine, as if to say:
"I know … I know …
(we all live on borrowed time)."
Ship of Fools
Guided by the constellations
On a voyage to nowhere,
The shattered wealth of the
Heroic age is now overshadowed
By madness.
All blood runs cold
On this ship of fools;
And yet, the vibrant calm of
Heavens and sea remains undisturbed
By the cacophonous wails and
Shrieks of agonized men
And impatient birds of prey.
Verily, the hand of Fate
Is severe with those
Who are slow to acquiesce;
For death without release
Is Hades itself.
Daedalus 5: Eulogy
Beatific phantom choirs of deceased souls
Sing blood-curdling hymns of praise
In honor of Daedalus, who has plunged a
Silver dagger into his own heart
With poetic indifference.
The shrill tonalities of their electrifying
Strains split open the Mount of Artemis
With seismic precision, thus allowing
The corpse to be consumed within the
10-foot crevice without indulgence.
As the rapidly approaching darkness expunges
Temporal expression of irrationality,
Gentle warm breezes over the sacred
Isle of Delos cradle existence
Once again to primal order.
Epitaph
Situated on a hil overlooking
The ruined temple at Delos
Lay a mound of earth covered
With herbs and wildflowers.
Anonymity and olive trees
Shield the unmarked grave
From further disturbance
By inquiry over time.
From the beach below one
Can sometimes visualize
The crescent moon posing
As luminous horns of consecration
Hovering above the burial site --
A symbol of both the old religion
And infinity.
And reflected in the perfect
Scheme of constellations is
The haunting warning of an
Ingenious soul that will
Never rest:
"Ariston metron" …. (moderation is best) ….
Ad Infinitum
The legacy of Daedalus
Is a lesson in pathetic empiricism --
The liability to suffer is a concept
Borne through the fallacy of genius.
Whether he existed beyond the realms
Of mythology and imagination is
Irrelevant; through him mankind has
Inherited the irresistible urge for
Pathos through technology.
It has long been decreed by the Fates
That as Atlantis declined, so shall
Crete … and Assyria … and
Babylonia … and Egypt … and
Macedonia … and Rome … and ….
The carnage is reflected incessantly
Through this hall of mirrors that
We call history, for behind every
Great lust for significance lurks
A Daedalus.
--------------------------
C)
From: Francisco Gomes de Matos
To: Ada Aharoni
WORDS THAT FILL, a poem by Francisco Gomes de Matos, an applied peace linguist from Recife,Brazil
fcgm@hotlink.com.br
The list of verbal abuses
Our big human frailty shows
By avoiding demeaning uses
Our communicative peace grows
Instead of verbally abusing
Cordially let’s learn to speak
In place of insulting others
Let’s try hard to be meek
NO! to language offensive
YES! to uses constructing
NO! to language derisive
YES! To uses humanizing
Let’s not destructively communicate
For dignity we would demote
Let’s constructively approximate
For dignity we would promote
If the vocabulary humans use
As forms that communicatively kill
The education needed is to choose
Words that peace- with- harmony fill
On September 5, 2004, Francisco Gomes de Matos wrote:
To Beslan Children - The World Misses You
~~~
When you died
because of a war
Human dignity cried:
"Don't close my door!"
~~~
When you were killed
in acts of violence
Human Rights denounced:
"Where's the protection of innocence?"
~~~
When you were sacrificed
in abominable terrorism
Planetary citizens proclaimed:
"Let's create a new humanism"
~~~
Where peace and justice prevail
where differences disappear
where human beings sail
all waters without fear
~~~
where memories of you
will show us a new way
which will change history
your heroism is here to stay.
Please see here also Francisco's poem on Peace Patriotism.
Cheers!
-----
From: Francisco Gomes de Matos
What can PEACE be ?
A poem by Francisco Gomes de Matos
What can PEACE be ?
One day PEACE I asked
What can you be ?
PEACE kindly smiled
and whispered to me
PEACE can be sought
PEACE can be taught
PEACE can be wrought
But,alas, PEACE can be fought
PEACE can be aimed at
PEACE can be dreamed of
PEACE can be hoped for
But, alas, PEACE can be laughted at
And I eagerly insisted
PEACE what can you be
PEACE gently smiled
And whispered to me
PEACE can be your meditation
PEACE can be their mediation
PEACE can be our TRANSformation
PEACE can be HUMANKIND salvation
What can HUMANENESS be ?
By Francisco Gomes de Matos, an applied peace linguist
from Recife,Brazil
We are human
Are we humane ?
Do we ever walk
On Compassion Lane?
What´s humanely being ?
A set of values pure
Ways of humanizing
Making others secure ?
How can we be merciful
When others we criticize
Can we show mercifulness
And make a humane surprise ?
Human beings
All mortals are
Humane beings ?
We`re still so far !
PEACE THROUGH LANGUAGE(s) : A poem-plea
by Francisco Gomes de Matos
What is Language ? A mental marvel
Used for all kinds of meaning-making
But how to integrate languages
Into the blessed marvel of Peace-making ?
By avoiding verbal abuse
And aggressive acts of Discourse
So that our intended meanings
Are free from a collision course
Being communicatively friendly
In speaking,reading,writing,or signing
By interacting with persons and groups
And linguistically dignifying
For all languages to shine
Deep inside the human soul
Let´s promote peaceful language
A global,permanent goal
Assuring everyone the Right to Learn
Is a universal priority
Learning to communicate peacefully
Is also a vital necessity
Language use can be loaded
As a weapon ,some might say
Instead , give it PeacePower
As the true humane way
As language users, we are all different
But there´s one role where alike we can be
As committed peaceful language users
Let´s have faith : A kinder world we will see
E)
Copyright: María Silvina Castellano
10/04/2001
--------------------------------------------------..
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
SONAMBULISMO DRAMÁTICO
A tientas por el camino
va mi alma de puntillas,
siendo el temor el obstáculo
que sobre mis sueños
más se cierne.
Invoco, imploro, suplico
que se abra ante mí el camino,
ya que la vida, sobre mi ser,
se estremece sin importarle
mi padecer.
Sonámbula, por el sendero escapa
sufriendo lluvias y viento,
soñando encontrar el rumbo
que para ser feliz espera.
¿Dónde te hallas alma mía?
Que si te encuentras en la cornisa
del miedo eterno, del dramatismo de la culpa
desespero.Si decides irte de nuevo
a comprarte alas doradas,
te pido que a mi interior vuelvas
o de angustia morirá mi cuerpo.
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