ZAUBER

PHILOSOPHY. Zauber is magic in German. I learnt the word this summer, watching a magic
movie - Tschick - in Regensburg. Zauber is, you know, but dreams that come true.

Zauber is magia en alemán. Aprendí la palabra este verano, viendo una película 
mágica - Tschick - en Regensburg. Zauber, lo sabes, no son sino sueños que se hacen realidad.

DREAMFALL

POETRY

And a magic Autumn indeed
dreams that come true
like in a Christmas tale

Y un Otoño, sí, mágico 
sueños que pasan
como una historia de Navidad

DIESEN HERBST

MEMORIES 

A fragile Autumn, 
like a newborn baby, 
rainy too this Autumn, 
like to wash the windows, 
ja, and beautiful.

Un otoño frágil, 
como bebé recién nacido, 
lluvioso también este otoño, 
como para limpiar los cristales, 

sí, y precioso.

DIE FRAU IN ROT

POETRY

Ich kann nicht vieles sagen
aber was ich weiß ist,
dass ich dein Freund
für immer sein will.


My first poem in German!
Mi primer verso en alemán!
Mein erstes Gedicht auf Deutsch!

Verbessert von der Frau in Rot ihr selbst :-)

PALAS FIELD

SAN SEBASTIAN

Like gladiators, we C and I, hold the ground of our palas (wooden racket) field on the beach.
Soon the raining season will start.
Meanwhile, we play face to face, nailed to the sand, the ball straight from racket to racket, its echoing regular sound.
Like an old ritual, then follows the bath, the drying on the sand while enjoying a frugal lunch.
Nothing new any more. That its immortal beauty.

For more on "palas" read: HIGH NOON at La Concha.

Como gladiadores, nosotros C y yo, mantenemos la posición de nuestro campo de palas en la playa.
Pronto empezará la estación de lluvias.
Mientras, jugamos cara a cara, clavados en la arena, la bola recta de pala a pala, el sonido regular y su eco.
Como un ritual antiguo, entonces viene el baño, secarse sobre la arena disfrutando una frugal comida al tiempo.
Nada nuevo nunca más. Esa su belleza inmortal.

Para más sobre palas leer: HIGH NOON at La Concha.

POUR EUX

POETRY

Par les soirs bleus d'été, j'irai dans les sentiers,
Picoté par les blés, fouler l'herbe menue:
Rêveur, j'en sentirai la fraîcheur à mes pieds.
Je laisserai le vent baigner ma tête nue.

Je ne parlerai pas, je ne penserai rien:
Mais l'amour infini me montera dans l'âme,
Et j'irai loin, bien loin, comme un bohémien,
Par la nature, heureux comme avec une femme.

Arthur Rimbaud

L'ART EN GUERRE: Le Coup

POETRY


He said - It's you or me
I said - But no, it's you and me
The sky so big, the stars so many,
even on a tiny island would be space
for hundreds like us
even hundred emptyheads.
He took his wedding ring off his ring finger
- I am not afraid, in my time I sacked a few.
I was not scared but it was scary
I was still talking of blue seas and
little islands if need to be.
So we parted.
Then he went on talking it was the people.
The night full of stars didn't even blink
who dared?
The legions of dead soldiers couldn't.

SUMMER IS COOL

SAN SEBASTIAN. I was having a coffee with a colleague at San Sebastian Nautical Club's "deck". In the middle of the city, in the middle of summer, a warm and quiet raining morning, this was the view. 
Sure the conversation was only second best, soft voices, not to disturb the misty atmosphere.

Tomaba un café con un compañero de trabajo en la "cubierta" del Naútico de San Sebastian. En la mitad de la ciudad, en la mitad del verano, una mañana suave de lluvia tranquila, esta era la vista.
Seguro, la conversación de telonero, voces suaves, para no perturbar la atmósfera nebulosa.

MELTED

POETRY


I've been in the North
Minnesota and the Lake Superior
cold water and no salt
snow in the air snow on the floor
heating my feet by the fire boots and all.
And back in my little bay I melt
the strength of the fight gone.

UNDERGROUND

MADRID. I took the plane to Madrid, like always, and then the Underground to Alonso Martinez street. Above ground, at the Riofrio Cafe, there was still hot coffee and croissants, the resemblance that everything continued to be the same. Underground though, one could feel - without dressing ups - the sadness, the defenselessness, the tiredness of the country, the wound, as the morning started in the city.

Tomé el avión de Madrid, como siempre, y luego el Metro a Alonso Martinez. En la superficie, en el Café Riofrío, todavía servían café y croissants calientes, como si todo continuara igual. Abajo sin embargo, sin nada por disimular, se podía sentir la tristeza, la indefensión, el cansancio del país, la herida, mientras la mañana comenzaba en la ciudad.

PwC by the GUGGENHEIM

POETRY

     I met my former colleagues at PwC
     at Bilbao for a "working" breakfast.
     My old office there by the Guggenheim
     with the weirdness of a thunder bell  
     seemed capable of falling over in a mess
     of steel and titanium, made scrap metal.

4 TORRES

POETRY

I saw them built, from the window of my office

I could see them grow, from my prison in the sky

I had a driver a waiter and you name it what,

a wine cellar too,

though still it was a prison.

Each time I see them now, from the air, landing

in Madrid, I remember the building up, the wonder,

nose against  the window, the cranes to heaven,

the sunset shadows,

though still it was a prison.

THE BEST BITTER

POETRY
.
My favorite bitter then
the name had Flower(s),
I had an Abbot Ale instead
it wasn't bad either.
.
He could be in twenty years to go
what I was twenty years ago.
.
I could have chosen the maiden
flower all the way,
I chose instead the farewell
flower as an ashtray.
.
He could be in twenty years to go
what I was twenty years ago.

TAKE THIS WALTZ, like the song.

FILMS. This is a film that it's a homage to Leonard Cohen's song, and therefore by necessity a homage to Federico Garcia Lorca's poem, and then somehow it's a homage too to the beauty of the art of making movies. I wasn't going to write about this year's San Sebastian Film Festival (as yet) but the movie we went to watch yesterday evening "Take this Waltz" by the Canadian director - and actress - Sarah Polley, and to listen to the song again, with all its cravings and longings, hasn't let me wait more. I will let you know if it gets any prize.

Esta película es un homenaje a la canción de Leonard Cohen, y con ello un homenaje al poema de Lorca, y de alguna manera un homenaje también al arte de hacer películas. No iba a escribir (todavía) sobre el Festival de Cine de San Sebastian de este año, pero la película que vimos ayer por la noche "Take this Waltz" de la directora - y actriz - canadiense Sarah Polley y volver a escuchar la canción, con todas sus ansias y anhelos, no me ha dejado esperar más. A ver si consigue algún premio. 

Take this Waltz, by Leonard Cohen

.

The original "Pequeño vals vienés" from Lorca's Poeta en Nueva York:
.
En Viena hay diez muchachas,
un hombro donde solloza la muerte
y un bosque de palomas disecadas.
Hay un fragmento de la mañana
en el museo de la escarcha.
Hay un salón con mil ventanas.
.
¡Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Toma este vals con la boca cerrada.
Este vals, este vals, este vals, este vals,
de sí, de muerte y de coñac
que moja su cola en el mar.
.
Te quiero, te quiero, te quiero,
con la butaca y el libro muerto,
por el melancólico pasillo,
en el oscuro desván del lirio,
en nuestra cama de la luna
y en la danza que sueña la tortuga.
.
¡Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Toma este vals de quebrada cintura.

En Viena hay cuatro espejos
donde juegan tu boca y los ecos.
Hay una muerte para piano
que pinta de azul a los muchachos.
Hay mendigos por los tejados,
hay frescas guirnaldas de llanto.

¡Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Toma este vals que se muere en mis brazos.

Porque te quiero, te quiero, amor mío,
en el desván donde juegan los niños,
soñando viejas luces de Hungría
por los rumores de la tarde tibia,
viendo ovejas y lirios de nieve
por el silencio oscuro de tu frente.

¡Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Toma este vals, este vals del “Te quiero siempre”.

En Viena bailaré contigo
con un disfraz que tenga
cabeza de río.
¡Mira qué orillas tengo de jacintos!
Dejaré mi boca entre tus piernas,
mi alma en fotografías y azucenas,
y en las ondas oscuras de tu andar
quiero, amor mío, amor mío, dejar,
violín y sepulcro, las cintas del vals.

LORCA in Granada

POETRY. Granada will always be linked for me to Federico Garcia Lorca the poet.

Granada siempre quedará entrelazada para mi con Federico Garcia Lorca.

A SMILE ON THE LIPS

SAN SEBASTIAN

                                      In the stillness of the day,
                                      with the morning sun, looking
                                      at the drawing of the roofs of San Sebastian
                                      as I might see them if I went out
                                      from the balcony of the room, a moment
                                      of laying, a smile on the lips, of nothing.

POST 100

MEMORIES. In celebration, mi song of all times: Mad Man Moon.

Was it summer when the river ran dry,
Or was it just another dam.
When the evil of a snowflake in June
Could still be a source of relief.
O how I love you, I once cried long ago,
But I was the one who decided to go.
To search beyond the final crest,
Though I'd heard it said just birds could dwell so high.

So I pretended to have wings for my arms
And took off in the air.
I flew to places which the clouds never see,
Too close to the deserts of sand,
Where a thousand mirages, the shepherds of lies
Forced me to land and take a disguise.
I would welcome a horse's kick to send me back
If I could find a horse not made of sand.

If this desert's all there'll ever be
Then tell me what becomes of me.
A fall of rain?
That must have been another of your dreams,
A dream of mad man moon.

Hey man,
I'm the sand man.
And boy have I news for you;
They're gonna throw you in jail
And you know they can't fail
'Cos sand is thicker than blood.
But a prison in sand
Is a heaven in hell,
For a jail can give you a goal
[and a] goal can find you a role
On a muddy pitch in Newcastle,
Where it rains so much
You can't wait for a touch
Of sun and sand, sun and sand...

Within the valley of shadowless death
They pray for thunderclouds and rain,
But to the multitude who stand in the rain
Heaven is where the sun shines.
The grass will be greener till the stems turn to brown
And thoughts will fly higher till the earth brings them down.
Forever caught in desert lands one has to learn
To disbelieve the sea.

If this desert's all there'll ever be
Then tell me what becomes of me.
A fall of rain?
That must have been another of your dreams,
A dream of mad man moon.

SPLENDOR IN THE GRASS

         

         

          What though the radiance which was once so bright

          Is now forever taken from my sight,

          Though nothing can bring back the hour

          Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower;

          We will grieve not, rather find

          Strength in what remains behind...

NY BLACK AND WHITE DREAM

POETRY

Two naked bodies

one white the other black

hot cat desires

warm the city nights.

Black and white

dreams and limbs

under the roofs

and the underground.

Rivers of moisture

dark and deep

closed windows and eyes

the city comes to sleep.

71.9 THE RIVER

POETRY

I couldn't breath in the night

and listened to The River

radio station, rock

in Atlanta and the passing trains

deep whistle in the distance.


On the way to NY and the romanticism of the Empire, the last poem from the London underground in The Chocolate Chip Waffle - and a cold - made me dare to write in the form of a poem after more than twenty years.
I believe that Atlanta's The River station might be available through the web, broadcasting the best of rock and pop of all times. Is anybody around listening to it?

Camino de Nueva York, el romanticismo del Empire, la última poesía desde el metro de Londres en The Chocolate Chip Waffle - y un resfriado - me han hecho atreverme a escribir con forma de poema después de más de veinte años.
Supongo que se podrá escuchar la emisora The River de Atlanta a través de internet, con el mejor rock y pop de todos los tiempos.