tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20061155851121290912024-03-12T16:36:48.059-07:00POEM OF THE DAYEnglish version of POEMA DEL DIA by Peruvian poet Adrian Arias translated by San Francisco icon poet NINA SERRANOUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2006115585112129091.post-67670684408888161092008-02-11T04:44:00.000-08:002008-04-21T13:06:06.585-07:00POEM OF THE DAY translated by NINA SERRANOAll poems written day by day in 2007<br />(click on images to enlarge)<br />((photos and drawings by adrian))<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7C3IWW7bCI/AAAAAAAAARk/LneknPIuiXo/s1600-h/01patioAdrian.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7C3IWW7bCI/AAAAAAAAARk/LneknPIuiXo/s400/01patioAdrian.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165830126662544418" /></a><br /><br />DAY 8<br />(in the darkness, while you caress me)<br /><br />The equilibrium<br />of the moon up in the sky<br />is held in your hands<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">(January 8 dawn)</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7C242W7bBI/AAAAAAAAARc/LbcN4ztPRTA/s1600-h/02patioAdrianPP.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7C242W7bBI/AAAAAAAAARc/LbcN4ztPRTA/s400/02patioAdrianPP.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165829860374572050" /></a><br /><br />DAY 29<br />(for Humberto)<br /><br />We are Gods enclosed in a grain of sand<br />our small body is a giant<br />filled with all we have been<br />all we are being<br />all we will be<br /><br />a fetus in the womb<br />-a cry and a little blood-<br />a child learning to speak<br />-a tooth and a little blood-<br />a blushing adolescent <br />-a kiss and a little bit of blood-<br />a traveler, a reader, a lover<br />-a poem and a little bit of blood-<br /><br />We are Gods of blood<br />enclosed in a small body of sand<br />trying to think what we should think<br />when we should be trying to think the incredible<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">(29 of February, between 5 and 6 in the morning)</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7C1u2W7bAI/AAAAAAAAARU/-mIAiKAz_qI/s1600-h/MachuPicchuDream.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7C1u2W7bAI/AAAAAAAAARU/-mIAiKAz_qI/s400/MachuPicchuDream.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165828589064252418" /></a><br /><br />DIA 36<br /><br />Neruda writes a poem looking at the ruins<br />at the same time that I cut a fresh fish filet<br />illuminated by the lighthouse that helps travelers<br />and your mind transports itself to the childhood of Gypsies<br />traveling against the wind and sand<br /><br />the seasons mix<br />now Neruda is a Gypsy who tries my ceviche<br />in a desert full of lighthouses<br />and this kitchen faces the ocean of your childhood and I<br />in the heights of Machu-Picchu see the fish flying<br />from my next poem.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">(Morning of February 5)</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7C0SGW7a-I/AAAAAAAAARE/rBGrih0mNk8/s1600-h/07patioAdrianPP.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7C0SGW7a-I/AAAAAAAAARE/rBGrih0mNk8/s400/07patioAdrianPP.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165826995631385570" /></a><br /><br />DAY 81<br />What do we do when we are next to the person we love?<br />(select an option)<br /><br />- Give yourself over sweetly to the suffering of a caress.<br />- Listen attentively to the sound produced by kissing her lips<br />- Let yourself go with the trembling of your skin that seems to burn you in an embrace<br />- Leave a path of kisses to mark your way back<br />- Just look at her<br />- All of the above<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">(March 22)</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7C0j2W7a_I/AAAAAAAAARM/dkhl_3Hk-Kc/s1600-h/10patioAdrian.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7C0j2W7a_I/AAAAAAAAARM/dkhl_3Hk-Kc/s400/10patioAdrian.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165827300574063602" /></a><br /><br />DAY 86<br />What are shoes good for?<br /><br />- To take us to places that they know better than we do<br />- To find the footsteps you left when you went<br />- To cherish the hidden desire to jump for joy<br />- To eat the steps that others have left forgotten in the corners<br />- To live at our feet<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">(March 27)</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7CyuGW7a8I/AAAAAAAAAQ0/yWWhL6-R1U0/s1600-h/03patioAdrianPP.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7CyuGW7a8I/AAAAAAAAAQ0/yWWhL6-R1U0/s400/03patioAdrianPP.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165825277644467138" /></a><br /><br />DAY 91<br />What is a coincidence?<br /><br />- Two different watches running fast at the same time but in different pockets<br />- The shadow of a butterfly that no longer is<br />- The flower that sleeps inside each stone<br />- The small stone we gathered along the way years ago and now we find in our pocket<br />- Your eyes that don’t know that they close just at the moment that I cross in front of you, or maybe not<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">(April 1)</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7CyEmW7a7I/AAAAAAAAAQs/_ME_ztEsXr4/s1600-h/rocAve.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7CyEmW7a7I/AAAAAAAAAQs/_ME_ztEsXr4/s400/rocAve.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165824564679895986" /></a><br /><br />DAY 216<br />(for Julia)<br /><br />From the ocean she returns every night<br />crossing the border of Moron awakening her with a kiss on her eyes<br />moistening the edge of her blanket with salt<br />where she guards the story of an embrace<br />the story of a dance she learned<br />that lit the flame<br />to keep on living<br />the dance that she gives you on every stage<br />the pain of your absence is of flesh and bone<br />of cloud your body of mother<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">(August 4)</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7CwK2W7a5I/AAAAAAAAAQc/InsYYMQBVbc/s1600-h/flor.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7CwK2W7a5I/AAAAAAAAAQc/InsYYMQBVbc/s400/flor.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165822473030822802" /></a><br /><br />DAY 244<br /><br />I see you growing and I start looking for<br />all your childhood photos<br />as if I could feed time backwards<br />so that you return to my arms<br />with this aroma that you hide behind your neck<br />that saves me each bad day<br />and makes think about how you will be as a grown up<br /><br />I see you grow<br />and I take photos from every angle<br />not to feed my desire for you to stay as you are<br />but to play a trick on time<br />and every once in a while<br />play with your stuffed dog.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">(September 1)</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7CxQmW7a6I/AAAAAAAAAQk/N3pJ2L-t7ik/s1600-h/camino1.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7CxQmW7a6I/AAAAAAAAAQk/N3pJ2L-t7ik/s400/camino1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165823671326698402" /></a><br /><br />DAY 255<br /><br />Today I have to confess that the moon<br />is a hole that I had to cut in the sky<br />so that you wouldn’t be afraid in the dark of the night<br />and the sun is a pile of fireflies <br />that your mother tied by the wings<br />and put in a crystal ball<br />the sea is an interminable collection of transparent cloth<br />that your grandmother helped me sew<br />the fish are the Polaroid applause of friends<br />and the islands are wrinkled hats<br />of elegant gentlemen that stay sleeping beneath the water<br />the birds and the stars are drawings that grandfather never stops painting<br />This is the way of the world of my dear <br />a pile of rare things stuck on top of the other<br />and others yet to be stuck on<br />waiting for your hands to grow along with your smile<br />to make a great collage.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">(September 12)</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7CvCGW7a3I/AAAAAAAAAQM/Ac0bJL8g09U/s1600-h/DSCF8226.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7CvCGW7a3I/AAAAAAAAAQM/Ac0bJL8g09U/s400/DSCF8226.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165821223195339634" /></a><br /><br />DAY 257<br /><br />Today your mouth has eaten all<br />the words of my mouth and in silence<br />I have loved you<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">(September 14)</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7CrbmW7a2I/AAAAAAAAAQE/k4dP4l8kACU/s1600-h/lunascruzadas.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7CrbmW7a2I/AAAAAAAAAQE/k4dP4l8kACU/s400/lunascruzadas.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165817263235492706" /></a><br /><br />DAY 258<br /><br />Today the moon<br />has woven wall to wall<br />the island where my body<br />refreshes itself from the day<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">(September 15)</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7CqrmW7a0I/AAAAAAAAAP0/pSPZjj5HpXk/s1600-h/arbol.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7CqrmW7a0I/AAAAAAAAAP0/pSPZjj5HpXk/s400/arbol.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165816438601771842" /></a><br /><br />DAY 284<br /><br />-Individual performance exercise for rainy days 1-<br />Close your eyes<br />raise the hand that we normally write with<br />pretending we had a pencil between the thumb and the index<br />press the fingers and begin to draw in the air<br />small circles rectangular stairs large curves<br />let your hand keep moving in the air<br />drawing without a previous road<br />now much faster now<br />much s l o w e r now much s l o w e r yet<br />until you feel your hand floating and your fingers separate<br />now the drawing is a caress now<br />raise the other hand<br />now it’s a cloud now invisible bread<br />that feeds desire now it is time to open your eyes<br />now look at the drawing that remained<br />only you can see it<br />it last an instant but it lasts<br />and it’s yours<br />completely yours and now…<br />now repeat the whole operation without making it a trick<br />Close your eyes…<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">(October 11)</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7Cq0mW7a1I/AAAAAAAAAP8/vQNPE_HrKLc/s1600-h/luna.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7Cq0mW7a1I/AAAAAAAAAP8/vQNPE_HrKLc/s400/luna.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165816593220594514" /></a><br /><br />DAY 297<br /><br />Luminescent and lacerating<br />omnipresent even as it becomes invisible<br />it doesn’t leave mark on the wound it causes<br />opening and closing its impossible scar<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">(October 24)</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7ClzWW7ayI/AAAAAAAAAPk/Nn-QbRAVQrI/s1600-h/173.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7ClzWW7ayI/AAAAAAAAAPk/Nn-QbRAVQrI/s400/173.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165811074187619106" /></a><br /><br />DAY 303<br />-spirit of the black box-<br /><br />Today I was in the mind of that child<br />with 97 commercials, 715 personalities and <br />517, 823 unintelligible words<br />in 3 hours and 52 minutes of high frequency waves<br />erasing from its mind the first hug<br />the first cry<br />the first tooth<br />the first flower<br />telling it all that there is to forget<br />to be really entertained<br />only by the light<br />the divine light of emptiness<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">(October 30)</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7AnhWW7axI/AAAAAAAAAPc/tQjZ31jIDaw/s1600-h/DSCF8228.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7AnhWW7axI/AAAAAAAAAPc/tQjZ31jIDaw/s400/DSCF8228.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165672226484874002" /></a><br /><br />DAY 320<br /><br />The moon dies of sorrow<br />the cloud of shame<br />of blue dies the day<br />and of a breakdown the trees<br />on learning that there is no cure for forgetting<br />nor relief for memory<br /><span style="">(</span><span style="font-style:italic;">November 16)</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7AmYWW7awI/AAAAAAAAAPU/Xwl4xGYORVk/s1600-h/bellodurmiente2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7AmYWW7awI/AAAAAAAAAPU/Xwl4xGYORVk/s400/bellodurmiente2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165670972354423554" /></a><br /><br />DAY 327<br /><br />Oh diminutive human body<br />suspended between heaven and earth<br />fighting every instant with gravity<br />swollen with fluids that nourish and weigh you down<br />with organs that grow and deform<br />what am I going to do with you<br />in addition to scratch if you itch me<br />and cover you if you feel cold<br />Let me sit on the edge of the bed<br />to try to understand you<br />I will undress you a little more in the silence of dawn<br />And I will travel with you wherever you take me<br />I trust in the routes of your blood<br />and the footsteps your shadow leaves on passing<br />only let me go with you<br />will you come with me?<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">(November 23)</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7Cvr2W7a4I/AAAAAAAAAQU/bXIOvYkPdPs/s1600-h/fosforo2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7Cvr2W7a4I/AAAAAAAAAQU/bXIOvYkPdPs/s400/fosforo2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165821940454878082" /></a><br /><br />DAY 344<br /><br />The birth of a silence<br />is written in the agony of a sigh<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">(December 10)</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7Akj2W7avI/AAAAAAAAAPM/RL6eO9so98c/s1600-h/fosforo5.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7Akj2W7avI/AAAAAAAAAPM/RL6eO9so98c/s400/fosforo5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165668970899663602" /></a><br /><br />DAY 345<br /><br />Silence is the slave of fear<br />even though we treat fear like a king<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">(December 11)</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7AkA2W7auI/AAAAAAAAAPE/3RsTdt5Wyeo/s1600-h/fosforo7.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7AkA2W7auI/AAAAAAAAAPE/3RsTdt5Wyeo/s400/fosforo7.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165668369604242146" /></a><br /><br />DAY 349<br /><br />We keep our coins in small boxes<br />that we didn’t use at the proper time<br />because we wanted to remember a place that we already forgot<br />stamps that already lost their value<br />and their beauty is debatable<br />locks of hair from someone who was very special<br />and who suddenly we don’t remember any more<br />secrets that went out to all but we persist in maintaining<br />they keep on being secrets<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">(December 15)</span><br /><br /><a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7ESyWW7bDI/AAAAAAAAARw/y64jVQqpPjo/s1600-h/piedraMP1.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NvPZwYKTjko/R7ESyWW7bDI/AAAAAAAAARw/y64jVQqpPjo/s400/piedraMP1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165930903775177778" /></a><br /><br />DAY 363<br /><br />The stone knows when to release into nothing<br />it knows why when and how<br />the immortal stone makes its death and knows how to hold its breath<br />just to continue spying on the moment of our death<br />the stone knows everything<br />my body doesn’t know anything and every day<br />goes further from its beginnings<br />but the stone envies me my numbered days.<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">(December 30, 2007)</span><br /><br />These 20 poems were read at the Red Hills Books in San Francisco CA on February 9, 2008<br />by Nina Serrano & Adrian AriasUnknownnoreply@blogger.com1