A SOUL WITH SORROW, NO. THAT IS NOT DEAD
Federico García Lorca
I hear your cries for Poetry, Freedom and Love
hearing the criminal command words
given to the platoon of punishment: - Aim, shoot, fire!
There they went, to his sensitive body
all the bullets of the murderers for the Fatherland.
Sure of the unhappy encounter with Death
I know he exclaimed with others very cheerful:
Long live Freedom! I die for having loved Love!
because infraganti, in a momento, surprised him
a sheaf of God’s hypocrites
excited to kill and sing the happy kidnapping.
Those who surely exclaimed
How bad it is to recite good verses out of time!
Laughing out loud like foolish spurious
who thought that by making his body disappear
this Poet, the one with the most Love
and convincing would cease to exist
and we would not recite him
With great pleasure and care.
we hear the Poet with pleasure in walls
in wolves, in gutters
knowing of the envy that causes death.
His Life and Word
have been extended, and rightly so
to both hemispheres.
(From The Corvus Review)
es un bello ladrón
que, en el autobús o metro
que me lleva alegre
del trabajo a a casa
me besa y abraza
y, sin yo darme cuenta
me abre el bolso
y me roba la cartera
llevándose mi dinero
y todos los documentos
para más tarde
y sin novio.
ŃMaldita sea Ń
THE TIRED PILGRIM
REMOVING FUR IN THE FINGERS OF HIS FEET
I have arrived as tired as my friend
To the Municipal Pilgrim Shelter
Located in the street of Fernán González
Formerly "Chinatown" of the Burgos
And, today, like any neighborhood or street
Flowered by fucking clubs and whores
Like these houses and buildings
That You are seeing.
My friend has done
The saint James Road (Camino de Santiago)
By bike and Me by train
And I am more tired than him.
The afternoon is falling
And there are many pilgrims
Especially Japanese and Chinese
Waiting as for to assigning a room.
We have met again
With two aunts met in saint James
And they didn't give us Love
Because we had not heard mass
And we had not gone to communion.
Me, as I did in Santiago
Retired from the one
That I liked so much
Because I can't stand her scent
That gives off her body
A scent of Sacristy.
We haven't said to them a hello!
And I took a chair
From the terrace of an opposite bar
And I placed Me next to
The statue of the "tired Pilgrim".
I took off my walking boots
And the well-soaked socks
Starting to remove the fur
In the finghers os my feet
With the fingers of my hands
As does the pilgrim of the statue
Here, in the passage
Behind the Municipal Pilgrim Shelter
That has an elevator that goes up
To the CAB Museum of Burgos.
Sweaty and dirty socks
I threw them in the air
And just a surprise breeze
Has taken them to a tray with “piquant potatoes”
That some Chinese where tasting
With some "tanks of beer”.
A funny pilgrim
Who said he came from Jaca
But was not Aragonese
Began to sing some lyrics:
“A terrace, tables and chairs
Wine glasses, beer and bread
Some potatoes and pizzas
The pilgrim brothers and sisters
Sharing in love and unity.
We meet remembering
And quenching our thirst
With the memory of saint James
Celebrating his memory
In the smell of blessed pilgrims
And piss piles that came with the idea
To find Love and Perfection
Like this one who is taking off fur
From the toes
With the fingers of his hands
And now, will come, very kind
To invite us to a shot of green pomace
With some little pastry
Semlling his hands to cheese feet.
And Saint James in our ear will tell us:
“Do not eat of those littles pastry.
Where there is charity and love
Here the plague is present ".
Isabelle’s Selfie. At right: Daniel
There are two Lives
Two bellies, to which more.
The one, by Isabelle
Waiting for a new life:
Kylian's, boy, who, now
In the beautiful Isabelle’s belly
Is sucking his finger, no doubt
And that his first cry birthing
Will be: "To drink, to drink!"
Like the Rabelais’ Gargantua
The other, by Daniel
Whose good is based on eating well
And at an incovenient time
In the Rabelais’ Pantagruel style
Who calls his belly "Thelema"
And it is very similar to him
In the Gustave Doré’s illustration
As do You see.
Those two bellies
Of Duchess and Duke
Are two "O" that we can pronounce
Happy seeing them.
Two wonders of Creation
That produce good effect.
That the life exists.
It is true that a child will come
With pleasure and with care
Hearing him, with joy, cry
Learning what birth is
As true as that Daniel’s belly
Is making a thousand progress
Without lying to Pantagruel
Eternal companion of eaters
And convincing dinners
Converted, today and now
In an oracle
Of the divine bottle
From Ribera’s wine.
© Daniel de Culla
Daniel de Culla is a writer, poet and photographer. He is a member of the Spanish Writers Association, Earthly Writers International Caucus, Poets of the World, (IA) International Authors, Surrealism Art, and other groups. He is director of the Gallo Tricolor Review and the Robespierre Review. He has participated in many festivals of poetry and of theater in Madrid, Burgos, Berlin, Minden, Hannover and Geneva. He has exhibited in many galleries including Madrid, Burgos, London and Amsterdam. He moves between North Hollywood, Madrid and Burgos; e-mail: firstname.lastname@example.org