Poems

In Giving again (Latin American Publishing Group), the poet and flaming director of the National Library have compiled a series of poetries appeared in magazines and anthologies, besides to include unpublished texts, of which an advance is offered

Faded plates per decades of lunches and suppers
confronting colors with zapallos and paltas
with morrones ardent
combinations with the watercress or the red one of gazpacho
those yellow plates of my childhood
plates for long dialogues of wine and tablecloth
plates where my children overflowed papillas
and stepped on bananas
blue plates that crossed the Atlantic
plates of ceramics of humble stoneware or porcelain
plates for the casseroles and the curries
plates for the fish and the chickens
plates of sufferings and exile
empty plates and rebosantes plates of festejos
or soups of the winter
plates that accompanied our history
plates appeared in the life before our birth

plates that last beyond other deaths
plates with which nobody will know what to do when it dies to me.

When we see ourselves as it sees the Canon us
our smiles the eyes entrecerrados by the sun
they will be happened
of this moment we will have few images
caught from the angle swept by the lens
with time a copy of faded characteristics
he will be the unique thing that reduces of the gestures of now
that first laughter of some son
a movement of the hand a wink
or the blow to find us suddenly to which they have died
that they watch to us fearless
accusing to us
because we did not love them enough
because in fact we have forgotten them.

Like all poet who also boasts I have a novel
kept in the locker along with the corpse from an uncle
millionaire
sometimes I touch like a sacred object those papers
marked by an old Underwood with or despareja
I do not dare to read them (fear to the self-criticism texts
yellowish)
I prefer to revive old projections daguerreotypes and
postal
the lead soldiers/the rubber ball rojiblanca
the cold of the helmet with plume/the armor/rifle of two
sewers
the chairs upholstered in green/the orange light of the radio
the album of the trench war
perhaps these intransferibles photographies
they are not more than metaphors of a dream uncertain signs
of a museum opened to a single visitor
devoid of interest for foreigners.

All the pains and the perpejidades of a man
they can be sheltered in a single volume
occupied hidden between two volumes with the second row
The passages from that distant first day
the brightness in the glance that was lost afternoon in the smiles
and that enronquecida voice by the pillow
names recorded in a tree and one date
underneath
turned a translation of few lines
smoke of the ambiguity words reunited in a tremor
electrical
will be readings distracted before an examination
or the disdain of I leaf through in an insomnia
the inmovilidad in some library of district

And the anonymous hand that emphasized two verses?
That was the result?