| |
| |
|
Poetry Information |
|
|
|
Footprints to Mantaro Valley (a poem in Spanish and English)
Footprints to Mantaro Valley In what retreat art hid?- Where falling mountains groan In shadow and among The rapids of the Rio? Is not your name Mantaro Valley? Beyond the footprints of the Andes--? I can hear your voice in echoes I can hear thy voice, divinely low. I do but know thy by a glance As the clouds above me know? . Ah! Gone like that, but love-love! Hath found my naked soul! 4-20-05 (#627) Note: written after seeing the Mantaro Valley, beyond the Andes. Huellas al Valle del Mantaro Por Dennis Siluk Traducido por Rosa Peñaloza En que retiro el arte se esconde? Donde Montañas decrecientes gimen En la sombra y entre Los rápidos del río? No es tu nombre Valle del Mantaro Más allá de las huellas de los Andes-? Puedo oír tu voz en ecos Puedo oír tu voz, divinamente bajo. Pero te conozco por una mirada Como las nubes arriba conocen... . Ah! ido así, pero amor-amor! Encontraron mi desnuda alma! The Butcher of Lima (Dedicated to: Mario Poggi) English Version Prologue: I do not wish to judge anyone, lest I be judged, and God forbid should I be judged by anyone but He. Thus, I write this following poem with a word of discretion to the reader likewise, that all is not as it seems, is it. Having said that, it has been said the Psychologist Mario Poggi-whom I met on three occasions and purchased a sculpture from, and received one from him as a gift-has learned the hard way-that is, the curse of revenge has long wings; hence, revenge is for the Lord. Why? Because both the avenger and the victim are cursed thereafter (one does not have time to make amends if that is indeed his wish; the other, loses his life slowly as he lives on). Thus, "The Butcher of Lima," is really a picture of the sculpture Mr. Poggi calls, "The Face of Anguish"; or at least it is to me. During our three meetings, I did not find in his eyes guilt for his murderous deed, for he rid a city of a maniac who was cutting up bodies and burying them,-and perhaps saved a few lives, did he not? But rather a sadness that he did not close his eyes during the process of his slaying of man called "The Butcher," and now the sculptures he has molded with his hands are the eyes of his soul. The Poem The Psychologist, he killed "The Butcher of Lima," So it has been said? With a belt around his neck He strangled him to death! As he sucked in his breath-- Head carved like a fish!? Poetic Justice! He died a purple death The "Butcher of Lima?." And no one wept. And the media cried the name: "Poggi! Poggi!?you're insane!" It is as fate would have it Motionless and forgotten Are the cold blades of redemption. #628 (4-21-05) Spanish Version "El Descuartizador de Lima" Por Dennis L. Siluk El psicólogo, él mato al "Descuartizador de Lima," O eso es lo que dicen ... Con una correa alrededor de su cuello Lo estranguló hasta matarlo! Mientras él se asfixiaba- Cabeza cortada como un pescado!... Obra de justicia El murió asfixiado El "Descuartizador de Lima..." Y nadie lloró Y la media gritaba el nombre: "Poggi! Poggi! ...eres un enfermo!" Es este como el destino lo tendría Insensitivo y olvidado Son las espadas frías de redención. Two Poems by the Author and Poet, Dennis Siluk, while traveling in Peru and Central America, April, 2005. Said the Author,"The Mantaro Valley was captivating...." as it led him out of the Andes, and through the valley itself, into Huancayo, Peru. For more information on this poem, or on the second poem, "The Butcher of Lima," you may want to review the article by Marissa Cardenas,Columnist-Correo Newspaper "Cultural" page, dated 23 April, 2005. Rosa P.
MORE RESOURCES:
Poetry - Google News |
|
|
|
RELATED ARTICLES
A Case of The Fears Chicken Soup is good for a coldSleep is good for the FluWhen I get a case of the FearsWhat is a person to do?It is not bacteriaAlthough it can eat away my soulIt is not a virusYet, it can keep me from feeling wholeI know what will do the trick,What will put me back on top,A great big bowl of Ice CreamWill really hit the spotThat was great and now I am doneOne bowl just won't doIf one is good, then more is greatAnd now I have eaten two.Bowls three, four, five and sixCame and then they wentI think my case of the fears are fixedLook at how my time was spentI am getting sleepyIt is time to go to bedMy fears are no longer in my stomachNow they are in my headI close my eyes and I can seeThe Fears I want to killI will do, whatever it takesTo keep the monsters still. Two Poems and a Short Story 1)dying in the bar [sluggishly]yet, I would crawl too upto the bar, it was everything, the dampness the carved wood the zoned-out-ness in my head dreaming; it was better than death? then I took another drink?so many I never moved much, like dead fish. my head split like an ass it was numb and, nothing else numbness was my homeacross the street, dancing on the patio the moon was out. Its What She Didnt Say When I hear your voice inside my head it makes me think of you every single day as I fight back tears of sadness and wonder if you're okayMy life is empty without you I wish time would take away the pain but the ache in my heart persists and my simple hopes seem in vainI realize how much I hurt you and now I know it's too late to tell you how sorry I am and expect you not to hateI don't deserve a second chance to show you how much I care when you needed me the most I know I failed to be thereNow your trust in me is gone forever and I will never have the chance to say I really hope your dreams come true and happiness finds you every dayI would give almost anything in life if I could go back to that day and erase everything I said and did to make your heartache go awayWhat hurts the most is this is what you didn't say and the absence of these words haunt me each and every day.. Poetry "Reborn" Emerges In Thriller Mystery Novel Since Mohamed Ali-then Cassius Clay-announced that he had written "The world's shortest poem," I have known that I would be a poet. "ME? WHEE!" His triumphant proclamation evoking shivers within my troubled teenaged identity, for I reasoned in rhyme. Opposites Do Attract Quite Well When I am climbing up, you are stepping down. When I wear a smile, you wear a frown. A Ship to Remember Hammers. Timbers. Biography of Charlotte Bronte Charlotte Bronte (1816 -1855) Novelist and Poet.Charlotte was the daughter of the Rev. Robert Burns Love Poem: A Red, Red Rose Robert Burns, a poor man, an educated man, and a ladies' man, is representative of Scotland, much like whisky, haggis, bagpipes, and kilts. He lived a life shortened by rheumatic heart disease, 1759-1796, but his life journey through poverty, informal education, disappointed love, nationalism, and literary and financial success can be identified by all Scots and common men the world over. RISK Do not be afraid to shine. This world needs what you have to give. Let Your Feelings Be Your Guide The light of all eternity shines with me now / My feelings light up my life / How I find my way is determined by them / They illumine my path and show me who I amWhen I was young, I felt so many things / Then came the day when I could not stand the pain / My world was chaos then, filled with sorrow and grief / So I closed up to protect that fragile Self withinYears would go by before I could open again / I was forced to by circumstances beyond my control / Life dealt me blows which I later recognized as my own / To awaken me to that sorrow deep within my SoulI worked hard to find my way back to the Light / To that place within where I could feel once again / There my Heart shone forth with a brave face / And shed light on all that I had concealedNow I see how I closed that tender-hearted Self / How I froze in the face of my destiny / Troubles swirled around as a constant source of grief / And I fell to sleep out of fearI am awakening now to the deep void within / Where I've stored all those troubles and pain / I fight my way back to that center once again / So I can come forth completely and be trueMy life moves forward as of this day / When I committed to finding my true Self / I've engaged all manner of demons on this journey / To return to that Source deep insideI wish for life to fill me now and bring all it can / I am thirsty for experience and for growth / I want lavish riches from my Soul to fill me / So that I can truly enjoy all that I beholdThis work is sometimes difficult as I have learned / But no more than any task requiring Love / This journey enriches me with its purpose / And fills me with Life and SoulThis is my gift to myself, my own holy Soul / To have, to hold and to behold / This Heart that bled is now healing its wounds / And can prosper again from what Life bringsLet there never be a return to where hurts cramp me up / And fill me with bitterness and pain / I am awake now, yes, and can move ahead / To appreciate all that Life has assignedOh glory to you, my Sweet Soul, for coming this day / I thank you from the bottom of my Heart / We two can sing together the praises of Love / That take us forward on this journey through timeNever let it be said that one so deserving / Could not find his or her way Home / All whom will follow shall see this Light in turn / And know that their journey can be wonI take you with me now, my Sweet Soul / For you are here in my hands / Where I can behold you / And together, we can be so bold"Move on," you say to me. "Move on, my love / The Light wishes for us to do so" / And my Heart sings with the possibilities / So that "Yes" is the answer I can render with easeMy Heart is filled with Love and joy in this moment / Knowing that I am with you, my Soul / My feelings tell me you are there and always were / Till that sleep came over me earlier onBy awakening to your touch do I know You / And find my own truth there in your eyes / You show me through Love what my purpose can be / I am inspired by this attentive designI am pleased we are here together, in this life / I am pleased that our love is so strong / For now I can reach you, my Sweet Soul Sublime / When you call to me from deep within my HeartI have your answer Dear, and know this to be true / That you and I are forever to be born / In this life or another, we join with each other / And We Soar . A Different Place... I wish we had met 20 years ago.. Walt Whitman, Romance With a Stranger The concept of brief encounters, even romantic encounters, with a stranger recurs often in the verses of Walt Whitman.Take, for example, these lines from one of the inscriptions that Whitman wrote to his 1860 edition of Leaves of Grass. 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 nobody else has ever loved me in my life. Grandpas House & From Iraq with Love [Two Poems] Grandpa's House [The ole Real House]The house needed painting Sun-blistered and flaking Grandpa started to have us Boys-Mike and I- start Doing some scraping-While he, pealed off the ole Paint, and started painting?Just a humble wooden house With several rooms, but Strong enough to keep the Winds and winter snows out, How he loved that ole house!.. Birthday Messages I WANTED TO SAY IT WITH A BUNCH OF FLOWERS A CARD WOULD HAVE SUFFICED.I WANTED TO SAY IT WITH A PACK OF SWEETS A' HI' WOULD HAVE SUFFICED. How to Write Bad Poetry "All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling."--Oscar WildePeople write poetry for a plethora of reasons, but this article has a sharpened arrowhead aimed directly at the fingertips of amateur poets who wish to be published yet refuse to learn the attributes of a well-crafted poem. Ambiguity and Abstraction in Bob Dylan's Lyrics To many people contemporary poetry is a turn-off. The reason for this is that the majority of these poems are boring. Stone Beds [A Poem and an Advance] Stone Beds [Pompeii's surge]Advance: after the great eruption of Pompeii's nearby volcano, Vesuvius, some two-thousand years ago in the heyday of the Roman Empire, what was left of the city were mostly ashes of stone from an unleashing furnace; it is hard to imagine what the people went through (none, not one person survived). I can only guess from the looks of the city today, and in its early excavations, its people were baked alive or asleep, like pottery. The Ballad of: Brawling Mad-dog Sergeant Rook [Now in: SPANISH and English] English VersionA bunch of us guys in the hutIn ?Nam Were playing cards, singing songs; In a solo-room, back of the hut Lay mad-dog, Sergeant Rook;And watching from a distance Was his sidekick, Corporal Cook.When out of the night, he wantedTo fight This bully of six-foot-two Dog-drunk, smelling like a skunkI wanted to fight him too. Five Mixed Poems, with Notes [now is Spanish and English] 1.Night in Jamaica [Peruvianism: 1810]It was a rainy night they say When don Simon Bolivar Slept in the arms of beautiful -Luisa Crober (of Jamaica); thus an Assassin missed his mark When he stabbed Major Amestoy Sleeping in the dark In Bolivar's hammock!.
|
| home | site map | Art of the Ocean |
| © 2006 |
