Subject and Predicate

From SUBJECT AND PREDICATE,
by Carlos Enrique Urquía, 1975.

The Mother

The yard in an only hand
This side
This other side
Upside also
It won’t escape.

The yard with an only eye
The gaze like a rope
Or a wire
The plants
The air
The small table
Tied and joined
Very tightly.

The yard with an only life
My mother in the centre
Great chief of kindness
And justice
The sky
Like a scarf
To warm her.

The world for her
Cause she invented it.

 

The Whistle

When the suburb goes to bed
I untie the night.

In the black gums, the stars
a bathing, white lonely moon.

The noises have turned the corners
only the cricket is burning.

The street goes back and loses its footing
with an agrarian step I tread the tiles.

The houses, near and far
lonely, plenty.

The whistle of a Tango threads them.

 

 

traducción de Doyle, Liliana

Monogram

From ‘Monogram- Contemporary writing book’,
by Carlos Enrique Urquía,
Ocruxaves,1987.

 

‘THE STICH WITHOUT A KNOT’
Portions of XXth. Century

 

‘I have come to the world
not to betray’
C.E.U.

‘All the things pronounce names’
Antonio Porchia

The poem

The bird turned its pasteboard
the light folded

A sun document flew
and wetnesses of feathers.

Of the chest
in the middle of the poem.

The bird beaked the music of the planet
it beaked the night
a hearty lukewarm electricity.

THE REVELATIONS

Carlos has a dream
But he can’t decipher
What is that unplastered bird
That insists, naked, round spring.

Carlos has a kiss
But he doesn’t find out
Why the woman who visits his body
Takes away the footsteps he uses to stroll on life.

Carlos has a son
But he doesn’t understand
How his legs go in other trousers
And his head combs with the hair of freedom.

Carlos has a dead one
But he doesn’t distinguish
How his father is undone in infinity
And his mother escapes from the customs of the heart.

HABEAS CORPUS

Wherever I go
I take my body.

I don’t know if it’s a refuge
or a sign
or a jail
or a collage
or a coffin.

My body
that has lent me the world.

Viscus of water and bones
so inside
amidst things
intimate and external.

People look at it
stumble it or put it concepts
people who believe it’s mine
not knowing the secret.

Wherever I go
I take my body.

And it doesn’t say a word
docile, awkward and loose.

Healthy or ill
young and old
small and immense
alive or dead.

It is also the worst nausea
and the best kiss.

And I go on carrying it.

I take care not to waste it
that is to say
I economy it
as if it were time.

Outlander
Everywhere,
suspended between
time
and eternity.

Herman Hesse

 

Quevedo, constant beyond death

What are four centuries for a Quevedo
Of upright rage and smashed garden
Seizer of screwed adjective
Iterative and entangled plastic.

Francisco de Villegas y Quevedo
Wronging and talking, hoisted
By sublime talent, emulsified
By so much life and death over his finger.

Sipping the hard wine in the vineyard
Biting the chiselled virgin verse
Correcting with sarcasm and mockery.

What are four centuries to a decimated
Courtier of anise and acid dust.
Dust will you be, but dust in love.

 

 

 

traducción de Doyle, Liliana

Monograma

 

 

Cuaderno contemporáneo
Carlos Enrique Urquía
OCRUXAVES,1987
Foto de contratapa: Ernesto Monteavaro

Primera parte:
LA PUNTADA SIN NUDO
Porciones del siglo XX

 

“Yo he venido al mundo para no traicionar”
C.E.U.

“Todas las cosas pronuncian nombres”.
Antonio Porchia

 

El poema

El pájaro giró su cartón
la luz se plegó.

Voló un documento del sol
y humedades de plumas.

De pecho
en medio del poema.

El pájaro picoteó la música del planeta
picoteó la noche
una electricidad acorazonada y tibia.

 

 

Las revelaciones

Carlos tiene un sueño
Pero no interpreta
Qué es ese pájaro sin yeso
Que insiste desnudo alrededor de la primavera.

Carlos tiene un beso
Pero no descubre
Por qué la mujer que le visita el cuerpo
Se lleva las pisadas que él usa para andar por la vida.

Carlos tiene un hijo
Pero no comprende
Cómo sus piernas se van con otro pantalón
Y su cabeza se peina con los cabellos de la libertad.

Carlos tiene un muerto
Pero no distingue
Cómo su padre se deshace en el infinito
Y su madre se escapa de las costumbres del corazón.

 

 

 

To loneliness

by Betti, Atilio

How are the trees, loneliness, woven
alone with their slope of silence?
How do the rivers, loneliness, cross
without a greeting of colour?, and the wind

that shudders in the lonely landscapes,
without a forest at its foot to stop it,
how does it move, loneliness, what oblivion
of its solitary strolling renews it?

How are the drops, loneliness, melted
water with water, if they don’t seek
the impossible borders of their shape?

And how will you, fragile, loneliness, without any
assistance of love to answer you,
persevere so lonely, and be consumed?

 

traducción de Doyle, Liliana

Prayer for Peace

de Doyle, Liliana S.

Included in “Concurso Unidos por la Paz”,
La Lupa Cultural, 2017 ( International Edition).

Fly, white dove of transparent wings
and take your message of Peace to all the world.
This ever present wish nests in the depth
of the men’s hearts. It nests in our minds.

Over the skin of time, you, carry the hope.
Man has always been a wolf to another man.
Since Cain and Abel, nameless cruelties
have reigned over the Earth, sowing slaughter.

Two wolves fight in our own body:
a wolf made of light and another, of hatred.
The horror of tremendous war haunts us
with the wake of death that leaves in everything.

Fly, white dove of transparent wings.
Let your invisible flight lighten the morrows.

 

traducción de Doyle, Liliana