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Uamaks sea [suspense: now in spanish and english] - poetry

 

Delicately, my mind was selecting a barely audible tune, out of the dead dark empty space surrounding me?

I saw a shape on a rock, not sure who it was; I had a sensitivity though, a air call it, or second-sight; I've heard that before, not sure if I want to put a lot of belief into it, but so be it, the sensitivity and lack of feeling was there. I didn't' sense any chance in the moment, in the moonlit figure, meeting on the rocks, lurking, looking out into the deep. I did get an awareness of cramps in my stomach though, like centipedes nibbling at it-from all corners-at the pink and red flesh of my home organs, cruel their ill-intentioned a small amount fangs into them.

I stumbled about in the thick foliage, lost in its scratchy overrun wild plants and mud, and god knows what else; in corollary, I came to the edge near the sea, over looking the aquatic, edge of the cliff, it was many years ago since I had been here. I zigzagged all through the last of the bushes, cautiously now, it was the rim of the cliff, and then got I into a clearer opening. I could only hear the noises of shifting waters now-the waters below me, as clattering waves hit, and streaked aligned with the overhang-the sea cliffs, candidly in front of me. It was but a few seconds after dark, after twilight, yes indeed, it had disappeared, swallowed up by an distressed night.

Inscrutability continually appears to bring with it a inexhaustible sum of threat, does it not? A rhetorical ask at best, sure it does, and that amount on the ?the tide was apt more calm, the rocks were mammoth, and overlooking the sea, serrated and with fangs. The wind gentle over head, not like a few log ago, I mean it just unexpectedly evaporated. As I was about to say, the shape, figure on the huge rock, is still looking into the sea; it is like he is sheltered into a trance, or that I am but a worm to him, and too insufficient for him to pay any interest to me. He seems to be chatting to himself, or perchance some sea monster, just kidding-but he's discussion to someone, something, and his head is cutting downward, down, down about the sea. Save for the fact I am not in an illusion.

A fishing boat, no, no just a vessel of some kind, not sure why I said fishing boat, how do I know, it has lit, a light on its deck, I assume it's a deck, it is far off in the distance. I walked now, pointless I think, can't see much in front of me, lest I end up in the sea on top of that damn monster I can't see, only to find out it is real. Oh well, some dark just left the moon a bit more exposed, but it gave me a diminutive light. In September it is aloof here, I swear that eminence has amazing to do with this baffling evening. Here off the coast of ? my bones are chilled.

If you were to ask me: '?what are you doing out here?' I couldn't tell you, I'd not have the answer, 'doing out here,' what? Maybe that be included on the rock knows-he must be but a hundred yards from me now; by chance I'll find out soon enough, and so will you. I mean it is night, but not all that late. Conceivably I was drawn out here. I was visiting a friend, you could say, but only after I arrived. So what provoked me to take this a small amount trip (again)-your guess is as good as mine. I have been to sitting room about the world that seems to draw on a people soul, advocate his pulse to the point he has to or he goes into-and ends up at, where he does-in this case here.

"Aye, good Master," I heard (a mumble) "?take the lot as it is?" this is what echoed back to me, the wind, yes the wind hard-pressed it back into my ears from the spot where that unfamiliar being is, that assume on the huge rock looking, just looking into the-what I assume, the sea, a black hole in the sea, yes indeed, that is what he is doing, looking into a black hole into the sea, for some odd reason, I can see that now, or could, it just faded away, as fast as it came. Evidently, a little else was, or I be supposed to say, is thriving.

-The form was looked proud with a ting of arrogance. I asked myself, now being but a number of yards away: 'does he have an hunch of my presence?' Who concentrates so hard, I mean look, he is asking the water of the sea something? I don't know someone; I get the air he has lost something, and wants to bargain for it back-death brings out many needs in man and beast: and he looks to be both. Or is he development something; he is huge, awfully massive. I'll take a few more steps, a yard now, he be supposed to turn about I'd think. I'm sure he can feel my heart beating, I mean hear it beating, I can hear it myself.

Again and again I say be supposed to he turn about towards me he'd see me, then what? Now he heard me hesitant my thoughts, he early some incantations as well. A lane to what I asked myself-, now what, I'm right after him, three feet:

"I'm Uámak, and below me, is the Minister of Doom, and there are many and various, ways to die, he has on a bone-skull plate, fixed into it, seventy-two ways to die. He brings one plate at a time to me, shows them to me. I am artificial to look as he mocks me. Doom has a funny sense of humor. He will I fear, play with me for ages. He says I must choice one, and knows I can't. He gathers my voice and echoes it down to whoever is under the crust of the earth-as they laugh at me. Which way has been select me, I know you have back sight?"

I was mortified, he bowed about and I more or less lost be in charge of of my physical functions (he was: gloom incarnate; a demigod, or so he looked), and well, lets not get into it. Anyhow, he knew I knew and he hunted me to tell him what has been select for his death bed. So that's why I was brought here, didn't know, and the fingers of doom as well as the City of Death would not tell him, perchance for a long, long time and this would be his death until he begged hell and Doom itself to tell him; I was his messenger. I stared into the blackness where he had been focused, where he was looking into or at, and I couldn't see what he saw, but what I did see was his death?his death,

"What do you see?" asked the demigod.

"A being with wings, putting rocks over your body. You are in a desert, chained to the earth under you, and the rocks over you, you cannot move. "

"What death is this," he asked me.

"The alive death," I chokingly said.

"Will I be conscious," he asked.

"Always!. . . "

Note: In black and white 8/12/05/revised 8/19/05 (by Dennis L. Siluk)

In Spanish Translated by Nancy Penaloza

Uámak ' s Acuática

Con delicadeza, mi mente seleccionaba una melodía sorda, fuera del espacio muerto oscuro vacío rodeándome?

Yo vi una forma sobre una roca, no seguro de quién era; yo tenía un pensamiento sensitivo llámalo un sentimiento, que siente ello, o la segunda oportunidad; había oído eso antes, no seguro de si quiero poner mucho crédito en ello, pero así sea, la sensibilidad y el entumecimiento estaban allí. No sentí ningún peligro en el momento, en la figura iluminada por la luna, sentada sobre las rocas, estando al acecho, buscando en la profundidad. Realmente conseguí una conciencia de calambres en mi estómago pienso, como ciempiés que mordisquean en ello - de todas las esquinas - en la carne rosada y roja de mis órganos internos, picando sus pequeños colmillos venenosos en ellos.

Tropecé sobre el follaje espeso, perdido en sus plantas espinosas crecidas demasiado salvajes y el fango, y Dios sabe que más; en el corolario, vine al borde cerca del mar, mirando sobre la acuática, al borde de la roca, hacía muchos años ya, que yo había estado aquí. Yo zigzagueaba a través del último de los arbustos, cuidadosamente ahora, esto era el borde de la roca, y entonces consigo yo en una apertura más clara. Yo podía solamente oír los ruidos del cambio de las aguas ahora - las aguas debajo de mí, como el golpe de olas que hace ruido, y salpicando contra las rocas sobresalientes del mar, directamente delante de mí. Pero esto era unos segundos antes de la noche, detrás del crepúsculo, sí de verdad, esto había desaparecido, tragado por una noche inquieta.

La impenetrabilidad siempre parece traer con ello una cantidad ilimitada de amenaza, ¿verdad? Una pregunta retórica a lo mejor, seguro esto es, y aquella figura sobre la marea? se tornaba mas calmada, y las rocas eran el mamut, pasando por alta mar, dentado y con colmillos. El viento apacible sobre la cabeza, no como hace unos minutos, pienso esto, justo de improviso se evaporó. Como estuve a punto de decir, la forma, la silueta sobre la enorme roca, todavía esta examinando el mar; es como si él esta bloqueado en un trance, o que yo soy sólo un gusano para él, y demasiado insuficiente para él para prestarme cualquier atención. Él parece estar hablando con el mismo, o quizás algún monstruo de mar, solo bromeando - pero él se dirige a alguien, algo, y su cabeza dirigida hacia abajo, abajo, abajo hacia el mar. Salvo el hecho no estoy en una ilusión. Un barco de pesca, no, no solamente un navío de alguna clase, no estoy seguro por qué dije el barco de pesca, como lo conozco, esto ha encendido, una luz sobre su cubierta, supongo esto es una cubierta, está muy lejos en la distancia. Anduve ahora, sin objeto pienso, no puedo ver mucho delante de mí, no sea que yo termine en el mar encima de aquel monstruo maldito que no puedo ver, sólo averiguar si es verdadero. Ah bien, justo algunas sombras dejaron la luna un poco más expuesta, pero esto me dio un poco de luz. En septiembre es frío aquí, juro que la estatura tiene algo que ver con esta tarde misteriosa. Aquí fuera de la costa? mis huesos están enfriados. Si usted me preguntara: ¿Que esta haciendo Usted aquí? Yo no podía decirle, yo no tendría la respuesta, haciendo afuera ¿qué? Tal vez aquella figura sobre la roca sabe - él debe estar sólo a cien yardas de mí ahora; esta posibilidad lo averiguaré muy pronto, y usted también. Pienso que ya es de noche, pero que no todo tan tarde. Evidentemente fui dibujado aquí fuera. Yo visitaba a un amigo, usted podría decir, pero sólo después de que llegué. Entonces que fue lo que me provocó tomar este pequeño viaje (otra vez) - su conjetura es tan buena como la mía. He estado en sitios en el mundo entero que parecen utilizar el alma de personas, agitar su pulso hasta el punto en que él tiene o él entra - y termina en, en cualquier parte donde lo haga - en este caso aquí. " Siempre, buen Maestro", oí ( un murmullo) "?Toma la parte de como es esto ?" esto es lo que resonó a mis espaldas, el viento, sí el viento lo empujó atrás en mis oídos del punto donde aquella facade desconocida esta, aquella figura sobre el enorme roca mirando, solamente examinando dentro del - lo que yo asumo, el mar, un agujero negro en el mar, sí de verdad, es lo que él hace, examinando un agujero negro en el mar, por alguna razón extraña, puedo ver que ahora, o podía, esto justo se desvaneció, tan rápido como vino. Evidentemente, era algo más, o yo debería decir, es prospero. - la forma estuvo mirando orgullosa con un tintineo de arrogancia. Me pregunté, ahora estando a varias yardas de distancia lejos: "¿Tiene él una indicación de mi presencia?" ¿"Quién se concentra tan fuerte?, pienso mirando, él esta preguntando al agua del mar algo Quizás alguien; consigo el sentimiento que él ha perdido algo, y quiere negociar para que ello regrese- la muerte entrega muchos deseos en el hombre y la bestia: y él mira para ambos seres. O él esta planeando algo; él es enorme, terriblemente masivo. Daré unos pasos más, una yarda ahora, él debería girar, yo podría pensar. Estoy seguro que él puede sentir el latido de mi corazón, pienso oyendo el latido, puedo oírlo yo mismo. - - ¿Una y otra vez digo que debería él girar hacia mí me vería, entonces qué? Ahora él me oyó mascullando mis pensamientos, comenzando algunos conjuros también. Un sendero que yo, me pregunté-, ¿ahora que?, estoy a la derecha detrás de él, tres pies: - "Soy Uámak, y debajo de mí, esta el Ministro de Destino, y hay muchos y varios, modos de morir, él tiene sobre una placa de hueso de cráneo, tallado en ello, setenta y dos modos de morir. Él me trae una placa a la vez, me los muestra. Me fuerzan a mirar mientras él se burla de mí. El destino tiene un sentido gracioso de humor. El me hará temerlo, el jugó conmigo desde hace siglos. Él dice que debo seleccionar uno, y sé que no puedo. Él une mi voz y lo repite abajo a quienquiera que esta debajo de la corteza de la tierra, como ellos se ríen de mí. ¿Qué camino ha sido escogido para mí, sé que usted tiene la segunda oportunidad? - "Estuve mortificado, él giró y casi perdí el charge de mis funciones físicas (él fue la penumbra encarnada; un semidiós, o así el se veía) y bien, no entremos en detalles. De todos modos, él sabía que yo, sabía y él quiso que yo le dijera lo que habíamos escogido para su lecho de muerte. Esto es entonces por lo que fui traído hasta aquí, no conocía, y los dedos de destino así como la Ciudad de la muerte no le dirían, quizás por un largo, muy largo tiempo y esto sería su muerte hasta que él pidiera al infierno y al Destino mismos para decirle; yo fui su mensajero. ¿Miré fijamente en la oscuridad dónde él había estado concentrado, o donde él examinaba, y yo no podía ver lo que él vio, pero lo que yo realmente vi era su muerte ?su muerte, - "¿Que ve usted? " preguntó el semidiós. - "Un ser con alas, poniendo rocas sobre tu cuerpo. Usted está en un desierto, encadenado a la tierra bajo usted, y las rocas sobre usted, usted no puede moverse". - "¿Que muerte es esta?", él me preguntó. - "El infierno, " ahogándome dije. - "¿Voy a yo estar consciente?", preguntó él. - "¡Siempre! . . . "

See Mr. Dennis Siluk's books and travels at his website: http://dennissiluk. tripod. com


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Genie Johnson hit the jackpot this year when she was named a Connecticut Student Poet by the Connecticut Poetry Circuit. Johnson is a student at Quinebaug ...


West Haven man named city’s first poet laureate  New Haven Register

WEST HAVEN — An acclaimed poet and lifelong Westie who long ago wrote poems about life in Allingtown and memories of Savin Rock, has been named the ...


'Don't Be Late for Poetry': Black Chakra  Afro American

Interview by Betty Harvin, Special to the AFRO. Jacob Mayberry, a Baltimore spoken word artist, emcee, National Poetry Slam champion, Texas Grand Slam ...


Japanese Day of Exile remembered in art and poetry  Vashon-Maury Island Beachcomber

Mukai Farm & Garden will install “Nisei Trilogy,” a commemorative work of art, at its Day of Exile open house, from 2 to 4 p.m. Sunday, May 19, at Mukai Farm ...


Fafnir’s heart: A legend from Norse mythology inspires an anthology of poetry from across the world  Scroll.in

These poems across languages and cultures, translated into English, take on increasing significance in a world that is intolerant of diversity.


'Poetry saved my life': Indiana poets are healing and connecting with their communities  Indianapolis Star

April is National Poetry Month. Poets in Indiana say poetry is vital and can help people change their lives.


Nazis silenced him, but his poetry lives on in new opera coming to SF  The Jewish News of Northern California

The Hungarian poet Miklós Radnóti didn't think of himself as a Jew. He'd changed his family name from Glatter and even converted to Catholicism. But all the ...


Zion Williamson's High School Teacher: 'He's a Hell of a Poet'  Sports Illustrated

Williamson developed a love for poetry during a daily creative writing class at Spartanburg Day School.


'Voices of Poetry’ holds readings in cafes. Now, they read poetry in a Paterson boxing gym  NorthJersey.com

Voices of Poetry typically holds readings in libraries, cafes and bookstores. Now, they held one in a boxing ring.


Poetry Foundation Names Beloved San Antonio Poet, Author and Educator Naomi Shihab Nye Young People’s Poet Laureate  San Antonio Current

Many Texans — myself included — were fortunate enough to become familiar with esteemed Palestinian-American poet, author and educator Naomi Shihab ...


Young Hamilton poets drop words Louder Than a Bomb  CBC.ca

Dennis Scherle came very close to flunking high school before he was introduced to poetry. His Grade 12 philosophy teacher offered him the chance to write a ...


Jamila Woods: Legacy! Legacy! review – poetry in motion  The Guardian

She might be an up-and-coming soul singer, but US poet and activist Jamila Woods is a team player. Her second album is also a showcase for other people's ...


Katie Porter receives the gift of poetry for Mother's Day  Roll Call

These days, moms are lucky to get a text from their own offspring wishing them a “Happy Mother's Day!” If they're really lucky, they'll get a post on Instagram (that ...


Review: Miho Dohi turns scrap materials into sculptural poetry  Los Angeles Times

Small-scale sculptures by Miho Dohi are like handmade driftwood, a kind of cultural debris that has been carefully shaped into poetic forms by unseen forces.


Beyond the Springs: Poetry and food  Colorado Springs Gazette

Celebrate the joy of reading and writing at the Literary Arts Festival from Friday through Sunday in Telluride. The event features poetry performances, author ...


CT Poets’ Corner: Jamaican poet Rayon Lennon writes so God can ‘tweak the world’  Hartford Courant

Connecticut Poets' Corner is a monthly feature highlighting the poetry of Connecticut authors. Poets are selected by Ginny Lowe Connors, former poet laureate ...


APRIL YOUTH POETRY FOLIO  Hyphen Magazine

This April, in honor of National Poetry Month, the poetry section is featuring the work of 10 extraordinary Asian American high school writers. Their poems ...


Seven Poems for National Poetry Month  Orion Magazine

In honor of National Poetry Month (and Earth Day!), I've selected a poetry sampler that captures the range and push into the horizon of what I hope to bring to ...


Maria Carillo sophomore wins top prize in statewide poetry contest  Santa Rosa Press Democrat

Zoya Ahmed, a sophomore at Maria Carrillo High, was awarded the top prize for a poem blending sound and spice.


Pitts: Regional poetry festival set this week for downtown Fayetteville venues  The Fayetteville Observer

Don't tell LeJuane Bowens, more popularly known by his stage name, El'Ja Bowens, that there is no arts scene in Fayetteville. He knows differently. This former ...


It's never too late to start writing poems - The Poetry Programme  RTE.ie

In the Poetry Programme on Sunday 19th May at 7:30 pm on RTÉ Radio 1, Ron Carey tells presenter Olivia O'Leary that it's never too late to start writing poetry, ...


Greg Jackson Reads “Poetry”  The New Yorker

Deborah Treisman hosts the author Greg Jackson, who reads his short story “Poetry,” from the April 29, 2019, issue of The New Yorker.


‘Poet on a Business Trip’: An offbeat odyssey through Xinjiang with poetry  SupChina

For a country that's produced poets with dramatic and colorful lives, there's a disappointing lack of movies about poets and poetry in China. In honor of National ...


'Leaves of Grass' marathon planned to celebrate poet Whitman  Houston Chronicle

SALEM, Mass. (AP) — Massachusetts is celebrating the upcoming 200th anniversary of poet Walt Whitman's birth with a marathon cover-to-cover reading of his ...


Meghan Markle's Mother's Day Photo Has a Deeper Hidden Message in the Caption  Oprah Mag

Prince Harry and Meghan Markle celebrated Mother's Day with a sweet photo of baby Archie's feet, but the caption also honored Nayyirah Waheed, a Black ...


A Plague Tale: Innocence video features Sean Bean reciting William Blake’s The Little Boy Lost  VG247

A Plague Tale: Innocence is out this week, and to commemorate the release, here's a video featuring Sean Bean reading poetry.


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