ditch,

the poetry that matters

Gilberto Lastra Guerrero

Gilberto Lastra Guerrero, poet and journalist. His texts have been published in several national magazines, and in Brazil, Spain and Portugal. He has three published books Génesis of the Holocausto, El Coloso  and Óleos imperfectos. Selected for the 2006 Mexican Poetry Anthology,  by Fondo de Cultura Económica, by Pura Lopez Colomé. Parts of his work are at Yale University in the United States.

So far I can hear you Cohen

At the corner loneliness grow up on my shoulders

                        on my hand lines

                                    on all desire to express myself

                                                            At least me

                                                Empty heart crashing all the winds of north
                                                Words crashing wings

                                                and dreams with his voice

 

                                                I can't hear you my dear friend
                                                words are a desert
                                                to be thirsty of sense
                                                common sense of madness

                                    Opened book

                                    Closed wound

                                                Early poetry at the paper of waves release me save me of my own
                                                deep field in the hotel room

And it should be snowing but it's summer
It should be warm but it's winter inside

            In the walls of water in Montreal I lost.prayers

                        and leaves and birds of fire
                                Hands on fire
                                     Waves on fire
                                           breaking out words in the window

                        Closed book

                        Opened wound


                        Leave hotel amongst visions amongst past-future
                        Suzanne are walking in the street with her wedding dress

                        and talks with strangers
                        with herself
                        with things to come
                                                 And all turns to dust
                                                    turns to blood
                                                         turns to sacred language

                        I feel steps on skin tattooed of a ancient voice
                        your voice Cohen
                        your voice burning  my older thought

                        your…

                        At least me

                                               Curtains of night falls down
                                                        Emily cries between her shadow and past

                                          Forget words to explain what is right answer

                           She speaks to me that I look like huron
                                    more than me an ancient soul in poems written on my eyes

                                                      when she reads lines and lines
                                                          when she see me

                                                                        when she reads my lines

                                                                        For her I am only huron

                                                                                                                     Where are you
                                                                                                                     Cohen?
                                                                                                                     Your sounds shoes 
                                                                                                                     on next avenue
                                                                                                                     next train
                                                                                                                     next body
                                                                                                                     next poem
                                                                                                                     next song

Bookmark and Share

                                                                                                                               July 7, 2011