Latin American poet – Page 2

Be a Poem by Lorena Rioseco-Palacios

EVE LIGHT

Life
Death
The sense
What are they worth?
Ties to Life the illusion of being special
unique
That everything hidden will be revealed and bring peace
The fall
God
Crying
The vacuum
the tear
The torture of ignorance.
The worst of wheat
the howling of the cattle
The bark of the stubborn
The silence of the wise
(To whom God gave a name and assigned a Path)
Fall and worry our fate
Our truth the poppy has bloomed
The morphine has deadened the pain
But the power of God gives us the strength to continue… to continue
WHERE?

TWO NOISES

There are only two noises left
In the relaxed silences after the bloodless waters of the cold
There are only two noises left
Between the waking dream
Field where all the faded desires lie
While in his fury the candid blood
born in his look at the dawn
In your breathing relief
After the suns of August and the snows of July

There are only two noises left
My body knows its moment in the soul
Half bite and half die

There are only two noises left

Kisses and debauchery

What will become of so much love?
What will become of so much thirst?

I WILL GET LOST

I will lose myself as those sleepless nights are lost.
As the swallows fly uncertainly in their freedom.
Thus, like the breath drowned in a puddle of muddy tears
between slopes whipped by a harsh winter.
I’ll get lost on those dead end streets
in the midst of a time without stay.
Suffering soul
Deep sorrow of the soul.
I will write her name in crystals in the catacombs where lost loves lie
in each fragment deposited on a paper evicted from oblivion
between puddles of muddy tears on slopes whipped by a harsh winter.

SEPIA

As I watched the roll
roll of your wheels
I rolled off the ledges of cement buildings
There is no time…
Just muzzled birds
who observe my mourning of fluorescent colors
I’m looking for a bloody drink
Lower the face to the bottom
Bottomless background.
soul of lockdowns
absence of soul
there are no greens
SEPIA only…

LONELY

Lonely my autumn sighs pass by
Lonely the night of stars without wicks

Of loves in transit to the corridor of oblivion
Presence of leaves dancing as our love faded
In the middle of our world
always unfinished
Present as the cold through my careless open windows

I live and die
I smile and agonize
I dance and fall on cement floors
in dark spaces
in adornment people

I wonder-

In what unknown wind do I find you?
In what shade of September?
In what square of yesteryear do you walk your nostalgia
your unlived times
your life in my absence
my presence not available
or our words always so petty?

Alone
Alone in the midst of eclipsing clouds
And suns that don’t kill

Alone in the siesta of the day
While the good runs adrift
In that ocean that I never get to cross

What’s up?-that nothing in me is enough
that my passing is the passing of a deaf bird in a night cloak of mirrors?

devoid of me
devoid of all
abandoned by my lyrics
Unable to happen in life
All that I no longer say

FOR A SHIRAZ

ruby meteorites
Imitate God’s Sediment

meaning to the air
that the air I lack

That I need one last sip of a great Syrah
To say, what my lyrics hide

The costume without forgetting
Your body smells like grapes and my body smells like you…

_{written by ©Lorena Rioseco Palacios}

Lorena Rioseco Palacios

10.29.1969, Viña del Mar, Chile

Poet, narrator and reciter of the soul. Social Communicator, law graduate. At the end of 2015 she published her first book of poetry, stories and haiku “Ecos errantes” In 2016 together with 18 Chilean women poets she published her poetic work in the anthology “Mujeres al fin del mundo” (poetic voice of Chilean women), awarded by the Chilean Society of Writers with the “National Reading Fund”, with presence in all National Libraries. In 2017, together with outstanding national poets, he presents his work in the Anthology “Underworld¨ “Blood brother”, “Without borders” (Society of Writers “Without borders”. 2018), “ After poetry, in 2019 and “After Poetry: the festival of poetry”, in 2020 he publishes his work in the International Poetic Anthologies “Palabras Necessarios”, 2021, among others . The artist vigorously participates in literary, poetic, cultural and environmental dissemination activities. She also participates in different poetry forums, where she maintains a constant literary and poetic activism in social networks and groups of poets in America and Europe. In 2021, she publishes her second bilingual poetry book “Sé un poeta (be a poem)”. Since 2017 she is a member of the cultural corporation of writers and artists “Les enfants terribles” and of the Society of Chilean Writers (SECH). Poet invited to the II National Poetry Meeting, 2021.

Featured art photo Scyphomancy Oil on 9inx12in coldpress Mitchell Pluto 2022

Poems from Crazy Pupils by Victoria Morrison

NEW MOON

The
He is more poet than me
He provokes in me the excitement of lucifer
I wish to flee from the three nails of the crucifixion
My wrists don’t hurt so much anymore.
like sore ankles
I don’t limp anymore
The sky turns to water in your presence
I know how to float in flooded graves
mercury nights
Enigma of the writer with hair on his face
Under the moon
Howl with foreign voices

OBEY ME

From afar he looked like a man
It was a shadow in the form of a man
From afar he looked like a poet
It was a form of man
with the voice of a poet
In the light he looked like an angel
In the dark
Repugnant
smelly
I liked
Come! Come my love!
You will see that the reflection of my water is salty
Obey me

MARRIAGE OF THE DEAD

To not blame the men
We got married in the presence of a dead man
reflection
echo
We got married in the presence of a dead man
With my heart in my hand
fevers
cramps
Friend of my heart drowned in poetry
We got married in the presence of a dead man
They dug a grave
We were put
Next to each other
in the wet mud
The crying comes from the empty graves
We got married in the presence of a dead man
The earth has forgiven us

INSOMNIA

We look more beautiful in black
More beautiful than the widows of our enemies
I reversed your death with a love spell
I pierced your flesh
blood stakes
I descended into madness to rescue you
Men
In angel I returned you
You festered like a poem under insomnia
nobody’s Geometry
geometry of gods
We look more beautiful in black
More beautiful than the widows of our enemies.
crazy pupils
Kiss Me!
as if you don’t know me
impregnate me again and again
Throw the stone and hide
I will murder our children in the name of love
bite me
howls

SPECTRAL SILHOUETTE

spectral silhouette
I got tangled up in your hair
It rains in a city full of leaves
yellow autumn
I visit you in the asylum
where reason is lost
I see you insanely talking with the virgin
she doesn’t listen to you
My joints creak like an old door
I dry myself
I am your light you tell me
Cocoon light when I take you in hugs
Under the cold light of fluorescent tubes
We are the closest thing to Michelangelo’s Pietá
I cleanse your drugged body
They have cooked your mouth
I give you to drink the rain
You have aged more than me
One by one I have seen your teeth fall
Even so
I still consider you handsome my sick poet
Smoker
Created in the image and likeness of your mother
We make a blood pact
Crying
Of the wall
The shadow
The smoke from your big hands
Touching me
You hypnotize the voices
The time stops
naked
I walk in the rain
I collect flowers.

The poet Leopoldo María Panero, died last night at 65 years old at the Juan Carlos I Psychiatric Hospital in Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, where he lived as a boarder in open regime. Panero will be cremated tomorrow at the San Miguel Funeral Home of Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, where his body will be veiled starting at 2:00 p.m. today. The Corpse of the Poet he will remain in the funeral home for a little over 24 hours, until proceed to incinerate him, something that is scheduled for 4:30 p.m. tomorrow.
Source: ABC.es Culture, July 7, 2014

CRAZY PUPILS

The most ruthless of all souls
She is moved by the song of night crickets
The most brutal of all souls
Talk to the stars on a waning moon
the most despised
Sing with the voice of a nightingale
stays there
hours and hours and hours
hearing the wind
the most ungrateful soul
wash the feet of tramps
Heals hand wounds
Feed the pigeons in the squares
Smile at the children on the street
tour the cemetery
Read verses about the graves
Searching abandoned tombstones
Rest in sealed sepulchers.
Accompanies the silence that passes forgetting
and she gets tired
falls off
she turns off
sleep
Until the dandelions touch her fingers
She can’t open her tired eyelids
crazy’s pupils get bigger
hands are filled with oblivion.

LOST LANGUAGE

Speak
Write poetry
miss the word
Language that bewitches the impure in spirit
Verses saved from the waters
Illegitimate child
Where does my tongue come from?
stumbles on the palate
I inject sounds
speeches
rumors
Where do my eyes come from?
Observe the bubbles of the fish mating
Fertilize under the water of the river.

MOON WOMAN

Moonlit woman
windy sunrise
Fall from the placenta to the volcano
burn the soul
Germinate in root
mutate into bird
poet’s whisper
I belong to the wind
to the reflection of the sea

_{written by ©Victoria Morrison}

Portada de Pupilas de Loco

Controversial, transgressive, provocative, direct, loving, desolate This is the poetry of Victoria Morrison in this
new book: “Crazy Pupils”. the forty four poems that the collection of poems brings together come from the limits
most extreme humans; tenderness and cruelty in hands of the disturbed beauty of some verses that bother
and move, as the voice should be, when you are in the center of the tragedy. Love, madness, death, oblivion, govern the order of this collection of poems. In this scheme, the poetry of Victoria Morrison is a way of exhibiting the torture to which existence subjects us just by breathing.

Dante Cajales Meneses
Cau Cau, Puchuncavi, Chile,
February 2020

Feature art photo Eyes series. Óscar César Mata, Latex and watercolor pencil. Buenos Aires, Argentina.

Poetics of Erotica, Loves and Heartbreaks by Claudia Vila Molina

Crossing

be you
the stray who returns
into the mist
of our bodies.

Ignition

I wonder if you’re touching the sky now
as I extend my sight to these mountains
what part of space
will be created with your presence?
What ocean will I cross
to incinerate you slowly?

Prophecy

Your body dissolves things
to announce a moan
or remote end of the night
that no longer hides anything
not even a new way
of shivering

Estrangement

You look at me as if I were your fetish
you touch me when we’re alone
I am nothing of that
nor the shadow of our own steps.

Secrets

The mirror projects two lovers at the edge of the night
the itinerary of its own history is broken
They don’t sleep because they know how to distinguish whispers
that fly by and saturate the air
of people looking through the keyhole
and are suddenly reflected in a pool
It is not true to say that these bodies look at each other
it would be better to sketch the moment
when they intersect with the dark
but aligned as they were they knew how to possess themselves
and stood out against the background of shadows
of a white that was dreamed at night
and he did not even stop to contemplate the stars
but if he looked at himself naked
except when she unbuttoned her dress.

_{written by ©Claudia Vila Molina}

Writer born in Viña del Mar, Chile. Professor of language and communication at PUCV, poet and literary critic. In 2012, she published her first book, The Invisible Eyes of the Wind. She has published in renowned Chilean and foreign digital media: Babelia (Spain), Letras de Chile (Chile), Triplov and Athena de Portugal, among others. During the year 2017 she participates in the Xaleshem group with poetic texts for the surrealist anthologies: “Composing the illusion” in honor of Ludwig Zeller and “Full Moon”, in honor of Susana Wald. In 2018, she integrates the feminist anthology IXQUIC released both in Europe and in Latin America. In 2020 she participates reviewing the conversation book “Shuffle poetry, Surrealism in Latin America” by Alfonso Peña (Costa Rica), also writes a poetic prose text for the book “Arcano 16, La torre“, by the same author. Likewise, she participates in the book “120 notes of Eros. Written portraits of surrealist women” by Floriano Martins (Brazilian surrealist poet, writer, visual artist and cultural manager). In this year (2021) she publishes her second poetry book Poética de la erotica, amores y desamores by Marciano editores, Santiago.

Feature art photo Sun Set Women Oil, collage by Mitchell Pluto 2022

Inheritance of the Sleepless Rodrigo Verdugo

INHERITANCE OF THE SLEEPLESS 61

under the jasmine,
there are beautiful sentences.

I search with hands of fog,
something in my bones.

And to my aid comes,
the girl who knows
read backwards.

TENIA

She had the profile of a raven
and she covered her navel
with a lotus

she in dreams
she drank beer
with Alejandra Pizarnik.

She wanted to rent a small apartment
in Latin American Union neighborhood
only to have parties or orgies.

An apartment where beer
will fly like a raven
and the girls in full frenzy
they will remove the lotus from the navel
and the men will arrive like castaways
and burst in at sunset.

then someone comes back
to rent that apartment
and before putting the furniture and inhabiting it
read aloud to Alejandra Pizarnik
and a lotus enters through the window
pushed by the evening air.

INHERITANCE OF THE SLEEPLESS 82

I
lightning strikes
the blood bans
the eyelids of a son confuse the stone,
he has spilled on his knees
that burning milk,
which they throw in the face of the lamb.

II
I was spawned
in full abyssal torture.
and I have shields
about all my children.

III
You have petrified aspirations
and you say that you will become
in wolf at noon,
and you will bite a blue breast.

IV
You moan from the preacher’s throat
and thorns appear,
you want to be and not be at the same time
under any sky
pleasure shatters the night
and your bones watch over you in the hunter’s house,
and he ash in orgy with lightning
it’s just the picture
of that mother that she said
please open the door for me
welcome me, my house is burning down
she will burn me
and all my children.

V
I forgive him, but he repeats
I forgive him and he tells me
I want all my children together
forming a tragic link.

VI
I’m the father,
I drag bags with abundant fruits,
vegetables and goat cheese
I visit all the markets
all vegas and slaughterhouses
at five in the morning,
he wore a marbled coat,
a split in the middle of the forehead,
the sea spends angels and demons
and I spend the gold
with what should I cover
the mouth of all the unearthed.

VII
And who wants to sit at my table
he can talk to me at sunset
about my old gold digger aspirations
while we bite fruits,
and goat cheeses.

VIII
my children say
I have minotaur feet
and that I’m crazy.

IX
They were distributed.
The first met lightning envelope
and he finished as server in fifths of recreation.
The second was tempted by alabaster prostitutes
and he ended up ripping the bones out of all the fish with his mouth.
The third was suckled by a mule
and he ended up inspecting faucets.
The fourth was confined in a monastery
and ended up transcribing dictations from a blind nun.
Suddenly I wanted to have them all with me
forming a tragic link
on the precipices of the species.

X
And the mother in the hunter’s house
hid in the meantime
she said: “for now I am safe here,
although everyone outside
see the ash in orgy with lightning
and that is the image that remains of me in them”.
I will put my children to shelter
I’ll get them up at dawn
they will have the plague of a wolf that bit a blue breast
and they will fall one after another
and I will put compresses on the body
and I will invade my mother’s house
and the living room will be enabled as a sanatorium
and I will wake up at dawn to serve them
like a blind nun
and I will fear that a few steps of minotaur
are getting closer.

XI
those were my kids
and they were my gold digger pride
Of that gold that I will ever find
to cover once and for all
the mouths of all the unearthed.

XII
Come and let’s continue biting fruits
and goat meats and cheeses
That’s why I’m at five in the morning
with a marbled jacket,
and a split in the middle of the forehead,
in all vega, slaughterhouse and market.
That’s what lightning goes for
against all the prohibitions of the blood,
That’s why I choose alabaster prostitutes for my children
and with ashes I increase the abyssal torture of generation,
and with shepherd’s throats, I increase the desire
of those who want to be wolves at noon,
and bite a blue breast,
and have petrified aspirations,
or pluck fish bones with their mouths
and from the confused stone I make a shield
under which the wolf will drink burning milk
in the snout of the lamb.

_{written by © Rodrigo Verdugo}

Rodrigo Verdugo Pizarro: Santiago, Chile, 1977. Poet and collagist. He was secretary of the Pen Chile and formed part of the Surrealist Derrame Group. His work has been published in national and foreign journals and anthologies being partially translated into: English, French, Italian, Portuguese, Polish, Arabic, Uzbek, Romanian, Bulgarian, Catalan, Dutch Albanian and Greek. He has participated in collective exhibitions in: Spain, Portugal, Czech Republic, Costa Rica and Egypt. He is author of: “Veiled Knots”, Ed Derrame, 2002, “Broken Windows”, Olga Cartonera, 2014, “Advertisement”, Rumbos Editors, 2017 and “3 Anuncios, 3 Annonces”, Plaquette, Coedition Mago Publishers, Home Notebooks Bermeja, and Hesperides Publishing House (Argentina), Hispanic Academy of Fine Letters (Spain),2019

Feature art photo Mercenaries at the neural pipelines Oil, collage 9inx12in Mitchell Pluto 2022

Five Poem Wounds Emilio Barraza Durán

RESURRECTION

They all ran away from him
and it was not strange
never in Jerusalem
they saw a dead man walking
even his friends
they reacted with fear
when he showed up
by the door frame
everyone looked at him suspiciously
people walked away
swiftly on your side
it was
a condemned ghost
for transgressing
the immutable laws of the grave.
the last time they saw him
I drank a glass of wine
to the health of his friend Lázaro
the only one who understood
the terrible loneliness of the resurrected…

BAR PEOPLE

a distilled wine
with gender grapes
baste slowly
the broken pieces
of my heart without a country.
Time
take a nap
at the exact point
where Christ
lost the nails of it.
Between the glass and the bottle
a forgotten cigarette
it makes me cry
tears of smoke
at the bar
alcoholic corpses
remember times gone by
they cry for their lost tombstones
They cry for their rusty dead.
outside it rains
Suspensive points
that fall from the sky
They are knives that stick
in exact and precise geometry
from the heart…

CHRIST THE ELECTOR

they will lower you
a few moments from the cross
and they will give you
a Pandora’s box
the Pharisees will say
that you are a good person
the sadducees will express
your good intentions
mark a + on the paper
they will say
and you can go back to your work
having said that
they will put you on the cross again
and they will keep hitting you
For ever and ever, amen…

PLASTER LOVES

Now
that I am a harlequin
wire and plaster
lying on a bed
now
that I am a sparrow
with concrete wings
I can still tell
I want to love
despite the irons
that cross my hips
despite
of streptomycin
that makes me vomit
I am the only statue
who looks with love
to the wax masks
that cross the corridors
in this hospital…

FABLE OF ASSES

The donkeys
they were losing power
they were not elected
for no public office
all
their political strategies
They inevitably failed.
Then
at an important party meeting
decided to paint stripes and make
a strong communication campaign.
Since then
the whole country votes for a zebra
that from time to time brays
the same broken promises
of their asshole co-religionists…

_{written by ©Emilio Barraza Durán}

Emilio Barraza Durán, Viña del Mar, Chile, February 28, 1955. He completed his secondary studies at the Industrial School of Ciudad Jardín, and his university studies at the Catholic University of Valparaíso, graduating as a Professor of Spanish in 1983.
In 1998 he obtained the first prize for his play “Las tristes primaveras del humo” and the publication of his poems in the Anthology “Versos de viento y desamor” published by the Department of Culture of Secreduc Valparaíso.
In 2000 he completed his internship “A creative approach to the Chilean Educational Reform” at the University of Alcalá de Henares, Spain.
In 2013 he published “El Callejón de los Corderos” (Editorial Magoeditores), a critical and anti-systemic book.
In 2014 he obtained the following distinctions:
Publication of his poems in two editions of the literary magazine The Word of the Arizona State University, USA.
-Publication of his work “The transgressed flag: a vision of the patriotic symbols in dictatorship” in the book “Memory and perspective: 40 years after the military coup” edited by the Editorial University of Playa Ancha de Valparaíso.
-Publication of her finalist work “Good night, Rossana” in the “Anthology L.AI.A V Ensueños” edited in New York by the Latin American Intercultural Alliance and Editorial Muse & Pen.
Anthology Verses from the Heart, Editorial Diversidad Literaria Madrid, Spain.
-Winner of the first national poetry prize in a contest organized by the Chilean publisher Verbo(des)nudo with the book “Sueño ecuacional” in January 2015.
2015, appears in the Latin American Poets Anthology of Editorial Imaginante, Argentina 2016
Anthology Do not invite me to heaven if there is no wine, Editorial La Gorra de Valparaíso.
September 2016, selected in Anthology Peace as Care of Creation with El Sueño de Nezahualcoyolt, Editorial United Peace Federation, Buenos Aires, Argentina.
October 2016, winner of the Life Lines contest of Editorial San Pablo. His work Only You appears in Anthology Los Tesoros del Alma 2016.
January 2017, selected and edited by Furman Magazine 217, Vanderbilt University, Nashville, USA.
2017: Anthology “Poetics of the Underworld” anthologized by Eduardo Embry Castro and Teresa Calderón in Editorial de La Gorra Valparaíso
2017: Anthology “Convergences” edited by the poet and editor Gino Ginoris, Editorial Verbo(des)nudo.
2018: Anthology “Without Borders” Editorial of the Valparaíso Cap.
2018: poet selected for Solideo Gloria act of adoration organized by the Pastoral Catholic University of Santiago de Chile.
2019: “Writing and Scarring: the poetry of Marcela Cortés Moyano”, prologue to the book Sangra Etérea Piel, presented at the Viña del Mar Book Fair.
2019: Anthology After Poetry The Barbones, Valparaíso, Juan Antonio Huesbe, editor and compiler.
2019: Review of the book Totemica Insular by the Cuban-Canadian poet Lídice Megla published by Amazon, Canada.
2020: Review of the book Dialogue with the Mirror by Julianita Cisne, Editorial Letras al Viento, Miami USA.
2020: Anthology of Light, Nedazka Pika and Entre Paréntesis editors, Santiago.
2020: Fragua de Preces, Ibero-American Poets Anthology, Alisios Cultural and Grupo Abra, Canary Islands, Spain.
2021: After Poetry II, Anthology, Juan Antonio Huesbe editor and compiler, Valparaíso.
2021: Necessary Words, Poetic Humanity International Anthology, Viajero Ediciones, Ramón Lizana editor
Valparaiso.
2021: Flight of Dreams Anthology, Dora Miranda and Regional Literary Association Editors.
2022: Reading of Poems at the Viña del Mar Book Fair.
2022: Reading of poems Tribute to Gabriela Mistral, Gam Museum, Vicuña.
2022: Newenke Kura, Anthology of Living Stones, Nedazka Pika and Entreparentesis Editores, Santiago, Chile.

Feature photo art Banner of power and hierarchy 9inx12in oil, collage Mitchell Pluto 2022

Poems by Claudia Vila Molina We Return to the Earth

(Unpublished texts from the Poemas de sur)

Oath

The flowers will throb in my silence
The eyes will hear the flames of the river
We’ll whisper at night
And nothing will be necessary
This accumulation of absences today fills our chest
And there are no more traces on the dry Sunday afternoon
Although the smoke witnesses some ordeals
The eyes release their huge blocks
But none of this will be necessary
Nothing will be noticed at the bottom of the lakes
Not even in the thickening of the clouds.

We Return to Earth

The sound of the night falls towards the earth
The pastures surround us with their white moans
Again we walk the bare earth
And we keep the secret
A word wrapped in unreality
My lost sunflowers are from autumn
When they wither in the shadow of the cliffs.

(Unpublished poems taken from the book Escritos para Beatriz)

Strange Certainty

The water rises to the hives
The brightness of the air stops my desertion
And the precipice of the birds is deep
But the route digs a new image
Where did we forget the road?
What drill did you lose my name in?

The moon is your own emaciated conscience
Climb towards the light the wormy face
They fill it with sounds in the jungle of the world
An image is that you in pain
That serpent coiled in the maelstrom of the waves

Who can love you from silence?

The flora of time cradles sad animals
And disintegrates in the ropes of the river
That temple opens their bodies towards the solitudes
And send us four different kingdoms

Your flight is a mirror in the mask of the world
Eyes conceive other authentic materials
We like to dye ourselves from nothing
Succumb to the harassment of existence

After the light has departed we only have
distance
And the objects thrown on the floor
But your being unexpectedly illuminates this corner
and flee to cold countries
where the last sailors go

That silence is part of our ancient voice
And bring down the places
Draw an island in the middle of everything
The moon rests in my female arms
And unwind four seasons

A sign disconnects my primitive bursts
And he starts to sing
The wave once again throws its homicides
The certainty of that shadow strangles us
That figure stopped at dawn.

(Poems taken from the unpublished book Ciénaga)

9
Unexpectedly I open my eyes towards you
I like to hear whispers from the outside line
Your eyes open other doors
And they stay sheltered from the shade.

10
Since that time I remember you
You slowly invade my landscapes
Cold voices bring the threads of that web closer
They surround the absent body.

11
I will open my eyes once more
When the stars dwell in our bodies
And a drop slipped through the skin
Suspend all reefs high.

12
Violet petals fall successively on us
The wind is gone, but the shadow remains
Water slides streams into the night
And the last fire extinguishes my stars.

09-22-1969

Feature photo art by Enrique De Santiago

Daniela Sol Five Poems

OPEN SPACES

At 43 from Ayotzinapa

Those voices, those shadows
they are not dead
they declaim in every vital particle.

I’m tired of screaming thinking about them
to spit barks
to those sulfur parasites.
But I know that in every place, in
each breath in
infinite corners look for them
no horizontal lines.

The cornea of memory
it is not an embodied metaphor.
Hungry Sorrows Banners
of Justice.

Birds of uncertainties to
the vein, lip birds
like eyes.
Bodies that do not cease or
they quench by claiming their inherent freedom.
Since then there is no rest
nor borders that limit the
atoms.

The trampled dust is not in vain.
The stupor of conscience
nor the d(odor) of agony
and of silence.

There is a kiss on the forehead
and millions of intertwined hands
waiting for our own
skin down to the bone tray
to rescue them from oblivion.

LEGITIMACY OF BEING

To Stella Diaz Varin

death could not with me
nor with the erroneous tissues of my silence.
The attempts to turn off my singing were absurd
maneuvers of negligent glances
scandalized by the decline of my fingertips.

I have tattooed loneliness as a constant verse
a mantra that repeats, anarchic, the marginal hours
of my laughter, of my sex, of the pending hidden word
in bunches

Fifty stars receive my cry
that chapter that I moaned when I saw my children die
or when the senseless torture was drawn on my body.

death could not with me
nor with the deafening smoke that it gave
color to this voice of steel.
Time, on the other hand, comes slowly
to settle in my name
and wipe away the tarnished indecency in the mirror
that little by little vindicates my sorrows.

MAZURKA

I like that you remind others
I like to play to be the others of your memory
and I like to be someone in the memory of my others.

I like to heal you being the other,
the one from before,
that is claimed
that chews the past with erroneous flowers
that are reborn

I like to be nostalgic in my others,
body remembered,
because I got tired of opening
my legs to the swings of oblivion.

If you require it, masturbate your senses
remembering those others
like when I allow others
temporarily invade my dreams
to be the most whore and unfaithful,
unknown
alien
uprooted

If the past comes back
with the stench of laughter
Let’s face it, let’s show the colors
and we remain silent.

Sometimes it is necessary to take steps to the abject
silence the noise of the fruits
turn octagonal.

Let’s lull the past tense
vomiting it out of the body
and swallowing the tenderness that
yesterday he brought us together.

INSOMNIA

My feet went so far
in the whole core of
the foreign whispers
that the torrent dried up
of cough with which he fed
the desire, the endurance,
the certainty.

((Sometimes I lose the horizon
and I only wish a magnetic gift))

summon the silence
to silence the ego
the ataraxias of the ego
the chairs of the ego
attempts to give birth to a symmetric writing.

design a wish,
use the language
for something other than
put limits on principles
crimson deductive.

And breathe the constant ether
of the sun when it dawns.

NIGHT

Do you sleep
and in the fiery subtlety of your hair
the beats of your laugh are drawn
the silent breath
the arpeggios you sang before the sunset.
Your hand looks for me, I contain you
You ask me for a hug, I whisper the river
that feeds the herons.
Because you know that my shadow does not give up
before the burden.
my hand on your back
let you cross the threshold
of lavenders
about which you talk to me so much at dawn.

Daniela Sol (Talca, 1983) is a poet, mother and academic. Professor of Philosophy and Bachelor of Education, she completed her Master’s in Latin American Studies at the National Autonomous University of Mexico. She has a PhD in Hispano-American Literature from the University of Alicante, Spain.
She is the author of the collections of poems Wandering Sounds (Xaleshem, 2014), Postcards and Mirages (Helena, 2016), Fracture (Alauda, 2015) and Sabina (Marciano, 2021), and has participated in various poetic activities and meetings in Chile, Mexico, Argentina, Canada and Spain. Her work has been included in national and international anthologies in Latin America, Europe and the Middle East.
She is the compiler of the most recent anthology of Social Poetry in Chile: Verbo Latente (Helena, 2017), and of IXQUIC: International Anthology of Feminist Poetry, published in Madrid under the Verbum publishing label.
Her work has been translated into English, French, Portuguese and Arabic.
As a professor and researcher, she has carried out pedagogical and academic tasks in different institutions in Chile, Mexico and Spain, both at secondary, undergraduate and postgraduate levels. From this sphere she is co-author of at least five books. Since 2017, she is a member of the Chilean Society for Literary Studies.
As of 2019, she is part of the academic group Literature and School.

Other data:
Daniela lived eight years in Mexico, so a large part of her career was carried out there by the hand of poets connected to the Mexican academy and women’s groups. In that country she held extensive poetry sessions with the Chilean surrealist poet Ludwig Zeller (+), to whom she dedicates her doctoral thesis.

Featured picture Astral Island 9inx12in oil, collage 2022 Mitchell Pluto