Saturday, August 27, 2005

 

Pensando en Vaquerito

It was just another all-times boxer
who later became a venezuelan fire-fighter
and got alone and forgotten in his very own hometown
and died surrounded by bottles and poverty downstairs.

KID VAQUERITO,
they didn´t even give you the front page,
you where just a color picture
in the backyard of Ultima Hora.

I´m sitting in my bed with a huge cahuama
thinking about your glory nights in la vieja Havana,
Mambo swing, los años trenta,
which in my mind is a fat guayavera
running through the sunday park
with a blue painted cangrejo shouting
YO SOY SURREALITA, YO SOY SURREALITA.

I go every day to the alley and see men like you,
long bearded undercover Einsteins
driving round the streets on an 84 red Renault,
looking for an underground spiritual gate
to get out of this world.

They like to watch Lucha Libre,
el deporte que está conmoviendo a las grandes capitales del mundo.
They don´t mind to win the lotto,
they´ve been playing cero cinco every sunday for the last sixty years,
also in quiniela and caraquita.

It´s the future,
it´s somekind of premonition they had back in time.
It has to work someday,
at least for a black and white picture
on the backyard of the New York Times.

Comments:
"Very own home town" eso es más que poesía, es música. F-ormidable.
 
Que bueno. Bravo poeta.
A propósito, alguno de ustedes conoce donde puedo adquirir el libro donde aparecen los poemas: "Gariker" y "Borononó". Sin lugar a dudas y a juicio de los más agudos literarios, dos piezas claves de la poesia sorpresiva dominicana de los noventas.
 
Tu poesía continúa conmoviendo a las grandes capitales del mundo y también a mí, kid homerito...
 
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