martes, 15 de marzo de 2022

AN ATTEMPT AT PURE POETRY


 

 For sure I didn't know, when I studied it, what pure poetry is. That is why I tried to clarify this concept for myself and I had as models those paradigmatic poems of modernity and purity (absence of topics) such as those of Juan Ramón Jiménez and Miguel Hernández. Specifically, very specifically, from the first "Your faithful site" and "The autumn", and from the second, "Eternal shadow".

 

In these poems, the tradition of the verse is respected, submitting the language to its demanding structure.

 

This led me to write poems like the one that follows, in which I try not to have debts with the past in terms of its register. I thought I understood that pure poetry is freeing the poem from ballast.

 

BEAUTY BADLY WOUNDED IN THE MEMORY

 

 

 

To Emilio Perez Delgado

 

 

 

 

 

You carried a quiver of memories on your back,

 

darts that you throw at the sentimental target

 

with trophies of silent sleepless sighs.

 

 

 

I was stowing away your land in the suitcase

 

keeping quiet like a servant his crippled shortcomings,

 

the liturgy of work is deserted

 

Upon an altar of stuffed wait,

 

empty the promises of a manna for the south.

 

 

 

Socavón the distance has become to you, hole

 

in which the nights fit smelling of remembrances,

 

dawns that wander through insomniac silences,

 

and the heart dismantles its emigrant shed

 

of gratitude to the host lap,

 

undressing his circumstances

 

to stand bare as an angry autumn.

 

 

 

So, so many stones with a glorious surname.

 

the vines, the olive trees and the salt, comrades

 

of a cut-out tapestry, they are thrown around your neck

 

of longing, and you cry, Andalusian on your island

 

of exile converted to another sky, to another language

 

in which daily you officiate your absent habit,

 

in which you dream daily stirring the attic

 

inside you, in which you keep your most vivid yesterdays,

 

without being able to remove the shackle you wear,

 

prisoner of the defenseless beauty you left,

 

prisoner of beauty that cries in memory.

 

 From the web Andalusian poets

 

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