If This Little World To-Night

If this little world to-night Suddenly should fall thro’ space In a hissing, headlong flight, Shrivelling from off its face, As it falls into the sun, In an instant every trace Of the little crawling things– Ants, philosophers, and lice, Cattle, cockroaches, and kings, Beggars, millionaires, and mice, Men and maggots all as one As…

Before The Cask of Wine

  The spring wind comes from the east and quickly passes, Leaving faint ripples in the wine of the golden bowl. The flowers fall, flake after flake, myriads together. You, pretty girl, wine-flushed, Your rosy face is rosier still. How long may the peach and plum trees flower By the green-painted house? The fleeting light…

¿Qué les queda a los jóvenes?

¿Qué les queda por probar a los jóvenes
en este mundo de paciencia y asco?
¿sólo grafitti? ¿rock? ¿escepticismo?
también les queda no decir amén
no dejar que les maten el amor
recuperar el habla y la utopía
ser jóvenes sin prisa y con memoria
situarse en una historia que es la suya
no convertirse en viejos prematuros


I prefer movies. I prefer cats. I prefer the oaks along the Warta. I prefer Dickens to Dostoyevsky. I prefer myself liking people to myself loving mankind. I prefer keeping a needle and thread on hand, just in case. I prefer the color green. I prefer not to maintain that reason is to blame for…

Noche de Insomnio

Estaba solo, completamente solo, incluso el sueño nocturno me había abandonado… De pronto me pareció oír no unas palabras sino unos sonidos, unos sonidos siempre en tres suspiros Como viento y harina… “¿Qué puede ser eso? ¡No hay tiempo que perder!”, mascullé, y enderezándome el cabello con un trago de vino me puse en pie…


  Si cuarenta mil niños diariamente  en el purgatorio del hambre y de la sed si la tortura de los pobres cuerpos envilece una a una a las almas y si el poder se ufana de sus cuarentenas o si los pobres de solemnidad son cada vez menos solemnes y más pobres ya es bastante…

When it Rains on Sunday

When it rains on Sunday and you are alone, open to the world but no thief comes and neither drunkard nor enemy knocks at the door, when it rains on Sunday and you’re deserted and can’t imagine living without the body or not living since you have it, when it rains on Sunday and you’re…

Ballad of Forgotten Places

My most beautiful hiding places, places that best fit my soul’s deepest colors, are made of all that others forgot. They are solitary sites hollowed out in the grass’s caress, in a shadow of wings, in a passing song; regions whose limits swirl with the ghostly carriages that transport the mist in the dawn, and…

Address to the Moon

How sweet the silver Moon’s pale ray, Falls trembling on the distant bay, O’er which the breezes sigh no more, Nor billows lash the sounding shore. Say, do the eyes of those I love, Behold thee as thou soar’st above, Lonely, majestic and serene, The calm and placid evening’s Queen? Say, if upon thy peaceful…

City that does not sleep

I will always be on the side of those who have nothing and who are not even allowed to enjoy the nothing they have in peace.
Federico García Lorca

The Tomb and the Rose

The tomb asked of the rose: “What dost thou with the tears, which dawn Sheds on thee every summer morn, Thou sweetest flower that blows?” The rose asked of the tomb: “What dost thou with the treasures rare, Thou hidest deep from light and air, Until the day of doom?” The rose said: “Home of…

Drink my soul, as if with a straw

Drink my soul, as if with a straw I know it’s bitter, intoxicating taste. I won’t disturb the torment with pleading, Oh, for weeks now I’ve been at peace. Tell me, when you’re done. No sadness, That my soul’s no more of this world. I’ll walk down that road nearby And see how children play….


  Fears The sensation of being the only guest in a grand hotel on the outskirts of the city —and hearing the somnambulistic elevator and a scream— or being in an empty theater or in a lonely plaza of a lonely unknown city weighed down with suitcases and no money surrounded by escaped doves from…


Patience and I have traveled hand in hand
So many days that I have grown to trace
The lines of sad, sweet beauty in her face,
And all its veiled depths to understand.

Life is fine

I went down to the river, I set down on the bank. I tried to think but couldn’t, So I jumped in and sank. I came up once and hollered! I came up twice and cried! If that water hadn’t a-been so cold I might’ve sunk and died. But it was Cold in that water!…

Do not Ask Me to Remember

  Do not ask me to remember, Don’t try to make me understand, Let me rest and know you’re with me, Kiss my cheek and hold my hand. I’m confused beyond your concept, I am sad and sick and lost. All I know is that I need you To be with me at all cost….

The Cats

Babels of blocks to the high heavens towering Flames of futility swirling below; Poisonous fungi in brick and stone flowering, Lanterns that shudder and death-lights that glow. Black monstrous bridges across oily rivers, Cobwebs of cable to nameless things spun; Catacomb deeps whose dank chaos delivers Streams of live foetor that rots in the sun….

When You are Old — Poetry Curator

When You are Old William Butler Yeats, 1865-1939 When you are old and gray and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved […]…

For Meng Hao-Jan

I love Master Meng. Free as a flowing breeze, He is famous Throughout the world. In rosy youth, he cast away Official cap and carriage. Now, a white-haired elder, he reclines Amid pines and cloud. Drunk beneath the moon, He often attains sagehood. Lost among the flowers, He serves no lord. How can I aspire…

A very short song

Once, when I was young and true, Someone left me sad- Broke my brittle heart in two; And that is very bad. Love is for unlucky folk, Love is but a curse. Once there was a heart I broke; And that, I think, is worse. By Dorothy Parker  

Clouds will separate us

Clouds will separate us — the time to part has come now. Wild goose flies away… By Matsuo Basho  

On The Life Of Man

Where wee are drest for tyme’s short comedy:
The earth’s the stage, heaven the spectator is…

Drinking Alone

I take my wine jug out among the flowers to drink alone, without friends. I raise my cup to entice the moon. That, and my shadow, makes us three. But the moon doesn’t drink, and my shadow silently follows. I will travel with moon and shadow, happy to the end of spring. When I sing,…

El Sabor de tu Boca Borracha

Dicen que los sentimientos nunca mueren, que se deslizan, se esconden y a veces se arrastran, pero no desaparecen. Dicen que la vida es dulce cuando se dobla sin romperse, cuando fluye dentro y fuera de tí, y lo bello está cercano para siempre.  Recuerdo que fui una luz que se apagaba, entonces, noté acercarse…

Palabras que llegan al alma

SENTÉMONOS a la mesa yo brindo el mantel de lino y tú la mano y la flor brindo el pan y tú los ojos y las ramas propongo el brillo del vino el recuerdo que porto y tú como el mar la arena y los peces tendrá la mesa tu camino. Tú cortarás el pan…

What is Life?

  What is Life? Resembles Life what once was held of Light, Too ample in itself for human sight? An absolute Self an element ungrounded All, that we see, all colours of all shade By encroach of darkness made? Is very life by consciousness unbounded? And all the thoughts, pains, joys of mortal breath, A…

Clenched Soul

We have lost even this twilight. No one saw us this evening hand in hand while the blue night dropped on the world.


  Whether forty thousand children succumb every day in the purgatory of hunger and thirst whether the torture of poor bodies debases one by one to the souls


Si a uno le dan palos de ciego la única respuesta eficaz es dar palos de vidente.  Mario Benedetti

The Survivor

I am twenty-four led to slaughter I survived.

Her Anxiety

Earth in beauty dressed Awaits returning spring. All true love must die,


  And then the day came, when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to Blossom. by Anaïs Nin

Como si fuéramos inmortales

 Todos sabemos que nada ni nadie habrá de ahorrarnos el final Sin embargo hay que vivir como si fuéramos inmortales Sabemos que los caballos y los perros tienen las patas sobre la tierra Pero no es descartable que en una nochebuena se lancen a volar

Voices of the Air

But then there comes that moment rare When, for no cause that I can find, The little voices of the air Sound above all the sea and wind.

To a Cat

Mirrors are not more silent Nor the creeping dawn more secretive; In the moonlight, you are that panther