Dear Friends
From the Smyrna team a year we want to wish a happy Christmas. For that we
this time with a special box of the painter Mary Tarruella , which helps us to notice the glory of which it takes its name. For what else is worth more to celebrate Gloria's involvement with the human?
these days have a great time. We hope that you also input a happy year.
Until then, a hug to everyone! Team
Hi friends
Something confused with the new location, but very grateful to everybody who came showing us that we are more than a bar with a beautiful story and a good beer, celebrate meeting Vanesa this Once in another bar with a negligible history and an equally good beer.
not miss anything in this game, very much ours: confused waiters making noises, many unfamiliar faces between perplexed and accomplices, a dedicated and generous author, and a bit of reading and conversation where it is evident that poetry and art were born to accompany the man and not vice versa. Vanesa read
his poetry long and short, simple and complex, respectful language, but always attached to the idea that in the verses of the Madrid writhes like a log that causes each node of intelligence.
I leave here some of these verses and we invite you to visit us in the next.
A hug. Team
light Do not let my body
fool you. I
burning ships.
(De Stars on the carpet , 2001)
I was wrong at your feet. I thought they were roots
what it was always shaded.
(In the rain wrong, 2006)
Dare me.
'm young.
I have much desire to lose.
(In the rain wrong, 2006)
You also spit
secretly in the shelter you chose your heart
and not know why I chose blood.
not seek the meaning of this book.
You also wanted to be pastor
not have given him food in the background.
not ask me a gun. My finger does not point
.
only draws us into the saliva.
(In the rain wrong, 2006)
Hi friends 
Plano: http://www.malasaña.es/mollymalones/mollymalones/contacto.html
We say at the Joyce during the month of December, at least, will have parties every Friday , so while we can celebrate and there is no chat. More than anything, because if poetry and the party along, Joyce noise in these cases this coexistence is unfeasible in practice. In this premiere
our new site as a guest with us Vanesa Pérez-Sauquillo, an author writing as clear as symbolic and ingenious, well known in the fabric of poetry Madrid. One author who has also played an interesting role as translator, especially from the anthology of Dylan Thomas, prepared in collaboration with Niall Binns for collection Huerga Signs and Fierro.
The meeting will be next Friday, December 3, from 19:30 to 20:50 (approx). Then those who want, we'll stay for a drink there.
We leave a brief bibliographical note and some links to the author:
Sauquillo Vanesa Pérez (Madrid, 1978) has published the following books of poetry: Under the rain wrong, Hyperion, 2006. Young Artist Award of the Community of Madrid; Invention cat, Calambur, 2006; Vocation Rabia, Universidad de Granada, 2002. Honourable Mention Award "Federico García Lorca" and stars on the carpet, Hyperion, 2001. Prize "Antonio Carvajal." His work appears in numerous anthologies, among which The Power of Body (Castalia, 2009), English poetry 1990-2005 Last (Marenostrum, 2006), Twenty-five young English poets (Hyperion, 2003). He has translated, among other books, an anthology of Dylan Thomas and entries Deaths (1934-1953) in collaboration with Niall Binns (Huerta and Fierro, Signs, 2003), and unpublished poetry of Roald Dahl children. He currently lives given to poetic creation and research of the borders between poetry and other arts (stage, film, musical)
Links:
http://www.culturamas.es/blog/2010/05/22/ poems-of-vanessa-perez-snowball /
http://www.poesiadigital.es/index.php?cmd=poeta&id=48
http://www.revistaleer.com/184/novisimos.html
A hug to everyone. Smyrna Team
In a few weeks will reach readers throughout the world Z-Time , the Zombies comic project through time has been brewing since earlier this year from the ranks of Barricada. Joining efforts of artists and writers on both sides of the Atlantic, professionals and Fernando Sosa, Santiago Eximeno, David Brana, Juan Alarcón, César Acevedo and Pedro Belushi among others, put their talents to bring us that which we extract special editorial.
Welcome, dear readers, this special Z-Time. Welcome to the horror that on the following pages are going to consider and hopefully satisfy your tastes and palates more sinister.
But what is Z-Time? How did these horrific stories and who are the architects of these stories illustrated? Z-time is the result of the work of talented artists who want to show the world what they can do. Their stories, their drawings, their narrative, what you are going to look at then is a letter. A letter of introduction to teaching readers the kind of fun we can make and a nod to the editors of the world to say: "If you liked this, there is still much, much more." Because Z-Time is just the tip of the iceberg of a thousand stories, concepts, beautiful environments, illustrated fantasy.
If in a few months we have been able to create this magazine, what do you think we can create the following occasions? If you want to know, contact us at the end of the magazine where our records and contacts. (And if you publishers, we can talk about other things ...)
And now enjoy ... if you can.
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BORDER
all live on the border, a stone of happiness and another of neglect and abandonment. We are a non-territorial refugees who are waiting for us to name someone to feel people from somewhere. We dress up every day without knowing how many degrees of loneliness will be able to achieve, or whether, on the contrary, many things happen to us until our jacket will feel strange. And on arriving the night did not know where we are, how much we have to get to the wonder and the precipice. We fought a battle with ourselves where we are kings and beggars. As we put the crown of victory or money, our hearts sample stripped his rags. We all live on the border, the invisible line between speech and silence. We talked and we are simply silent about what we really mean. Remain silent and have so much we undressed. Open a door and close a dream. Tapias a window and his eyes burn with the landscape. We received a letter and the time spent delete your letters. Between light and dark browsing our thinking, and burns when there are only ashes. Touch the truth but is blinded by lies. His soul is why, yet sometimes delirious. Nothing is as it is and everything is as it ever was. Thus, installed on the border of the confusion, in the past. Our lips move air kissing and skin trembles while flees. Tend our hands on a body and become deaf. We want to do something and call us from elsewhere. We were quiet and fast turn driven by desire and presence. Pursue the impossible and we pass to what your company offers. Claim to be in love and never measure the love of quiet days. We say 'yes', and only think about ourselves. Write 'no', and between the two letters trembling doubt. We planted a rose and grows only the wound made by its thorns. We all live on the border, tied to the paradox, servants of joy and pain of ignorance in the know. We all live on a tear in happiness. We all heard what we lose and what do not tell us. All inhabit that of which we were banished. All denials then trumpeted principles for our actions. And crossing to the other side drowned away by the voices that we do not hear. How thin border opens and closes our lives!
(De blue station, 1998-2001)
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ALL NEED SOMEONE
all need someone. From birth we are the open wound of a name, dethroned princes voluntarily by the shadow of a being. In our infancy flashes corolla lips that we pro-nuncio. And if someone opened our eyes We crossed to the hillside. We all need someone to take history to enter the aurora with the wing of a secret, to sunset on the horizon tired of another heart. We all need someone to listen to our words as signs that silently up constantly. And who answers know that the voice you hear is pressed by the bell Translucent absence. We need to be someone's dream to open in our loneliness invisible body and embrace her ghost light to confuse the time. We all need uninhabited in memory of someone when blood spills its stars. Our image clearly reflected in the distance to another being. Never succeed alone but a heart always plant your rose in the center of our glory. And the aroma brings us back to the purity of principle. Never fail alone, because the fidelity of a voice in their time revives us. Behind every movement of our other steps paint a landscape. And there is silence not two. We looked flow that sustains us, the broken wing of another bird chest. And if we cry our tears slide down the empty space left by another being. We are a moment of infinite love, who face one day we kissed. And was made flesh. We are the day after a body one night we sailed. We are what we are not when someone burned within us. Live like a kite to measure pren- air within another being. His pulse is our way. and when we are no longer someone still breathe the world from us.
(De blue station, 1998-2001)
WHERE ARE YOU?
Where are you, a creature without love of my life?
As a silent planet
surrounds me your light you do not know and I do not reach. Quiet
walking towards me in your sleeping angel with her halo
sleep
wakes me your hand,
beautiful creature with no name or body in whose shadow
give me time and space above the desire for there
where there
move
form alone is recreated. Pure
absence of my life,
faith without God in that get up early in your deep concíbeme
airless
beat so that together, we forget the same love
desert.
(De transparent Storm, 2010)
ADOLESCENCE
sky tree with swing. Breeze
temptation silk with sleet. Summer
late as copper
called a chest.
Curtains with sleek light
bird. Face
shot against their own fog
tears.
bed with a naked
tides. Strand
look
lighted on successive days. Fixed
translucent cloud of desire. Bike
transpires emerald shore of a river. Storm
body dry
about to shine.
Mystery of a face in the dream copulated. Kiss
shining in their season total.
(De transparent Storm, 2010)
CARICIA
your touch was never first, you always
hid among its shadow darts
not to be,
as I lost consciousness in the flower
more intact.
destiny A body without my eyes listening
between pulsating circles
to wet the penumbra
your lips breathing. Touch of thought
raised his paradise soon to fade into the distance
more painful, which flooded
no place to surrender.
just enough movement for my entire life you will cross
alone has expired. Timeless
your word
incubated in pure space
by the desire dawned, but you are silent
in a distant desert where he sometimes played
the incandescent limit. Tired of absence
rest every morning still at the dawn of your forgetfulness.
(De transparent Storm , 2010)
As we shake off the sand hill we have entrusted this season opener a seasoned poet, long path, as is usually the most difficult otherwise. We talked of the illustrious Javier Lostaló , known in his youth by his foray into the poetic landscape of distant seventy, and after somewhat eclipsed in his literary work for his long career in the media. Diffusion path and promotion of the poetry of others has always done since the beginning his poetic career, starting in the Faculty of Law and through gatherings such as the Teide Café or Café Gijón, long before he published his first book of poems, Jimmy, Jimmy . Discuss
For this reason we invite you to start this new cycle of Smyrna , participating company Lostaló Javier and his poems on Friday October 8 at 19:30 where ever and as always: Alcalá, 59, until approximately 20:50 .
Links:
A big hug to everyone.
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