Ceasar vallejo: black roses [in english and spanish] - poetry
Cesar Vallejo: Black Roses
Bow down your head ol' poet- To face God's grace ahead There are no more trenches
To dig today? In the jungle of your head,
So-: Bow down, bow down,
Ol' barbaric poet! Death rides the horse ahead I hear the crackling of a whip See the demented eyes of death.
He order you to his den- The devil and his wind,
So-: Bow down, bow down Your blood tainted brows He will take you to the edge.
Closer, closer, I see you now Eh! a heartbreaking satanic cloud- I see a festival of black-roses, I hear bellow in the crowd.
Bow down, bow down, Ol' poet ?I hear your applause!
Versión en Español Translated by Nancy Penaloza Edited by Rosa Penaloza
César Vallejo: Rosas Negras
Inclina tu cabeza viejo poeta- Para encarar la gracia de Dios adelante No hay más trincheras Para cavar hoy ? En el bosque de tu cabeza,
Inclínate, inclínate ¡Viejo poeta barbárico! La muerte monta el caballo adelante Oigo el crujido de un azote Veo los ojos enloquecidos de la muerte.
El te emplaza a su guarida- El demonio y su viento,
Inclina, inclina Tu frente manchada de sangre El te tomará al borde.
Más cerca, más cerca, te veo ahora ¡Ah! Como una nube móvil satánica- Veo un festival de rosas negras, Oigo el commotion de la muchedumbre.
Inclínate, inclínate viejo poeta ¡Oigo tus aplausos!
#666 (15 de mayo del 2005)
Dennis Siluk's poetry is known worldwide, and has been in many newspapers; his first book, "The Other Door," now a rare book to find, of which only 750-copies were made, is a treasure for many in search of one if they can find one. His new book appearance out in October will be Peruvian Poems [in Spanish and English] look for it. . . see his site at http://dennissiluk. tripod [this poem wil be in the book]
Growing hurts sometimes; saying goodbye to friends, to clothes you've known and done to equipment you hunted to do. Growing heals sometimes the traumatized dreams and hopes of a life you once knew leading you to a new acquaintance of yourself.
"I heard what you said, Red. Yet, I have to disagree.
Caught in the Arms of ED
YOU MIGHT THINK I AM STRONGI THINK YOU GOT IT WRONGI LIVE LIFE DAY TO DAYHOPING IT WILL GO MY WAYI HAVE MY Associates AND MY FOOD PLANMY Analyst AND MY THOUGHTSMY Assignment AND MY EXCITEMENTTHEN A touch HAPPENS AND I GET CAUGHTCAUGHT IN THE ARMS OF EDTURNING MY EYES AWAYFROM MY FOCUS TO WIN THE FIGHTTHAT I Attention WAS GOING TO STAY.HE TELLS ME THAT I AM SELFISHTHAT I Ought to DOUBT MY EVERY MOVEONE Diminutive I AM HAPPYDO I HAVE A RIGHT TO FEEL THIS GOOD?DOUBTING MY Concentration AND CONFIDENCEAS ED Continually KNEW I WOULDI AM Bringing up the rear INCHES About MY WAISTAND MY PANTS ARE Lessening OFFI SEE THE FACE OF ED IN MY HEADAS HE BEGINS TO LAUGH AND SCOFFYOU THINK YOU ARE GOING STRONGYOU THINK YOU GOT ME BEATLET ME SEE YOU LOSE EVEN MOREYOU WILL SEE THAT YOU WERE WRONG.
Never Ever More
Once upon a midnight dreary, coffee cold and apparition bleary, all night sat there journalism COBOL, coding broaden crossways the bed sheets, changing grammar for the mainframe, having tartan my final line, I took the floppy from the drive.Typing with a steady hand, I then invoked the SAVE command, but there below my effectuation, appeared the cryptic communication, "Abort, Retry, Ignore" and nil more.
Mother, I Dont Mind The Pain
I am among those who know that one never recovers from the loss of one genuinely loved. We come to acknowledge the death and bend our lives - moderately begrudingly, but we do not recover, we survive.
Shakespeares Limerick XVIII, Shall I Balance Thee to a Summers Day?
Shakespeare's sonnets call for time and crack to appreciate. Accord the copious meanings of the lines, the crisply made references, the genius of the images, and the convolution of the sound, rhythm and assembly of the verse anxiety interest and experience.
The Ballad of: Brawling Mad-dog Sergeant Rook [Now in: SPANISH and English]
English VersionA bunch of us guys in the hutIn ?Nam Were in concert cards, singing songs; In a solo-room, back of the hut Lay mad-dog, Sergeant Rook;And examination from a distance Was his sidekick, Physical Cook.When out of the night, he wantedTo fight This bully of six-foot-two Dog-drunk, smelling like a skunkI required to fight him too.
Three Poems [Lima; Judges and Evils Creation]
1.Evil's CreationThou knowith evil clings To tender peace-; Nor does it heed one's drowsy Un-enthralled grief?But faintly it darkens Twilight's dunes-; With pinch shadows Straight from the moon.
Two Poems with Triggers [and a commentary]
So Many Einstein'sThe cock-crow mist, insists there is a God. The earth corpse faithful to its orbit.
Breathing-in, Minnesota [a poem: now in Spanish and English]
In early fall, in Minnesota, the rain falls, falls, In buckets, buckets and more buckets-: drops Likened to music from its many streams-land Of ten-thousand lakes; moistened gravel, gravel Everywhere?Grandpa sits on the porch-daydreaming of, of Something, maybe frost about the corner-; As the flies disappear, with the mosquitoes? Leaves will soon vanish, dimness will come earlyMaybe he's assessment about summer: miles and miles And miles and miles of cornfields; his childhood now Long gone, he hums a hymn, a song; looking at the Metal-piped fence, he made, with three poles, on the Embankment, foremost up the steps to the porch; It's worn-out like him.The winds in Minnesota smell fresh, fresh from all The foliage, there's a lot of it.
The Crusader: A Explore for the Benefit Classified (an extract of an Epic Poem)
On all the way through the darkness she searches the bones Seeking the hand of her love; Deep in the stillness, the maid searches on, Petitioning help from above. Onward she gropes all the way through the flesh and the blood Of the warriors flawed and maimed; She carries no hope for the life of her love - For zilch but his body she came.
Ole Bulky Jeeps & Paper, Ink and Rain [two Peoms]
Ole Bulky JeepsThrough late summer's heat These bulky shaped jeeps Ride by house and farm City and barn-Hungry for Spring-again, eager to avoid The Slipping and sliding Of winter's ice and wind?[s]Their big legs are dirty From heartbreaking dust and rain (Here and there, everywhere) Through all kinds of terrain Like heartbreaking clouds caught In the flora of the woods? They never slow down a ting They have a duty, and give.It's part of how they live- In military-, bulky ole jeeps!.
My Final Defeat - Fixed Competition
She doubtless can't commit to memory and I know I can never forget..
Ambiguity and Abstraction in Bob Dylan's Lyrics
To many citizens contemporary poetry is a turn-off. The analyze for this is that the adulthood of these poems are boring.
My hero, my best friend, my Grannio (a.k.a my Grandmother)
She raised me like I was her own daughter from the day I was born 32 years ago.She loved me like insignificant person else has ever loved me in my life.
There are many times I set up barriers and walls, invisible if not you come too close, And then you hit them.You awe what happened.
A Happiness Poem
If a happiness poem could bring forth a smile, Then my face would at all times dress in style.If my ears could hear my cpu screen, From one to another, they, too, would grin.
Tale of the: Old Seeker and the Fair Hare [In SPANISH and English now]
There once lived an old man and his goodwife On the edge of the thick of the woods; They lived in an old run-down shack For forty-years and some. The old man hunted for his living, And his wife sewed on her lap.
Whats A Prisoner to Do?
What's a prisoner to do when fair dealing fails and the blameless is escorted off to jail?What's a prisoner to do once stigmatized, caged and abandoned and ostracized?What's a prisoner to do there's no one to trust; the coordination fails and the outcome unjust?What's a prisoner to do when ancestors decide the punishment is defensible and justified?What's a prisoner to do while confined in a cell; the perpetrator's free and faring quite well?What's a prisoner to do once his reputation is dead and his life has been ruined as of what a big name said?What's a prisoner to do when he's not believed, though he's decisive the truth, he's attention to deceive?What's a prisoner to do as he sits all alone, no one seems to care; ex- associates all gone?What's a prisoner to do session lost and idle and most of one's belief develop into suicidal?What's a prisoner to do when freedom's taken away and the will to live diminishes each day?What's a prisoner to do when hedged in by strife; with no avoid possible; no ability for a new life?What's a prisoner to do when he can no longer see the beauty of the sky or the waves of the sea?What's a prisoner to do when the sun he can't feel, nor the breeze of bounce since his fate is sealed?What's a prisoner to do when doomed to despair but still praying to avoid the stimulating chair?Tell me, what's a prisoner to do?Rev. Saundra L.
The Gaul of La Laguna de Paca
Part OneI tell you a legend of long ago Of the deep-set city of La Laguna de Paca, (Where I had met a lasting ghost) Within this county of Huancayo--Peru; Truth lies, but only the soul knows.Part TwoSo the legend goes, of long ago: During the rising of the full moon The Mermaid of La Laguna de Paca, appears And to the adjoining towns folks, she echoes.
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