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Friday, April 30, 2010
CUARTO MILENIO - 2012 PROFECIAS MAYAS 4/4 [HQ]
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Paloma Faith - Technicolour / Español - Spanish
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Wednesday, April 28, 2010
La Cascada, Fortino Tapia
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Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Bilocaciones o viajes astrales
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Monday, April 26, 2010
Burning Autumn Leaves [a composition in Spanish and English]
Burning Autumn Leaves
[1950s in St. Paul, Minnesota]
My long steel pointed rake punctured
And twisted through tons of autumn leaves
(back in the '50s);
And there's a hill yet, I didn't rake, I see
Behind it, two embankments
Leaves I didn't rake a day ago;
The essence of fall sleeps on the ground.
I love the scent of burning leaves:
I seem to dream of them nowadays.
I cannot shake the excitement I get
From the sight and smells of burning leaves.
Now the city will not allow the burning,
Not sure what can take its place--:
Only wishful thinking and dreaming, I think.
But every leaf that now appears, in autumn
I keep hearing the cracking of the fire; see
The flickering-flames of burning leaves; I
Can even smell---the autumn leaves of long ago.
I have had too much of raking leaves, I do believe--.
I'm now old and tired, too tired to rake those hills;
Yet raking I still desire, not sure why.
There were a thousand days I raked, back then
Held in hand, the rake that struck the earth--
Spiked, into its dirt--capturing those critters (leaves)
Like thieves--: thieves sleeping.
This tiredness of mine will never go away, I fear
It's called aging, or something, so I will have to find
Another place, to smell the burning autumn leaves;
And perhaps, perchance, do just a ting of raking:
Before the long, long, very long sleep.
#771 7/24/05
In Spanish
Hojas ardientes de otoño
(Los años de 1950 en St. Paúl. Minnesota)
Mi rastrillo de acero largo y puntiagudo pinchó
Y dio vuelta a través de toneladas de hojas
(Atrás en los años 50);
Y hay una colina aún, que no rastrillé, yo veo
Detrás de esto, dos terraplenes
De hojas que yo no rastrille hace un dìa;
La esencia del otoño dormirá sobre el piso.
Me gusta la esencia de las hojas ardiendo;
Yo parezco soñar con ellas estos días.
No puedo sacudirme el entusiasmo que consigo
De la vista y los olores de quemar hojas:
Ahora la ciudad no permitirá quemar,
No seguro de qué puede tomar lugar-:
Solo el optimismo pensando y soñando, Pienso
Pero cada hoja que ahora aparece, en otoño
Yo sigo oyendo el crujir del fuego; veo
El parpadear de las llamas de hojas ardiendo; yo
Puedo aún oler- las hojas de otoño de hace tiempo.
He tenido demasiado rastrillando hojas, Yo creo-
Ahora yo estoy viejo y cansado, demasiado cansado
para rastrillar esas colinas;
Aun rastrillando y todavía deseando, no seguro ¿por qué?
Hubo miles de días que rastrillé, atrás entonces
Sosteniendo en la mano, el rastrillo que golpeo la tierra-
Claveteando, dentro de su suciedad- capturando aquellos
bichos (hojas)
Como ladrones-: ladrones durmiendo.
Este cansancio mío no se irá jamás, yo temo
Esto es llamado envejecimiento o vejez, entonces yo tendré
que encontrar
Otro lugar, para oler las hojas ardiendo en otoño;
Y talvez, la posibilidad, de hacer justo un intento de rastrillar:
Antes de largo, largo, muy largo sueño.
#771 7/24/05
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Sunday, April 25, 2010
Profecías del 2012 (3/4) Discovery Nov.2009
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Saturday, April 24, 2010
River Plate vs Argentinos Juniors (0-1) Clausura 2010 Fecha 11
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Friday, April 23, 2010
el fin del mundo
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Thursday, April 22, 2010
2012: FRAUDE - Reptiliano ENKI # 7
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Character of the Poet; and Several Poems [in English and Spanish]
"Here are several poems by the international poet, Dennis Siluk, and a few thoughts on how he feels a poet should be available for the public to look at and into his poems and come out with a better view of the poet himself, and his thoughts." Rosa Penaloza
To write poetry or to be a poet, one must allow others to know you (so I feel), that is, the poet does not hide part of his life in the corners for people to search for, it is in his poetry, or should be; like a painter, or musician. The poet need not be difficult to read, some try to be on purpose, I find it should just come out automatically and if need be, smooth it out later. One may find compassion, rowdiness, even savagery in poetry, be it a style or an emotion being displayed, in mine, it has its horns and tails likewise. I find instincts should be clear and forward: see the road you want to take with intensity to its end. These poems of mine are mostly fresh from my pen. I thought you might like a few thoughts to go along with them I have on poetry before I deliver it. Sincerely, Dennis
1)
Gras y Mala Hierba
En la fortaleza de sueños
Hombres viejos con planes maliciosos
Pusieron sus nombres,
Interminablemente,
Incuestionable--
En la atractiva cubierta de libros,
Lo imprimieron, para tener
Resonancia;
Hombres viejos con barbas largas,
Hombres jóvenes con pieles tan claras
Las sirenas de nuestros tiempos
Crímenes culturales...
El gras y la mala hierba
(Entonces, el soñador debería saber)
Todos crecen juntos bastante lento...
(Y terminan como este poema).
Grass and Weeds [English Version]
In the Parthian of dreams
Old men with evil schemes
Have placed their names,
Endlessly,
Indisputable--
In the attractive binding of books,
Ink on paper, for reverberating
Echoes;
Old men with long beards
Young men with skin so fair
The mermaids of our times
Cultural crimes...
The grass and the weeds
(So, the dreamer should know)
All grow together--quite slow...
(And end like this poem).
#473 [2/4/2005]
2)
El Demonio de Medianoche
Al demonio, no le encanta hablar
él prefiere caminar en silencio;
y mientras extiende sus manos por perdidos
él fija sus ojos en la presa.
Saltando se aleja, alrededor de la curva--
donde nadie, nunca ha estado;
allí, en el campo, él cavará
una tumba para enterar su cerdo nocturno.
El cava y cava, como un idiota
cruelmente, tácito.
Entonces, con grava en su escogido,
el arranca el corazón a través de sus costillas.
"Tonto humano..." el murmura despacio
y se sacude en su humano enemigo;
cuando en el campo [ahora] oscuro y desolado,
él canta a los--vientos macabros!
El salta y baila adelante y atrás,
Como beneficio de esta alma
Oh! Cuán inteligente uno debe ser,
Para evitar este demonio de medianoche (?)
The Midnight Ghoul [English Version]
The ghoul, he does not love to talk
he'd rather keep a silent walk;
and as he reaches out for strays
he locks his eyes on the prey.
Away he leaps, around the bend--
where no one else, has ever been;
there, in the field he will dig
a grave to bury his midnight pig.
He digs and digs, like a fool,
heartlessly, unspoken to.
Then, with gravel on his pick,
he plucks out the heart from his ribs.
"Silly human..." he murmurs low
and tosses in his human foe;
when in the field [now] dark and grim,
he chants to the--eldritch winds!
He leaps and dances to and fro,
as if to profit from this soul.
O! how much wiser must one be,
to avoid these ghouls at midnight...[?]
#478 [2/10/05] Inspired by George Sterling; the sketch of the Ghoul, was considered by many the best in this little book.
3)
Spanish Version
Aquí en el Café
Hoy muchos amigos se detuvieron para saludarme,
Aquí en el café; y hoy, mi tarde en esta vida
Tuvo una cara incansable.
Hoy todos morimos un poco,
Un día menos en nuestras vidas para vivir.
Cuántas tardes más tenemos para vivir?
Esta tarde una procesión de personas
Me pidieron un momento de mi tiempo.
--Mañana, talvez nadie vendrá;
talvez ni siquiera mí.
Here at the Café [English Version]
Today many friends stopped by to greet me,
here at the café; and today, my afternoon in this life
had a tireless face.
Today we have all died a little bit,
one day less in our lives to live.
How many afternoons do we have left?
This afternoon a procession of people
asked for a moment of my time.
--Tomorrow, maybe no one will come;
perhaps...not even me.
#480 [2/12/2005] Inspired by Cesar Vallejo; written at the Café B&N bookstore, Roseville, Minnesota, Har Mar Mal. Selected by the Café staff as the best of four of Mr. Siluk's poems; to be put into a competition at the store Feb thru April, 2005.
4)
El Pobre de Perú
Sólo hay una maldición, peor
que ser pobre,
y ésta es muerte...
cuando escuchas al pobre llorando
muerte esta cerca,
ninguna cosa, calmará esto
sólo llenando el cráter
con agua fresca
lo enfriará, y aminorará la lava correr.
The Poor of Peru [English Version]
There is only one curse, worse
than being poor,
and that is death...
when you hear the poor crying
death is close behind,
no daggers will quench it
only filling the crater
with fresh water
will cool, and slow the lava flow.
#482 [2/15/05]
5)
Spanish Version
Nudillos Mordidos
Sudor, orines y lágrimas
limpian el cuerpo de venenosos:
lástima, pesar y desesperación.
Knuckle Biting [English Version]
Sweat, urine and tears
cleans the body of poisonous:
pity, grief and despair.
#497 [2/15/2005]
6)
Lados Comúnes
Juventud tiene su edad
Y edad es orgullo;
Uno piensa que él sabe
El otro se pregunta por qué;
Pero Juventud y edad
Con ataduras separadas--
Tienen partes comunes:
Vida, muerte, y plan,
Y una esperanza en el pecho
Que nunca descansa
Common Sides [English Version]
Youth has its age
And age its pride;
One thinks he knows
The other thinks why;
But youth and age
With separate ties--
Have common sides:
Life, death, and quest,
And a hope chest
That never rests.
Note: this poem was found by the author after 25-years being misplaced [not so new off his pen]; written May, l981, and reviewed by Poetry North Review, Anchorage, Alaska by Dale A. Stirling, Editor/Publisher l980-86, Poetry North Review, his comments: "...very smooth and convey real feeling...." Author is unaware if it was published by any previous anthologies, but feels up to this writing it has not been published; consequently, the first time published in this set of poems. #82
7)
Kasbah de Tanger
[Viento Negro]
Caminé entre los entusiastas y abandonados--; Árabes y homosexuales y muchachos españoles; Comerciantes y extranjeros; esto fue una larga odisea, con un viento negro cerniéndose por lo alto, largo y helado toque todo encima de mi. Vientos negros encima de mi cabeza--filtrándose, filtrándose en todos sitios, dentro, adentro de Kasbah: un laberinto sin final; el espíritu de locura contenido por--; adictos inconscientes por todos sitios--; unos pocos -...sólo unos pocos hombres corteses, riéndose aquí y allá ...éste fue un incesable día caluroso. Primero me sentí como, un torero; después, como un toro; después, al final del día, me sentí vacío como la plaza de toros...después que el toro ha sido sacado y matado!...pero qué tal aventura!
English Versión
Tanger's Kasbah ((Casaba))
[Black wind]
I walked among the eager and neglected--; Arabs and queers and Spanish boys; Merchants and foreigners; it was a long odyssey, with a hovering black wind overhead, long and icy finger all over me. Black wind above my head--seeping, seeping everywhere, within, inside the Kasbah: a maze with no end; the spirit of madness contained by--unconscious...addicts everywhere--; a few,...just a few gracious men, laughing here and there...it was a hot unceasing day. I felt at first, akin to a bullfighter; then later on, like the bull; then, at the end of the day, I felt empty like the bullring after the bull has been dragged out and butchered!...but what an adventure!
Note: in l997 the author visited Tanger, Morocco, and got into a bit of a jam; found his way back to Spain in safely. [#490 2/19/2005]
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Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Nostradamus y sus predicciones Parte 2
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Monday, April 19, 2010
Football Boots (Soccer Cleats) The History
Football Boots: Earliest Recorded - King Henry VIII in 1526
King Henry VIII's football boots were listed within the Great Wardrobe of 1526, a shopping list of the day. They were made by his personal shoemaker Cornelius Johnson in 1525, at a cost of 4 shillings, the equivalent of £100 in today's money. Little is known about them, as there is no surviving example, but the royal football boots are known to have been made of strong leather, ankle high and heavier than the normal shoe of the day.
Football Boots - The 1800's
Moving forward 300 years saw football developing and gaining popularity throughout Britain, but still remaining as an unstructured and informal pastime, with teams representing local factories and villages in a burgeoning industrial nation. Players would wear their hard, leather work boots, which were long laced and steel toe-capped as the first football boots. These football boots would also have metal studs or tacks hammered into them to increase ground grip and stability.
As laws become integrated into the game in the late 1800's, so saw the first shift in football boots to a slipper (or soccus) style shoe, with players of the same team starting to wear the same boots for the first time. Laws also allowed for studs, which had to be rounded. These leather studs, also known as cleats, were hammered into the early football boots, which for the first time moved away from the earlier favoured work boots. These football boots weighed 500g and were made of thick, hard leather going up the ankle for increased protection. The football boots would double in weight when wet and had six studs in the sole. The football boot had arrived...
Football Boots - The 1900's to 1940's
Football boot styles remained relatively constant throughout the 1900's up to the end of the second world war. The most significant events in the football boot world in the first part of the twentieth century were the formation of several football boot producers who are still making football boots today, including Gola (1905), Valsport (1920) and Danish football boot maker Hummel (1923).
Over in Germany, Dassler brothers Adolf and Rudolf formed the Gebrüder Dassler Schuhfabrik (Dassler Brothers Shoe Factory) in Herzogenaurach in 1924 and began producing football boots in 1925 which had 6 or 7 replaceable, nailed studs, which could be changed according to the weather conditions of play.
Football Boots - The 1940's to 1960's
Football boot styles shifted significantly after the end of the second world war, as air travel became cheaper and more international fixtures were played. This saw the lighter, more flexible football boot being worn by the South Americans being thrust onto the world stage, and their ball skills and technical ability amazed all those that watched them. Football boot production shifted to producing a lighter football boot with the focus on kicking and controlling the ball rather than simply producing a piece of protective footwear.
1948 saw the formation of the Adidas company by Adolf (Adi) Dassler after a falling out with his brother that was to form the cornerstone of football boot maker rivalry for the preceding years up to today. Brother Rudolf founded the beginnings of the Puma company in 1948, quickly producing the Puma Atom football boot. This led to interchangeable screw in studs made of plastic or rubber for the first time, reputedly by Puma in the early 1950's but the honour is also claimed by Adidas (Read the Story on Footy-Boots). Football boots of the time were still over the ankle, but were now being made of a mixture of synthetic materials and leather, producing and even lighter shoe for the players of the day to display their skills with.
Football Boots - The 1960's
The technological developments of the sixties bought a momentous step-change in design which saw the lower cut design introduced for the first time in football history. This change allowed players to move faster and saw the likes of Pele wearing Puma football boots in the 1962 World Cup Finals. Adidas, though, quickly emerged as the market leader, a position it claims until the present day. In the World Cup Finals of 1966, an astonishing 75% of players wore the Adidas football boot.
The 1960's also saw several other football boot makers joining the market with their own brands and styling including Mitre (1960), Joma (1965) and Asics (1964).
Football Boots - The 1970's
The seventies began with the iconic 1970 World Cup Finals which saw a sublime Brazilian team lift the trophy with Pele again at the helm, this time wearing the Puma King football boot. The decade itself will be remembered for the way in which football boot sponsorship took off, where players were being paid to wear only one brand. In terms of design and style, technological advancements produced lighter boots, and a variety of colours, including for the first time, the all-white football boot.
In 1979, Adidas produced the world's best selling football boot the Copa Mundial, built of kangaroo leather and built for speed and versatility. Although Adidas remained dominant, several other football boot makers joined the fray including Italian football boot maker Diadora (1977).
Football Boots - The 1980's
The greatest development of recent times in the design and technology of football boots was developed in the eighties by former player Craig Johnston, who created the Predator football boot, which was eventually released by Adidas in the 1990's. Johnston designed the Predator to provide greater traction between football boot and the ball, and football boot and the ground. The design allowed for greater surface areas to come into contact with the ball when being hit by the football boot, with a series of power and swerve zones within the striking area allowing the player to create greater power and swerve when hitting the "sweet spots". The eighties also saw football boots for the first time being made by English company Umbro (1985), Italy's Lotto and Spain's Kelme (1982).
Football Boots - 1990's
1994 saw Adidas release the Craig Johnston designed Predator with its revolutionary design, styling and technology making it an instant and lasting success. The Predator by now featured polymer extrusion technologies and materials allowing for a more flexible sole as well as the conventional studs being replaced by a bladed design covering the sole, giving a more stable base for the player. In 1995 Adidas released their bladed outsole traxion technology which are tapered shaped blades. Puma hit back in 1996 with a foam-free midsole football boot, known as Puma Cell Technology, to which Adidas responded again, this time with wedge shaped studs in the same year. The nineties saw new football boot producers Mizuno release their Mizuno Wave in 1997. Other new football boots came from Reebok (1992) and Uhlsport (1993) with other companies also joining the ever increasing, lucrative and competitive market place. Most significantly the nineties saw the entry of Nike, the world's biggest sportswear producer, immediately making an impact with its Nike Mercurial soccer boot (1998), weighing in at just 200g.
Football Boots - 2000+
As technology advanced still further, the application of the new research and developments were seen in the years into the new millennium right up to the present day and this has led to a reinforcement of the market positions of the big three football boot makers and sellers, Puma, Nike and Adidas (incorporating Reebok since 2006). Fortunately, there still remains room in the market place for the smaller producer that does not have the big money endorsement contracts at its disposal, such as Mizuno, Diadora, Lotto, Hummel and Nomis.
Recent developments since 2000 have seen the Nomis Wet control technology producing a sticky boot (2002), the Craig Johnston Pig Boot (2003), shark technology by Kelme (2006) and the exceptional design of the Lotto Zhero Gravity laceless football boots (2006) all of which underpin the successes that these smaller makers can achieve by producing specialised and technologically advanced football boots that provide a distinct differentiation from the mass produced products of the big three. Laser technology has also helped to produce the world's first fully customised football by Prior 2 Lever, which is perhaps the most exciting and innovative of the recent developments.
Current favourite football boots include Adidas' F50, Tunit and Predator; Nike's Mercurial Vapor III, Air Zoom Total 90s and Tiempo Ronaldinho, Reebok Pro Rage and Umbro X Boots.
Football Boots - The Future
As the debate rages with regards the lack of protection given by modern football boots, and the repercussion in terms of player injuries, there seems little to suggest that the major manufacturers are going to give up their quest for the lightest football boot for a more protective one. The proliferation of big money sponsorship deals, namely Nike Ronaldinho, Adidas with David Beckham and Reebok with Thierry Henry, has become a huge factor that drives the success and sales of a football boot maker, but is viewed as at a cost of injury and stagnation in football boot research and development. All we can predict for the future is integration with sensor technology, lighter and more powerful football boots and more outlandish designs and styles.
Football boots have travelled a long way since King Henry strutted onto the fields of England in the 1500's: the football boot has gone from an everyday protective apparel to a highly designed and cutting edge technological product which is a vital part of the player's equipment. Whatever the colour, the design, the style or the player - we love footy boots!
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Sunday, April 18, 2010
Marcos 13
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Saturday, April 17, 2010
organillero en La Serena
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Friday, April 16, 2010
How to Quickly and Easily Conjugate the Present Perfect Spanish Verb Tense
In this article, I will assume that the reader already knows when to use the Spanish present perfect tense. Therefore, the focus of this article is how to conjugate this tense and how to conjugate it with ease. Let's examine how -ar verbs are conjugated in the present perfect tense:
Practicar (To Practice)
Past Participle: Practicado (Practiced)
Yo he practicado (I have practiced)
tú has practicado (you have practiced)
él ha practicado (he has practiced)
ella ha practicado (she has practiced)
usted ha practicado (you have practiced)
nosotros hemos practicado (we have practiced)
ellos han practicado (they have practiced)
ellas han practicado (they have practiced)
ustedes han practicado (you have practiced)
Now let's try a phrase or two with this verb:
Pamela ha practicado las letras.
(Pamela has practiced the lyrics.)
Hector ha practicado la natación por mucho tiempo.
(Hector has practiced swimming for a long time.)
Keep in mind, that in the Spanish language, as in the English language, the auxiliary verb haber (to have) must always precede the past participle of the verb. It is important to note that -er and -ir verbs take on a similar pattern when they are conjugated.
Recojer (to pick up)
Past Particple: Recogido (picked up)
Yo he recogido (I have picked up)
tú has recogido (you have picked up)
él ha recogido (he has picked up)
ella ha recogido (she has picked up)
usted ha recogido (you have picked up)
nosotros hemos recogido (we have picked up)
ellos han recogido (they have picked up)
ellas han recogido (they have picked up)
ustedes han recogido (you have picked up)
The student should also be aware that in addition to "to pick up," this verb can also mean "to collect," "to gather," and "to pick." Here is an example using the verb recojer:
Ella no ha recogido las muñecas del piso.
(She hasn´t picked up the dolls from the floor.)
Here´s an example using the -ir verb "discutir" which means "to discuss," "to debate," or "to argue."
Discutir (to argue, debate, discuss)
Past Participle: (argued, debated, discussed)
Yo he discutido (I have argued)
tú has discutido (you have argued)
él ha discutido (he has argued)
ella ha discutido (she has argued)
usted ha discutido (you have argued)
nosotros hemos discutido (we have argued)
ellos han discutido (they have argued)
ellas han discutido (they have argued)
ustedes han discutido (you have argued)
Here´s an example using "discutir":
Bobbito no ha discutido con su hermana hoy.
(Little Bobby hasn´t argued with his sister today.)
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Thursday, April 15, 2010
The Dead God of Copan (in English and Spanish)
English Version
And the Death God said: "Let it rise to its glory in the Rio Valley--for a season; then let it be gone, we shall call it Copan..."
Prologue: Empires come and go, liken to cosmic events, or the storms around the world: Atlantis, Mu, Greece, Persia, Rome, the Inca Nation, and even the great Maya heroic times of Copan, in Central America. All came and all left, one way or another; now just dust and artifacts in the spiral of time. But I shall pick out one, just one king, Smoke-Imix [-God K], for he was the last of the great warriors, or so I believe.
[The Saga begins]
Before there was 'new light,' the 8th Lord of Night ruled in the Valley of Copan...--then light broke out [3114 BC] over the Copan Valley--and women and men walked hand in hand to create a new civilization--but where there is peace, there is blood in the sands...and this is where it all began....
1.
[628 AD] It was the residue of Atlantis
So some have said--now dead Copan--the Athens of another world
Standing tall in the Great Plaza of
Copan--carved in stone--
Stained with blood red--tones
[Here...here]
Is the Stelae of Smoke-Imix-God K
The Great Maya warrior King
Giving praise to Tlaloc:
Tlaloc--the renowned Jaguar-god
(Smoke-Imix, ruler of the 12th Dynasty)
Lord and god of the Copan Valley
2.
The King
Ah! the blood he gave, the blood he took
Splattered on every stone and brook
Ruler for sixty-eight years...
(With no Atlanteon tears)
He was a builder, like the Pharaohs,
Like Gilgamesh of old Uruk;
Inscribed on monuments, everywhere...
(Was his profound works)
3.
Rio Copan Valley
In the Rio Copan Valley, came drought, defeat, rivalry between king and nobility that broke the back and the dreams of the Copan kings; and so it fell to its once unfailing fate, and faded away, at its zenith--ah! ...it was a spectacular vista once, now fading, fading...away a..., amongst the shrubs, dust and weeds....
#467/Feb, 2005; dedicated to Clark A. Smith, Poet,
Who believed Copan was linked to Atlantis.
Versión en Español
El Dios de la Muerte de Copan
Por Dennis L. Siluk
Traducido por Nancy Peñaloza
Y el Dios de la Muerte dijo: "Déjelo levantarse de su gloria en el Valle del Río--por una estación; después déjalo que se vaya, nosotros lo llamaremos Copan..."
Prologo: Imperios viene y van, comparados como acontecimientos cósmicos, o tormentas alrededor del mundo. Atlántica, Mu, Grecia, Persia, Roma, la Nación Inca, e incluso el gran Tiempo Heroico Maya de Copan, en América Central. Todo viene y va, de una forma u otra; justo ahora como polvo y artefactos en la espiral del tiempo. Pero escogeré uno, solo un rey, Smoke-Imix [-God K], por que el fue del ultimo de los guerreros, o eso es lo que pienso.
[Así comienza la leyenda]
Antes de que hubiera la 'luz nueva,' el octavo Señor de la Noche gobernó en el Valle de Copan... --después la luz se esparció [3114 BC] sobre el Valle de Copan--y mujeres y hombres caminaron tomados de la mano para crear una civilización nueva--pero donde hay paz, hay sangre en las arenas...y esto es donde todo empezó....
1.
[628 Después de Cristo]
Este fue los restos de Atlántica
Eso dicen algunos--ahora Copan muerto--la Atenas de otro mundo
Permaneciendo alto en la Gran Plaza de Copan--tallado en piedra--
manchados con sangre roja--tonos
[Aquí...aquí]
Esta la estela de Smoke-Imix-God K
El Gran Rey Guerrero Maya
Dando alabanza a Tlaloc:
Tlaloc--el renombrado Dios-Jaguar
(Smoke-Imix, gobernador el la 12th Dinastía) señor y dios del Valle de Copan
2.
El Rey
Ah! La sangre que el dio, la sangre él tomó
desparramada en cada piedra y riachuelos
Gobernador por sesenta y ocho años...
(Sin lágrimas de Atlánticos)
El fue un constructor, como los faraones, Como Gilgamesh de Antiguo Uruk;
Inscrito en monumentos, en todo lugar...
(Fueron trabajos profundos)
3.
Valle del Río Copan
En el Valle del Río Copan, vino sequía, derrota, rivalidad entre el rey y la nobleza que rompió el soporte y los sueños de los reyes de Copan; y entonces se derrumbó a su una vez inmutable destino, y desaparecieron, en su punto mas alto-- ¡ah! ...esto fue una espectacular vista una vez, ahora decaída, desapareciendo...o...oo..., entre la vegetación, el polvo y mala hierba....
#467/Feb, 2005; dedicado a Clark A. Smith, Poeta, quien creía que Copan estaba relacionado con Atlántica.
Note: Spanish Version completed 4-20-2005.
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Friday, April 9, 2010
Poetry on the Miners (Cerro de Pasco) with Legends, Tales and Other Writings - English and Spanish
1
Lights, like Fires
((In the Tunnels of the Miners)
(in the Mines of Volcan))
The walls are all I seem to see,
deep in the mines of Volcan.
They just seem to look at me,
and stare, deep in the mines of Volcan.
I don't know a thing, not a thing about this! -
Where in this deep underworld maze
is the key? (Lights, like fires-perhaps!)
I look about, my words are grunts; thus,
I make no words at all:
deep in the mines of Volcan.
This world down here has a funny sun
that's really all I know;
deep in the mines of Volcan.
The tunnel lights are burning, o
yes, yes, the tunnel lights are burning
-at each end, and in-between;
the tunnel is burning (with lights, like fires):
torching its once eternal night,
here, deep in the mines of Volcan;
thus, night sweetens with life-, as light
creeps along the walls, floors and ceilings
(fires dotted here and there, everywhere),
deep the mines of Volcan.
No: 2094 12-7-2007)
2
Ghost of the Deep Mine
As I walked through this tunnel,
the deepest mine, at Volcan,
I seem to have had a tail dragging,
dragging along the past,
brushing over the past with my tail...;
perhaps, just perchance, it was one
of those ghosts, who hasn't let go,
lost into the darkness, long ago.
Perhaps, just perchance, he is my
tail dragging, trying to say, "Hello!"
Spanish Version
Fantasma de la Mina Profunda
Mientras caminaba a través de este túnel,
uno de los más profundos de la mina, en Volcan
me parecía que tenía una cola arrastrándola,
arrastrándola a lo largo del pasado,
cepillando sobre el pasado con mi cola...;
talvez, sólo talvez, este era uno
de esos fantasmas, que no quería dejarlo,
perdido en la oscuridad, tiempo atrás.
Talvez, sólo talvez, él es mi
cola arrastrada, tratando de decir, "¡Hola!"
3
Roots
When one walks the streets of Cerro de Pasco (Miner Country)
you can feel the heartbeats of the miners, their pulse
(almost hear the footsteps-their heavy steel toed boots,
against the hard ground).
One can even sense the push and pull of their hammers
deep within the crust of the earth.
The iron, copper, zinc and gold, all the minerals
within the living earth,
giving up its roots - so man can live.
Spanish Version
Sustento
Cuando uno camina las calles de Cerro de Pasco (Nación Minera)
puedes sentir los latidos de los mineros, sus pulsos
(oir los pasos-de sus pesadas botas de puntas de acero,
contra el suelo duro).
Sentir el empuje y tirar de sus martillos
(profundo dentro de la corteza de la tierra).
El hierro, cobre, zinc y oro, todos los minerales
dentro de la tierra viva,
entregando su sustento-para que el hombre pueda vivir.
2065 (27-Nov-2007) (Dedicado al Ing. Teódulo Quispe Huertas)
4
The Miners and the Bees
It would seem (or at least it did for me)-
seem, at the Volcan mines of Cerro de Pasco,
there is no beginning or end.
They are like bees (the miners) with no wings,
over an ocean of dirt and minerals;
here, one hears the sounds of machines-
near and in the distance- seals the mind,
day in, and night out, as it enters
and echoes within the inner house of one's body.
Note: No: 2081, 12-3-2007; during my all day tour of the mines at Volcan, the mind finds a simple way to digest it all if indeed one is interested in the environment and industry he now finds himself in; for it is an immense operation, and thus, once in this environment, the mind shuts down to the outside incoming trivia, to line up with the new world it is now in, with all its sights and sounds; hence, it envelopes one until it is all one is, part of the environment, it did me.
Spanish Version
Los Mineros y las Abejas
Parecería (o al menos esto me pareció)-
parece, que en las minas Volcan de Cerro de Pasco,
no hay comienzo ni final.
Ellos (los mineros) son como las abejas, sin alas,
sobre un océano de tierra y minerales;
aquí, uno escucha los sonidos de las máquinas-
cerca y en la distancia-sella la mente,
de la mañana a la noche, cuando este entra
y resuena dentro de la casa interna del cuerpo de uno.
Nota: durante mi visita de día entero a las minas Volcan, la mente encuentra una manera simple de digerir todo esto si efectivamente uno está interesado en el ambiente y la industria, ahora uno se encuentra uno mismo dentro; porque esta es una operación inmensa, y así, una vez en este ambiente, la mente se cierra a los detalles que vienen de afuera, para alinearse con el nuevo mundo en el que ahora se está, con todas sus vistas y sonidos; por esta razón, este lo envuelve a uno hasta que todo sea uno, parte del ambiente, esto me pasó.
5
The Brave and the Few
The miners (brave and few) endure
Live on, and in a world of- drenched air;
This is their enemy, their outlaw!
No. 2069 11-27-2007
Spanish Version
Los Machos y no Muchos
Los mineros (valientes y pocos) soportan
Vivir en, y en un mundo de - aire húmedo;
¡Este es su enemigo, su proscrito!
# 2069 27-Nov-2007
6
Restaurant at Yeralis
Two eggs
bread
hot Coffee
10 AM-
Liz is busy;
Mama Grimalda is making me breakfast.
The sun is hitting my face;
we are eating on the outside counter
my wife and I (it is better that way
you get to see everything).
Three folks inside having soup
(their bowls are packed to the rim
(patasca).
The streets are filling up
with people now.
Liz says a lot of Miner Engineer's
come here to eat (the place is clean).
How many children hereabouts
will be miners (I ask myself)?
How many old folks hereabouts,
were miners at one time?
How many folks here now,
are miners? ...just thinking!
The chill stays in the
air-(it's cold up here),
mostly, clear skies!
My first egg appears,
now my bread...
I ask myself:
where is the coffee?
The day has just started.
One of so many
God has given...!
No: 2070 11-28-2007
Spanish Version
Restaurante Yeralis
Dos huevos
pan
café caliente
10 de la mañana-
Liz está ocupada;
mamá Grimalda me está preparando desayuno.
El sol está pegando en mi cara;
Estamos comiendo en la barra de afuera
mi esposa y yo (es mejor de esta manera
tú llegas a ver todo).
Tres personas dentro están tomando sopa
(sus tazones están llenos hasta el borde
-patasca).
Las calles se están llenando
con gente ahora.
Liz dice que muchos ingenieros de minas
vienen acá a comer (el lugar es limpio).
¿Cuántos niños por aquí
serán mineros? (me pregunto yo mismo)
¿Cuántos ancianos por aquí
fueron mineros alguna vez?
¿Cuántas personas por aquí
son mineros?... ¡sólo estoy pensando!
¡El frío permanece en el
aire-(hace frío aquí)
sobre todo, cielo limpio!
El primer huevo aparece,
ahora mi pan...
me pregunto a mi mismo:
¿dónde está el café?
El día acaba de empezar.
¡Uno de tantos muchos
que Dios nos da...!
# 2070 28-Nov-2007
7
Cloths of the Miners
I, as an acting miner had to put those heavy long boots on,
steel toed; and a helmet (called a hard-hat),
with a long cord and light attached;
a thick belt,
and battery packed attached to my back;
goggles, and jumpers;
I looked like a spaceman.
And then we were ready to go,
but I really needed a siesta, but I didn't say so.
Note: 2076 11-28-2007 Written 3:30 PM, an our after visiting the mines.
Spanish Version
La Ropa de los Mineros
Yo, actuando como un minero tuve que ponerme esas pesadas botas largas,
con punta de acero; y un casco (llamado sombrero duro),
con una cuerda larga y luz sujeta;
una correa gruesa,
y una batería cargada atada a mi espalda;
lentes protectores, y un mameluco;
me parecía a un hombre del espacio.
Y después estábamos listos para partir,
pero realmente necesitaba una siesta después de vestirme,
pero no lo dije esto.
Nota: # 2076 28-Nov-2007 Escrito a las 3:30 PM, una hora después de visitar la mina.
8
Mr. Guapo
I was in the cage with many miners
when a miner's hard-hat shinned in my face...
I couldn't resist the smiling grin he displayed,
so I stared back, and took his picture:
"It's Mr. Guapo," the miners shrieked!
Spanish Version
El Señor Guapo
Estuve en la jaula con muchos mineros
cuando el sombrero duro de un minero brilló en mi cara...
no pude resistir la amplia sonrisa que él mostró,
por eso le devolví la mirada, y le tomé una foto:
¡"Él es el señor Guapo"! vociferaron los demás mineros.
9
A Miner, a Mine and a family
A miner and the mine
are one.
A miner and his family
and a mine
are one.
No: 2072 11-28-2007
Spanish Version
Un Minero, una Mina y una Familia
Un minero y la mina
son uno.
Un minero y su familia
y una mina
son uno.
#: 2072 28-Nov-2007
10
The Locomotive
A train, eighteen-hundred feet below the earth
electrically driven by a wire overhead,
on iron tracks, with steel carts-
full of minerals, roaring down the tunnel;
its wheels squeak loud, like giant rats...!
I watch the faint lights rise in spirals
as it neared me-my wife holds my elbow:
the train lights are soft like falling dust
soaks into the grain of my skin...as it
passes me, carrying its tonnage load.
It sounds like thunder rolling over those flattened
tracks; I think: how many died down here,
against these walls of melancholy stones?
No: 2073 11-28-2007
Spanish Version
La Locomotora
¡Un tren, a 1800 pies debajo de la tierra
eléctricamente conducido por un cordón eléctrico arriba,
sobre rieles de hierro, con carros de acero-
llenos de minerales, ruge abajo del túnel;
sus llantas suenan fuerte, como ratas gigantes...!
Veo que las luces tenues suben en espirales
mientras este se acerca a mi-mi esposa sujeta mi codo;
las luces del tren son suaves como polvo cayendo
se empapa dentro de las partículas de mi piel...como si
me pasara, llevando sus tonelajes de carga.
Este suena como truenos retumbando sobre esas
vías aplanadas; pienso: ¿cuántos murieron aquí
contra estas paredes de piedras melancólicas?
# 2073 28-Nov-2007
11
Fainted Lights
I am writing on the miners
(gathering information mentally)
thinking, walking within the underground tunnels.
I feel a veil of sadness envelope me,
a sadness that comes from death,
as if I was alone in the mines;
no blazing heat from the sun
no moon, to bend my mind,
only faint lights off in the distance:
I'm in another world.
No: 2074, 11-28-2007 Written five hours after walking through the tunnels of the Volcan Mines, 1800-feet beneath the earth. This poem is not meant to be negative, it is meant to show, the miner lives in another world, when indeed, he is in his chosen habituate, which is the mines; so at least were my feelings as I experienced these underground tunnels, and tried to put myself in their place.
Spanish Version
Luces Tenues
Estoy escribiendo sobre los mineros
(recolectando información mentalmente)
pensando, caminando dentro de los túneles subterráneos.
Siento que un velo de tristeza me envuelve,
una tristeza que viene de la muerte,
como si estuviera sólo en las minas;
no hay calor abrasador del sol
ni luna, para cambiar mi mente,
sólo luces tenues apagadas en la distancia:
Estoy en otro mundo.
# 2074, 28-Nov-2007 Escrito cinco horas después de caminar a través de los túneles de las Minas Volcan, a 1800-pies debajo de la tierra. Las intenciones de este poema no son negativas, sino que quiero mostrar, la vida de los mineros a otro mundo, porque realmente, él esta en su lugar habitual escogido, que son las minas; así al menos fueron mis sentimientos de como experimenté estos túneles subterráneos, y traté de ponerme yo mismo en sus lugares.
12
The Sleeping Miner
Oh yes, he has long gone now,
dispersed among the deep mines;
the one he sees, and remains
afloat throughout the night.
He sleeps on shimmering minerals-
his eyes have rapid movements.
No: 2082 12-4-2007
Spanish Version
El Minero Durmiente
Ah si, hace tiempo que él está durmiendo ahora
dispersado entre las minas profundas;
la que él ve, y permanece
a flote a través de la noche.
El duerme en los minerales destellantes-
sus ojos tienen movimientos rápidos.
# 2082 4-Dic-2007
13
Hotel Room
(In Cerro de Pasco)
My walk in this city is slow, this morning
my body, this old body says:
"Go back to the hotel room,
sit by the heater in the room
(where it is warm)..."
my mind is back there:
way back, back, in that hotel room,
as this body flags down,
motions for a taxi
to go elsewhere.
Note: No 2078; there are between 70,000 to 125,000 inhabitants to Cerro de Pasco, depending on how one measures the city. It is almost 15,000-feet above sea level. It gets chilly up here.
Spanish Version
Cuarto del Hotel
(En Cerro de Pasco)
Mi caminar en esta ciudad es lento, esta mañana
mi cuerpo, este viejo cuerpo dice:
"Regresa al cuarto del hotel,
siéntate por la calefacción en el cuarto
(donde es caliente)..."
mi mente vuelve a pensar esto:
vuelve, vuelve, a ese cuarto del hotel,
mientras que este cuerpo se mueve
para llamar a un taxi
para ir a otro sitio.
Nota: # 2078; hay alrededor de 70,000 a 125,000 habitantes en Cerro de Pasco, dependiendo de cómo uno mide la ciudad. La ciudad está casi a 4,380 metros sobre el nivel del mar. Hace frío allí.
14
Cold City
(in Cerro de Pasco)
Light rain is falling (this morning)
as I look out the car window-
I smile at the corners of the adobe houses,
here in miner's city ... (Cerro de Pasco),
not sure why, perhaps because those
who live here must endure...;
dogs are walking on hard cold ground,
women move fast in this cold climate
(here in the highest city in the world).
But it all makes them special, brave
and solid.
Dedícate to Mayor Tito Valle of Cerro de Pasco; No: 2068; 11-28-2007
Spanish Version
Ciudad Fría
Lluvia ligera está cayendo (esta mañana)
mientras miro afuera de la ventana del carro-
sonrío a las esquinas de las casas de adobe,
aquí en la ciudad de los mineros...(Cerro de Pasco),
no estoy seguro por qué, talvez porque aquellos
que viven aquí deben soportar...;
los perros están caminando en el duro suelo frío,
las mujeres se mueven rápidamente en este clima frío
(aquí en la ciudad más alta en el mundo).
Pero todo esto hace de ellos especiales, bravos
y macizos.
Dedicado al Alcalde de Cerro de Pasco, Ing. Tito Valle Ramírez. # 2068; 28-Nov-2007
15
The Old Monster Tractor
Tractors are like dogs
they age quicker than man, -
at 60, I'm getting up there,
the old tractor, perhaps
is hundred or so (at fifty)
(take or give a few years here or there).
I climbed her helm
like a mate on a ship, -
slowly does it...
and she whispered to me:
"I've done my job, faithfully"
Note: The old Monster Tractor is from the Early 1960s, which cost back then $800,000-dollars. The new one, which is but a year old (for they do not make them like this old one any more- cost three-million; poem No: 2080. # 2080, 12-03-2007
Spanish Version
El Enorme Viejo Tractor
Los tractores son como los perros
ellos envejecen más rápido que el hombre, -
a los sesenta, yo estoy llegando allí,
el viejo tractor, talvez
tiene cien o alrededor (a los cincuenta)
(agrega o quita unos cuantos años aquí o allá)
Me subí a su timón
como una pareja en un barco, -
lentamente esto se hace...
y este me susurró:
"Hice mi trabajo, fielmente"
Nota: El Viejo Tractor Enorme data de 1960, en ese entonces éste costó $800,000-dólares. El nuevo tractor, que sólo tiene un año de antigüedad (costó 3'000,000-porque ya no fabrican más como el Viejo Tractor Enorme)
# 2080 03-Dic-2007
16
When the Miner Comes Home
Within the solid dark of night
I touched her body, smooth and tight.
Through a long days work, now free
in bed, we knotted foot to knee,
and sensed our humanity-!
Tomorrow we shall cross again
this habit of fate, and imperfect bridge.
No: 2085 12-6-2007
17
Snow over Pasco
Snow will soon fall over Cerro de Pasco...
dampness clutching dampness,
white on white-.
The birds will perch...with feathers overlapping
to keep warm!
The dogs will walk over brisk and frosted grass.
At dark, the mountains with turn a shade of
gray, and blue.
Everyone, and everything, waiting
for the snow.
No: 2091 12-6-2007
18
Far Ahead into the Mines
Far ahead into the mines (1800-feet below)
sunk into the waist of the underground
I went... (in the dead part of the earth);
it is like a ghost mausoleum,
with manmade corridors and tunnels,
being held tightly together with antlers
(wires from the floor to the ceiling).
The earth is all around, beneath, and
above one, yet man has triumphed.
No: 2066, 11-28-2007 (written shortly after visiting one of the lowest parts of the mine, it goes 300-feet deeper, but without an elevator. Dedicated to Silvio Gutarra Tapia, Miner Ing.
Spanish Version
Muy Adentro en las Minas
Muy adentro en las minas (a 1800-pies abajo)
hundido en la cintura del subterráneo
yo fui... (en la parte muerta de la tierra);
este es como un mausoleo de fantasmas,
con pasadizos y túneles hechos por el hombre,
siendo sostenidos juntos ajustadamente con cornamenta
(alambres desde el piso hasta el techo).
La tierra está todo alrededor, abajo, y
arriba de uno, sin embargo el hombre ha triunfado.
# 2066, 28-Nov-2007 (escrito justo después de visitar una de las partes más profundas de la mina, este continuaba 100 metros más de profundidad, pero sin elevador. Dedicado al Ingeniero de Minas Silvio Gutarra Tapia.
19
Busy Bus Station
(Waiting at the bus station in Cerro de Pasco, to go back to Huancayo... :)
It's a rainy morning in November,
loud music from the driver's seat
(blaring upward, into my ears);
I'm on the second floor, waiting...!
Loops and loops of buildings
surround this bus plaza,
selling everything from magazines
to eggs and rice!
It's a busy scene; carts and bikes,
loads of baskets and greenery
(vegetables) going through the archway!
Servicios, thirty-cents, so, so busy!
It's almost 8:00 AM, the bus driver
moves the bus again, moves the bus
now and then, trying to fool
the ticket takers, but
he's not going anywhere! Not yet!
Spanish Version
Estación de Autobuses muy Saturada
(Esperando en la estación de buses en Cerro de Pasco, para volver a Huancayo...)
Esta es una mañana lluviosa de noviembre
música alta desde el asiento del chofer
(retumba arriba, dentro de mis oídos);
¡Yo estoy en el segundo piso, esperando...!
¡Redes y redes de edificios
rodean esta plaza de autobuses,
comerciando todo desde revistas
hasta huevos y arroz!
Este es un lugar saturado, carros y bicicletas,
montones de canastas y verduras
(vegetales) ¡pasando por el arco!
Servicios higiénicos, 30-centavos, muy, ¡muy saturado!
Son casi las 8:00 de la mañana, el chofer
mueve el autobús de nuevo, mueve el autobús
de vez en cuando, tratando de engañar
a los que obtienen sus boletos, pero
¡él no está yendo a ningún sitio! ¡Todavía no!
Part Two
Legends Tales and Other Writings
The Miner
A Note to the Reader before the tales: I am not a political person per se, nor wish to get involved with politics at any point, yet I am aware that Cerro de Pasco, is a miner town like in Northern Minnesota, where I am from, and it was with the sweat from their brows (the miners) and labor and muscles that made Northern Minnesota what it became, a city; as the miners have in Cerro de Pasco, made their city today. From the dugout homes of a hundred years ago, to the sprawling city now we see, Cerro de Pasco has come a long way; I commend (Mayor Tito Valle and Superintendent General Ing. Teodulo Quispe Huertas) and of course the thousands of miners for their lively contribution throughout Peru; and pray, the issues that are today, will have solutioned tomorrow.
Spanish Version
El Minero
Un mensaje al lector antes de los cuentos: En si no soy una persona política, ni deseo verme envuelto con la política en ningún momento, aunque estoy consciente que Cerro de Pasco, es una ciudad minera como el Norte de Minnesota en Estados Unidos, de donde soy, donde con el sudor de sus frentes, su labor y sus músculos (los mineros) hicieron del Norte de Minnesota lo que es ahora, una ciudad; como han hecho hoy los mineros en Cerro de Pasco de su ciudad. Desde barracas cientos de años atrás, a la ciudad expandida que ahora vemos, Cerro de Pasco ha tenido un largo camino; yo elogio al Alcalde Ing. Tito Valle Ramirez y al Superintendente General de las Minas Volcan, Ing. Teódulo Quispe Huertas, y por supuesto a los miles de mineros por su contribución energética; y ruego, para que los problemas que existen hoy, tengan soluciones mañana.
(The Poetic Tale of :)
The Blue Amuc (El Muqui)
Part One: The Climb
The Blue Amuc came to the meadows
of Huayllay (about the year, 1957).
A young Amuc he was
wanting to see the blue of the sky.
Whereupon, he saw a young Shepard Boy,
about his own age-tending his flock.
Thus, he hid trembling behind some weeds
and a bristly bush...motionless he stood,
in the October air,
his color was between pale green
and yellow
more green than yellow-I'd say;
he wore all blue, even his scarf
as blue, pure blue as the sky
on a clear sunny day...!
(Legend says he was a prince,
and perhaps he was in his
fancy blue way) yet he knelt
head down in the tall weeds...
thinking of the blue sky, he
wanted to see....
His eyes were large and round
heavy looking from his forehead down.
He had climbed the tunnels upward
to the surface, some twenty-one
hundred feet or so, to see the blue
of the sky, in Huayllay, this chilled
sunny blue day, in October.
And to see it clear, he rose above
the bush and weeds (it was a gift
he had long, longed for, to see).
Part Two: The Shepard Boy
He stood, but two feet tall, a little
above the yellow weeds-thereabout.
His shoulders quivered, and
the Shepard Boy saw all-
and wondered with curiosity;
as the Amuc looked high-up into
the sky, he hoped no consequences
would prevail (for now the Shepard Boy,
was as close to him as his shadow).
At this moment, each young lad
talked on things they knew,
each feeling the wonder
of the other, each now under
the blue of the sky... both longing
to learn the other's life.
The Amuc gave to the Shepard Boy
small stones (precious uncut gems),
and therefore, thereafter,
they became close friends.
Part Three: The Night
Darkness came, with a windy howl-
through Stone Forest, and the meadows;
whereupon, the Amuc disappeared.
Yet, the following day he returned, and
thereafter, for several days more,
each time bringing new gifts, gems
(precious stones) ..:!
They both rested-the Shepard Boy
and the Amuc, in the meadow,
under the blue of the sky (each day),
both rested in awe, of the other, both
asking questions, and wondering why.
And then on the ninth-day, he was gone,
gone, just like that, never to return.
And for the boy, the Shepard Boy,
when he grew up, far into old age, he
continued to tell this story often,
with gusto, and dramatic waves;
to no benefit, to him, perhaps,
for no one really believed him
anyway- yet they liked to hear
the tale told, for whatever reasons,
no one really knows.
That is, he told the tale, but never
showed the stones, never showed them
to anyone but me, saying:
"Why spoil the fun, why try to prove
something, that's already done,
a legend, a legend, it will grow and grow
and where it ends no one knows, that is,
no one but you and me, for the rest
of the folks, it's pure curiosity...?"
And so it was, the old coot,
laughed crazy like,
as if he walked away.
No: 2079 (12-2-2007)
Spanish Version
(Un Cuento Poético:)
El Muqui Azul
Parte Uno: La Subida
El Muqui Azul vino a los prados
de Huayllay (alrededor del año, 1957).
Un Muqui joven era él
queriendo ver el azul del cielo
A este punto, el vio a un niño pastor,
de aproximadamente su edad-cuidando su rebaño.
Así, él se escondió temblando detrás de algunas yerbas
y un arbusto coposo...inmóvil él estuvo,
en el aire de Octubre,
su color era entre verde pálido
y amarillo
más verde que amarillo-yo diría;
él vestía todo de azul, incluso su chalina
muy azul, ¡azul puro como el cielo
en un claro día soleado...!
(La leyenda dice que él era un príncipe,
y talvez él estaba en su
forma azul lujosa) aunque él se arrodilló
cabeza abajo en las yerbas altas...
pensando en el cielo azul, que él
quería ver...
Sus ojos eran grandes y redondos
mirada pesada desde sus cejas.
Él había escalado los túneles hacia arriba
a la superficie, algunos 2,100
pies o algo así, para ver el azul
del cielo, en Huayllay, este frío
soleado día azul, en octubre.
Y para verlo claro, él se levantó arriba
del arbusto y las yerbas (era un regalo
que él había anhelado, anhelado ver).
Parte Dos: El Niño Pastor
Él parado, era sólo dos pies de altura, un poquito
más arriba que las plantas amarillas, por ahí.
Sus hombros temblaron, y
el niño pastor vio todo-
y se preguntaba con curiosidad:
mientras que el Muqui miraba arriba en
el cielo, él esperaba que no consecuencias
prevalecieran (porque ahora el niño pastor,
estaba tan cerca de él como su sombra).
En este momento, cada muchacho joven
habló de las cosas que ellos sabían,
cada uno sintiendo el asombro
del otro, cada uno ahora bajo
el azul del cielo...ambos deseando
aprender de la vida del otro.
El Muqui le dio al niño pastor
pequeñas piedras (gemas preciosas enteras)
y consecuentemente, después de esto,
ellos se volvieron amigos íntimos.
Parte Tres: La Noche
La oscuridad vino, con un aullido ventoso-
a través del Bosque de Piedras, y sus prados;
a este punto, el Muqui desapareció.
Aunque, al día siguiente él volvió, y
después de este, por muchos días más,
cada vez llevando nuevos regalos, gemas
¡(piedras preciosas)...!
Ambos descansaron-el niño pastor
y el Muqui, en el prado,
debajo del azul del cielo (cada día)
ambos descansaron con sobrecogimiento, del otro, ambos
haciéndose preguntas, y preguntándose por qué.
Y entonces en el noveno día, él se fue,
se fue, solamente así, para nunca volver.
En lo que respecta al niño, el niño pastor,
cuando creció, bastante hasta ser anciano, él
continuó contando su historia cada cierto tiempo,
con entusiasmo, y movimientos dramáticos;
sin beneficio, para él, talvez,
porque realmente nadie lo creía
de todas formas-aunque a ellos les gustaba oír
la historia contada, por cualquier razones,
nadie realmente lo sabía.
Esto es, él contaba la historia, pero nunca
mostró las piedras, nunca las mostró
a nadie, sólo a mi, diciendo:
"¿Por qué arruinar la diversión, por qué tratar de probar
algo, que ya está hecho,
una leyenda, una leyenda, esta crecerá y crecerá
y dónde termine nadie lo sabe, esto es,
nadie sólo tú y yo, para el resto
de la gente, esto es pura curiosidad...?"
Y así fue, el anciano,
reía como un loco,
mientras él se alejaba.
# 2079 (02-Dic-2007)
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Thursday, April 8, 2010
Reconocimiento de nuestra región en TVE
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Wednesday, April 7, 2010
"The Mother Grotto" (Gruta de Huagapo - Largest in South America) In Spanish and English
((Gruta de Huagapo - Peru)
The Mother Grotto
Massive walls of stone left beautifully from a past age.
Images appear over the slim river, images with a thousand
shadows.
Pivoting, rushing sounds of water, a million gallons
sweep through this endless dirt, rock floor.
One can feel a new unease, deep in the pits of this grotto.
Granite images flutter overhead, death
shadows are coming, hanging
like long knots of wild energy,
they twist in triumph.
Now the time comes to look into the dark-tunnels,
the long past, it scuffles my brain;
I leap down into its nostril,
now, now I climb up with a rope on the other side
to the mouth of the dead,
look inside this dying hollow, my guide holds my hand,
(to keep my balance) there is little time for talk,
my wife, and two other companions, wait across the empty pit,
I am, now...inside of its mouth, thinking:
'...why did God created this?'
In here seasons never change, the pillars of stone,
shape up like trees,
and the domes overhead, drip ice water, like
leaky teeth...!
Down in the pools of water, fish heads splash,
then jump deeper, their tails swirl, and they hide
in the shallow reeds, foliage, and rocks....
Old Man I say: 'Grab the moment!'
No: 2045 11-8-07 ((Partly written 3-hours (5:00 PM, in a car) after visiting the largest grotto in South America, Huagapo (Tarma, Peru); the rest of this poem was written when I got home to my apartment, about 7:00 PM, in Huancayo, Peru; the grotto being about 61-miles away.))
((Gruta de Huagapo (Peru))
La Madre Gruta
Enormes paredes de piedra legadas perfectamente de una edad pasada..
Imágenes aparecen sobre el río delgado, imágenes con unas mil.
sombras..
Arrollando, sonidos de torrentes de agua, un millón de galones.
barre a través de este interminable piso de tierra y rocas..
Se puede sentir una nueva inquietud, honda en los hoyos de esta gruta..
Imágenes de granito se agitan por encima, las sombras.
de muerte están viniendo, colgadas .
como nudos largos de energía desenfrenada,.
ellas se retuercen en triunfo..
Ahora el tiempo viene para examinar los túneles oscuros,.
el pasado largo, esto ataca mi cerebro;.
salto abajo en las ventanas de su nariz,.
ahora, ahora subo arriba con una soga al otro lado.
a la boca de los muertos,.
miro dentro de este hoyo agonizante, mi guía sostiene mi mano,.
(para mantener mi equilibrio) hay poco tiempo para hablar,.
mi esposa, y otros dos compañeros, esperan al otro lado del hueco vacío,.
estoy, ahora...dentro de su boca, pensando:.
"... ¿porqué Dios creó esto?".
¡Aquí las estaciones nunca cambian, los pilares de piedras,.
en forma de árboles,.
y de los domos por encima, gotean agua helada, como.
dientes goteando...!
Abajo en las pozas de agua, cabezas de pescado chapotean,.
luego saltan más profundo, sus colas se arremolinan, y ellos se esconden.
en las aguas poco profundas, en los follaje, y rocas....
Viejo, digo: "¡Aprovecha el momento!"
# 2045 (8-Noviembre-2007 (Escrito en parte--3 horas-5:00 de la tarde, en un carro) después de visitar la gruta más grande en Sudamérica, Huagapo (Tarma, Peru); el resto de este poema fue escrito cuando llegué a casa a eso de las 7:00 de la noche, en Huancayo, Perú; la gruta estaba aproximadamente a 98 kilómetros de distancia.))
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Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Suicide Heaven ((In English and Spanish)(Re-edited 8-2008))
(Skullduggery)
"Where do we all go when we commit suicide?" he asked his Christian Professor, at the Christian University, in Alabama, "is it the unpardonable sin?" he added, making it his second question.
Then the old professor, pushed his papers aside laying on his desk, stood up, erect and left his desk area, looked out the window, up into the stars, or so it seemed to the Professor's student, Gene, but it was really more toward the upper part of a huge tree outside his window.
There the professor gazed, stoned faced almost, concentrating on the shapes and the shadows that seemed to drift about. It was only a first floor office, a window you could jump out of, and if you fell, you'd only get a headache-if even that, I mean it was but four-feet down, a short fall at best, safe to leave open for the suicide student, had anyone been there but those two, and there was nobody but those two.
Then the old man, the professor brought his Alabama-eyes down from up high, as if he was following a bird down the torso of the big tree, he was actually staring at the solid, huge oak, outside the window, with its snake like, thick anaconda branches, and its trunk, outwardly as big as the pillars at the Lincoln Monument, in Washington D.C.
At the same time, from the corner of his eye, the long part of his eye, he watched the wrapping on the student's wrist, soak up with blood, saw it drip on down Gene's pants legs.
It was dusk, and he had worked late, and like out of the blue, Gene had just stopped in, Gene Furbelow; just like that he showed up at the professor's office on campus, and had asked those two questions. Perhaps thinking after slicing his writs, where he was headed for, possibly had second thoughts, I don't know but maybe he wanted the good professor to talk him out of his sudden suicide attempt, to save him mentally and then physically, whatever the long course of action was, he was there and waiting for his questions to be answered.
The old professor pointed up into the thick branches of the tree, full of green life, dark green life with black charcoal branches, lit up by the street lights nearby, as if the tree itself was hooked-electrically plugged into some nearby socket, and the leaves were liken to lit up Christmas bulbs; it was as if the tree was alive, had some kind of human like existence circling around it, an existence the professor personified or perchance the professor gave his living substance to, so it would enhance the tree to give such an impression, it would seem he was almost part of the tree himself.
Then after another moment, it was all darkened with the blackish-blue evening of the atmosphere, another transition had taken place-or so it appeared, a transition more on the order of, a sudden deadly virus was creeping in, with this at hand, something else was mysterious, or brought to light:
"What do you think it is?" asked the old man, pointing at the tree, the shadows in the tree, their shapes.
"Is this a trick question, are you trying to imply something?" Gene asked the professor.
"I shall go further than a man should go in his trade," said the professor of theology, Professor Backer, then noticing blood dripping from Gene's writs profusely, said, "Well, well, well, what have we here...?" As if he didn't notice, notice to its full extent, but he really did.
Gene's bandages were completely soaked with blood, as was his right side of his pants, from his hip to his knee, he had laid his wrist and hand against that leg.
Gene had tied a white hanky around his wrist before he came in to see the professor, as the dialogue went on, Gene never moved from his chair, just moved his hand about now and then.
"I'll give you $100-dollars worth of advice," said the professor, it was what he got for an hours worth of work (in 1991). Gene just stood listening, it was why he came, for advice to get his questions answered. The professor then called his wife, told her he'd not be home for dinner, and left it short, with no details.
The professor had sat down for a moment now, then he stood back up, neatly dressed he paced the floor, looking at Gene, deliberating (so Gene thought) waiting for his two questions, unanswered questions to be answered, thinking at any minute they would be, and therefore gave his wrist no attention, no thought, actually forgot about his suicide attempt for the moment, and forgot about his pants being soaked with blood, even forgot about the blood now dripping down from his pants to his socks- the textiles sucking up the blood like a sponge; from there underneath the cloth, it dribbled down onto his feet, and in-between his toes, but he felt nothing just anticipation for the good professor to answer his questions, all the time the professor looking at the blood oozing out, almost mesmerizing the boy, almost putting him into a spell, not sympathizing with the student one iota.
The professor stood by the window again, breathed in the cool evening air,
"Heaven has fallen upon you, but Hell wants you, both are seeping up out of your veins like blood..." he said, Gene just kept staring at the professor, staring at the shadows he was staring at, the tree with the shadows therein, he had pointed to before, those same shadows.
He stepped out now, out through the window and beyond it-the professor, it seemed so easy for him to do, like he almost floated out of it, no pain in them old legs; Gene just looked, surely he was thinking: now is the time he was going to let him know the answers to his questions, perhaps an analogy, something cleaver, tricky, philosophical, for the professor was known to be a poet, philosopher of sorts: hence, perhaps a comparison, a simile he'd give to Gene, but Gene did not move from the chair, by the professor's desk, just looked from there out through the window, over the window sill, where the professor had stood and climbed out of, hands now laying by his side as if he had lost weight, from all the blood dripping out of his body from his wrists, head leaning backward, beyond the support of the chair, awkward, looking at the professor, by the tree, he was just a shadow now, as he continued bleeding, almost traumatized from the absence of blood.
A voice said, "Heaven or Hell," Gene looked for the whereabouts of the voice, he could not see the professor anymore, but it was talking to him, the voice of the professor, addressing him.
There were now shadows and shapes all around the professor, but he paid little heed to them, he moved around the tree, as if he was searching for someone, in particular, or something.
He spotted Mr. Thomas John Little, "...say Mr. Little, when that man took your wife and you committed suicide, did that ease your mind, diminish your pain?"
"Yessum" said the Negro then added "but not fer very long, now I is in-between heaven and hell, like all us ghouls here at this ole tree."
And he looked at Gene, smiling at the professor, as if he could read his mind, as if to say, 'I'm dying....'
"Stay here, I will not be long," the professor told the ghoul, and walked over to the window, grabbed Gene by the wrist, the one that was still dripping out blood, to the point he had weakened himself to a half dead cockroach: pulling him over to the tree as if to show the ghouls a prize, he said with enthusiasm:
"Here, you have a guest; he will be joining you in a few minutes," then looking at Gene, his wrist, said with a smile,
"...they'll answer your questions in a moment, they know better than I..." and shoved him down against the tree. Immediately, a swarm of shadows and shapes bound Gene with as much wind and residue as they could to keep him in place.
"I want to go to the hospital," cried Gene, "I have had second thoughts on this matter that is why I came to you, professor, but you are not my salvation, rather you are my doom."
"It is so true," said he professor, "you either take charge of your life, or someone else will, it is so simple, it is called, self-interest, which is more powerful than the devil himself."
The boy just looked stunned, as if to say: now what!
Said the professor, "Sometimes my son, we ask for things we shouldn't, and when we get them, we regret we ever asked for them; my advice to you is this: count the cost before you act."
The professor now cheerfully walked away, was now climbing back through his window, he never turned around again, but he did say something that echoed back to Gene, "It won't be long now, just hang in there kid, and you'll have your answers to your questions...!" and the kid died, and he got his questions answered, but it wasn't by the professor.
Written 11/12/2006, at the bookstore, café in Roseville, Minnesota; revised 7-2008 (the author lived down in Alabama twice, in the 1970s)
In Spanish
Translated by Nancy Penaloza
Cielo del Suicidio
¿"A donde vamos todos cuando cometemos suicidio"? El pregunto a su profesor cristiano en la universidad, ¿"es este un pecado imperdonable"? fue su segunda pregunta.
El viejo profesor, empujo sus papeles a un lado, dejo el área de su escritorio, miro fuera de la ventana, arriba en las escaleras, o eso le pareció a Gene; fuera de la ventana abierta el miro de reojo, encarado casi endurecido, concentrado en las formas y las sombras, eso parecía vagar alrededor. Era solo una oficina en el primer piso, una ventana por la que tú podías saltar afuera, y si caías, solamente podrías conseguir un dolor de cabeza, estaba solo a pocos pies para descolgarse. Luego el viejo hombre concentro su mirada desde lo alto, como si el estuviera siguiendo a un pájaro abajo hacia un árbol grande, y ahora el estaba mirando fijamente el sólido, y enorme roble, fuera de la ventana, con sus ramas gruesas como la serpiente anaconda, y su tronco tan grande como los pilares del monumento a Lincoln, en Washington D.C.
Al mismo tiempo, desde el rabillo de su ojo, la gran parte de su ojo, el vio la venda, absorbiendo con sangre comenzando a gotear sobre el pantalón corto de Gene, atados alrededor de la muñeca del estudiante.
Era el atardecer, y el había trabajado hasta tarde, y como por arte de magia, Gene se había detenido allí, Gene alterado, justo así el apareció en la oficina del profesor en el campus.
El viejo profesor señalo dentro de las ramas gruesas del árbol, lleno de vida verde; verde oscura vida con ramas negras como el carbón, enganchados a esto como bombas navideñas; era como si el árbol estuviera vivo, mas allá de su normal existencia: todo esto estaba oscurecido con la ennegrecida -tarde azul de la atmósfera. Pero algo más estaba allí.
¿"Que piensas tu que es?" pregunto el viejo hombre, todavía apuntando hacia el árbol, las sombras en el árbol, sus formas.
Artimañas
"esta es una pregunta con segundas, ¿estas tratando de insinuar algo?" pregunto Gene, al profesor.
"Iré mas lejos de lo que un hombre iría en su tratado", dijo el profesor de teología (profesor Backer). "Bien, bien, bien", dijo el profesor mirando la sangre goteando de la muñeca de Gene, ahora su vendaje completamente empapado, como estaba también el lado derecho de sus pantalones por su rodilla. Gene había atado un pañuelo blanco alrededor de su muñeca antes de venir para ver al profesor. Gene no se movió de la silla.
"Te cobraré el precio de $100 dólares por el consejo" dijo el profesor, esto era el precio que él conseguía por una hora de trabajo en (1991). Gene solo permaneció escuchando, para esto era por lo que el había ido allí, para conseguir respuesta a sus dos preguntas. El profesor luego llamó a su esposa, le dijo que el no iría a casa para la cena, y dejo esto, sin mayor detalle.
El profesor se había sentado por un momento, ahora se apoyó atrás, cuidadosamente vestido, dio pasos por el piso, mirando a Gene, deliberadamente (entonces Gene pensó) acerca de sus dos preguntas aun no contestadas, pensando en todo momento lo que podrían ser; y así, no dando a su muñeca ninguna atención, ni a sus pantalones remojados: la sangre ahora goteando abajo a sus medias y mojándolas; y ahogando sus pies, mientras estaba siendo absorbida dentro de su zapato.
El profesor permaneció por la ventana nuevamente, respirando el aire fresco del atardecer, "el cielo ha caído sobre nosotros, y el infierno esta absorbiéndonos" dijo él, Gene solo retraído mirando fijamente al profesor, a las sombras el estaba mirando fijamente, al árbol que el había apuntado antes. El dio un paso hacia fuera ahora, afuera a través de la ventana y mas allá de esto- el profesor, parecía tan fácil para él hacerlo, como si casi flotara fuera de esto, sin dolor en sus viejas piernas; Gene solo miraba, seguramente el estaba pensando: ahora es el tiempo en que él le dejaría conocer las respuestas a sus preguntas, talvez una analogía. El profesor era como un poeta, filosofo: de ahí, talvez una comparación, similitud. Gene no se movió desde el marco de la ventana, el permaneció allí, sus manos reposadas sobre el marco su peso sobre sus muñecas, su cabeza dirigida hacia fuera, mirando al profesor, sus muñecas sangrantes siendo traumatizadas.
Una voz dijo, "Cielo o infierno", Gene miro de donde salía la voz, el no podía ver, pero estaba hablando al profesor, dirigiéndose a él.
Hubo ahora sombras y formas todo alrededor del profesor, pero el presto poca atención a estos, el se movió alrededor del árbol, como si el estuviera buscando a alguien, o cosa.
El pudo ver al Sr. Johnlittle, "diga señor Little, cuando este hombre se llevó a tu esposa y tu cometiste suicidio, ¿Eso facilita tus sentimientos, tu dolor?
"Si, totalmente", dijo él, luego agregó "Pero no por mucho, ahora yo estoy entre el cielo y el infierno, como todos nuestras fantasmas. Y el miro a Gene, sonrió al profesor, como si el podría leer su mente, como diciendo: otro suicidio.
"Quédate allí, yo no estaré mucho", el profesor dijo al fantasma, y camino por la ventana, agarró a Gene por la muñeca, la que no estaba sangrando tanto. el había debilitado a una cucaracha medio muerta: jalándolo a el sobre el árbol como si mostrara al fantasma un premio.
Allí, tu tienes una pregunta; el estará reuniéndose contigo en pocos minutos. Luego miro a Gene, dijo con una sonrisa, ellos contestaran a tus preguntas en un momento, y lo empujo abajo contra el árbol. Inmediatamente, el enjambre de sombras y formas rodearon a Gene con mucho viento y residuo como ellos pudieron para mantenerlo a él en el lugar.
Yo quiero ir al hospital grito Gene, yo tengo otros pensamientos sobre esta materia es por eso por lo que vine hacia Ud. profesor,
El profesor ahora estaba de regreso trepando a través de su ventana, el jamás regreso nuevamente, pero dijo algo que los ecos regresaron Gene, ¡esto no será muy largo ahora, solo cuélgate allí muchacho" y el muchacho murió, y el consiguió la respuesta a sus preguntas, pero no fueron del profesor.
Escrito 11/12/2006, en la biblioteca, café en Roseville, MN.
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