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JAVIER JAVIER Lostaló IN SMYRNA

Hi friends

Finally we held our first meeting with Javier Lostaló this course, we spent a pleasant read, punctuated by poems and anecdotes, memories and reflections on his work.

the end, if something was clear that in the poetry of desire come together in Madrid and correspondence that in his visit us unwittingly provided through a journey of reflection guided by the sensory experience and contact with the everyday, which is sung by providing a distinctive voice to the reality of things. Hence his verses to the mirror, bed, radiographs, glasses, tablecloth ... Hence the beautiful prose poems blue station, an outstanding book of this (sub) genre.

I left some poems by the author that we hope you enjoy it.

A hug and see you soon.

Smyrna Team

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)

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)