On Friday November 27th visit us Beatriz Villacañas. A visit he made to the James Joyce was a little Irish and a little English, "why not" than usual. First, thanks to the pleasant surprise that was the presentation that it was John Liddy and the subsequent reading of his poems was the guest. And then, all it taught us about the similarities and differences between the poetry of the island and ours.
How could it be otherwise, it lacked the reading of verses in the language of Milton, among others the poet Juan Antonio Villacañas, that since the time frame infallible was present during the reading of his daughter. In particular, read his poems translated by Beatrice, as well as some in their original English.
An unforgettable night in which shone the figure of the poet, translator and teacher.
we are left with only wanted to say once again to Beatrice: "Go raibh Maitha agaibh.
Until next time, folks. Will be in January, and another surprise.
A hug. Team
Smyrna.
Beatriz
Poems Villacañas ALAS NO: IS JUST A PIANO
Birds are the daily reminder of the bond
that binds us to earth
daily.
are the mirror that reflects
that distance, always irreconcilable,
of man with his skin.
They are close and elusive dream of cruel
beautiful. Tender
and indifferent, and ignorant
of all words that we invent ourselves
to fly. Listen:
Do you not perceive your heart racing? Hear how
pumped the air that stagnates us
and becomes thought. They
reinvent the daily wind
as you and I are still trying to understand why
your flight,
call it approaches and moves away
later.
desire for us is a bird down
longer able to pass through the air.
To them we are the threat
forget to recover the sky in an instant.
Look at them up there,
try to make an angel look
redeemed only one second.
Then we will bring our footsteps
to earth again and again to fall, sometimes on the ant
that only looks at the floor.
(De
Jazz, 1991)
FOR ONE THAT LOOKED German zoo monstrous animal science could be the weapon of your hands,
your instrument. Pretext:
Magic was your goal,
wise to pursue his thirst
of all deserts,
eager for the light that emerges only
the root of the darkest pit. Elephant-
firefly
fleeing by land fish with feet
inexplicable
and that animal so black, so ugly, so human, that
groans and cries when he almost caresses.
Dime,
to the horror of the monster,
did you feel chills? Tormented
do you pleasure?
did you worth?
may come to love, perhaps, say, cleft lip
that bird
or suffering from heart and saw two heads
them indecipherable son
pain with your glasses in the nineteenth century. You gave
that brow of yours that climbed the summits Nietzschean
a dark office, it will
one with all the poets, because the monster
is the profound mystery of life.
(De
Allegra Byron, 1993)
ON WHEELS
In the barren plain that is between happiness and sadness
seek the thrill of seeing the birth of a hero in my flesh breathing
hundred miles per hour. In limbo
dormant desire reigns
common sense of other people
me and my Yamaha,
burning between my thighs,
turn on the air and put wheels on time.
The black walls where rain
loses its innocence defiled
and drips into the asphalt, write soliloquies
briefest of letters:
unearthing my voice.
In the calm of any road tar,
way for so many round, I am enchanted
hell
the perverse desire to know how far you can drag
the heart to the body.
(De
The silence is full of names , 1996)
ACHILLES, MY SON Achilles, my son, I am overcome
something more than your greatness:
the memory of your being a newborn.
Just me, Achilles, son, I know how you were a child.
many times, at our feet the waves, with my fingers
I removed the sand from your hair blond. Always
were hiding tiny treasures in your fists, which opened as
roses without knowing even the iron weapons.
Achilles, son, Yours are the victories,
your struggle is my loss.
Achilles, my warrior, soldier
fell in becoming a prisoner of your own armor.
The world is under siege, and all your winnings
new walls
place in the hearts of men and heroes. Your feet light
not ever have to take
beyond the confines of the war, and with them
you go marching slowly
because you leave me forever.
Achilles, my son, I saw
see you live before your eyes,
I heard
immersed in silence and I touch without using hands
long before the dawn of rosy fingers.
Now that you're sleeping and moonlight
perpetuates the glow of your sword,
while her milk feeds this evening respite in your heel
contemplate the seizure of the time,
and although you do not know Achilles, my son, as always
gods have expired.
(De
The silence is full of names , 1996)
lire for
DUBLIN Dublin is like everything else,
only a pretext of the existence,
I'll say otherwise is to live
science of not knowing anything and thoroughly.
is an anthology as personal as it sounds old, like an epiphany
never give advice, Joyce
with this always in the distance.
I take a Lit
with all the drunken Dubliners.
death, as I view
parishioners of Irish secular temples.
That pub is serious,
of thirst without borders is the house,
is our entire show,
is all that happens,
believe that death is delayed.
Love, meanwhile,
can find in every position
perhaps love is art mixed
of whiteness.
I like that love has no cure.
Because if any dialogue
Dublin would mean, would not have
entire city,
beer or wine that put us to talk to the destination.
I already said long ago,
Dublin is not nothing but a story as mine
I hear how you eat on my plate,
that life is very long and only time.
(De
Dublin, 2001)
LOVE ME WITH CARIBBEAN AND PANTHERS
Love me with Caribbean and panthers, let
Eros fulfill its destiny, put him
sugar cane road
body give you hope for the future.
The night will give its moons beasts will embrace
marine flavor, and cinnamon
energize
cat purring under the palms.
tropical Inúndame of tenderness,
acércame your breath, so hot that can burn
the whole earth.
Let's unleash the courage, overcome
torrent glory and joy that leads us anywhere.
(De
Angel and Physics, 2005)
INSIDE ASTROLOGY It was the voice and said:
only
be a poet if an angel stands at your word.
... ... ....
The apple, translucent.
And the soul,
more tangible than the body: the Paradise.
... ... .... Bird
love what eternity
saves you from devouring the floor?
... ... ....
sipping a flower idea of \u200b\u200bthought.
... ... ....
You have revealed to me, angel
cercanísimo distant. Blessed
thirst I awake.
... ... ....
Who we are dreaming, who
we dream? Who drives
muscles of the soul and these bodies are sometimes so beautiful
and never finished?
... ... ....
Oh, heart,
are a flight of birds clustered
in the air tends to disperse their loneliness.
... ... ....
terrible thing
photography is not that painfully reminded
the absence of the object, but reveals
absence of the subject.
... ... ....
's all night today
and soul is a dark
can not eat food.
... ... .... And let's stay and
in this space,
here
by the vastness of the invisible.
... ... ....
Although many do not believe it,
Poetry is the sister bohemia of Science. Did you ever
Siamese.
... ... ....
that I love you all you
you Achilles heel.
... ... ....
What explains our steps
this parturient
inconceivable that we call life?
... ... ....
The word Death knows no death.
... ... .... Death
not abstract word.
revelation is incommunicable.
... ... ....
Words are my ancestors.
... ... .... Nude
the word, and
sense will tell you beyond the clothes of the meanings.
... ... .... Dream
word that forms in the mouth. A Poem
expected to be recognized,
chosen field
fact lyrics.
... ... ....
The word is it or is
travel destination?
(De
Angel and Physics, 2005)
