Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta Miguel Santos García. Mostrar todas las entradas
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta Miguel Santos García. Mostrar todas las entradas

miércoles, 13 de febrero de 2019

Nihilismo de época: dos poemas de Miguel Santos García

Remedios Varo Uranga, 'Revelación O El Relojero', Óleo sobre Masonite (1955).


Tinkering about

                    If you meet the Buddha, kill him. (逢佛殺佛)
                                                                 — Linji

Scouts always go first
a spike of fear has come a-knocking.
you may agree or you may protests
but seems this fate will come no less
some speak of folly and great demise,
others of treason and superb delight
its all the same for where we are headed
its down the tunnel to central city
its the reason of the world that was augmented.
The wolfs and hounds howl in splendor,
the felines and ghosts grin from the shadow
to smash the bone, and break the flesh
to slurp the marrow from the mess.
The reason of the world is arising
lets not miss this great event
a cycle none a many recall
as all spirals never truly end
may the coming hurt and fall
provide your bones with strengths
for trauma is above all
the greatest ink the brain can have
its not enough for our kin
to sit about tasting tree husk and mud.
It is not simply enough to know
NATO, one must feel the tension
between the all sides of the horizon, in
oneself and in the combative cosmos.



Notas sobre emancipación

Axioma, la concienciación no funciona,
los sujetos son producidos, nunca escogen.
El rapto vino y se fue,
los que ascendieron
no son extrañados. Esa herida en
la fibra de la realidad sigue en hemorragia,
tomahawks, bestias y centellas
brotan de tal calderón rugiente,
aquellos que restan son duros,
ásperos y útiles ¿pero para quién?
La existencia, esa realidad allá
afuera ocurriendo, es aleatoria,
no tiene un patrón, no posee una
razón, excepto lo que
imaginamos después de
observar por demasiado tiempo.
Existen muchos tipos
de mundos, pero este,
es un mundo de expiación,
esta violencia a la que baila el mundo,
este ritmo del caos que da forma al
tejido mismo de los átomos y de la gravedad,
haciéndonos preguntar en momentos de debilidad
¿por qué debe ser una necesidad?
Pero lo es y que así sea.
Grandes son los cuentos del lancero, el mortero, del tanquista y el espía
cómo rompieron y ensangrentaron a sus enemigos
cómo limpiaron y absorbieron los mares del Caribe
Algunos cuentos navegan,
otros se hunden debajo de las olas pero no menos posibles.
Pero los juicios lógicos no son los más profundos y fundamentales
a los que desciende la audacia de nuestra sospecha: la confianza en la
razón, inseparable de la validez de estos juicios fantasmagóricos,
como cualquier confianza un mero epifenómeno moral,
un chiste de mal gusto,
y el nihilismo de época
aún tiene que dar su paso último.

lunes, 26 de abril de 2010

El Fruto de la Diferencia: poema de Miguel Pruné

"There is strong shadow where there is much light."
- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

"Forget the years, forget distinctions. 
Leap into the boundless and make it your home!"
- Zhuang zi

Juventud Crasa, Inundando el Universo

El Fruto de la Diferencia

"Hundo todo mi ser en la Nada de Dios..."
Hopefully wild
Hopefully decadent
Rotting news of an ill-looking arrow.
"Reach for higher ground you fool!"
[What is self awareness?]
I make my approach into your temples
The odors entrap me in mystical quarrels
So rough, so hard, so sinister
Follow me not wild one
Follow me not.

I would surely lie to myself
If I alleged your oddness
Did not incite in me
A certain hunger, a silent will to inquire
that which matters most.
[Time and space 
were only the method not the goal]
Layers of skin, flesh and bone.
Of cells, atoms and quarks [strings?]
Layer by layer of your quintessence spark.
One constant metamorphosing salsa dance. [ecuajei]

Oh Godslayer! killer of all that is holy!
Will you not slay yourself?
Now that you have developed enough strength
Is that same power to destroy you?
The belligerent soul besets itself in lack of rivals.
Are you hiding in the wild again confused one?
Are you a coward or [&]
a bittersweet contradiction?
The wind is blowing awaiting
 cloud, smoke and rain to depart.
Will you not be the light and the wind?

And I see passions twirling, playing and slaughtering me.
The heavens hold no salvation,
 neither the charlatans you glorify.
"Run inside, run inside yourself 
and transmutate that crimson aura! 
Perceptual shift will follow 
that psychological devastation, 
survive the urge to save [?] 
humanity with Cross and Revolution"
[Thus howled Dionysus]

Now smile and travel beyond the echo of reality [Chronos]
Understand that forms, pain, substance and ovaries
Stem from a yawning nothingness [Chaos]
The gospel of the dead prophets!
[political messianism]
Is the boulder Sisyphus carried
upon that mountain of <> [?]

[The high priestess arises from the ashes of death eating the dichotomy]

[Darling]
Your juices carry the strength of a thousand bulls.
I would inexorably lie
if I assumed this transmigration
did not increase the adrenaline in my system.
If I said I did not salivate,
if I said I did not exhale with desire
To be bleed clean one lick at a time.
Sweat and spirit,
Blackness and blood.
Warmness and humidity
The hammer of odors; of red fruit and plasma.
Seven central points attuned into One

[Interconnected orgasmic organism]

Reality is ours to mold, and so we shall.
Sweet electricity dwells inside the bicameral mind.
[Method] Satisfy the ghost within. [Motion of emotion]

[Gime, chupa, gime, goza]

"Me hundo, centímetro por centímetro, 
Sin prisa, en ese charco rojizo, calido y omnisciente."

[Gime, chupa, gime, goza]

"En el coito encuentro las estrellas y los llantos
Libero coágulos y ondas de amor, adentro y cubierto."

Explosions of light are the way [Tao]
To become the universal observer
To be here and be there
To be and not to be
[concurrently]
To be you
And be me.

"Viajo al sur, saboreo tu espectro hecho musgo y sangre. 
En palpitaciones de vida, el aliento regresa. 
Sangre de luna baja por mi pescuezo."