sábado, 30 de noviembre de 2013

The bird of prey

The bird of prey

Over the towers of the castle
The bird of prey crosses in solitude again
Observing and conveying in it
The impossible dreams of prosaic people.

Showing me ice in your eyes
Your skin is still so young
All you have gained over the years
Your story continues without including me.

That can not be said by being forbidden
Like a fruitless and ardent movement
Deep inside an unknown land
And only on changing can it have sense.

For the intelligence with which you think
The smile that is filmed and filed
Screaming impossibilities over the towers
Under birds of prey that fly and are still unknown.

Everything is strange in weariness
Anterooms on anterooms
Ignoring if they will be tangible or not
Whoever comes or who you will found
When the corpses that are beside his body
Stand again like flags, each one with their own name.

Purring that does not want attention
And the space of a room is enough
Moving threads without losing stitches
Devoted to playing as a companion
Without letting flashes escape through the windows.

When there are no previous images is difficult to accept
Except for the needless nails inserted in your heart
The lost love, affection stolen and misplaced
The appointment that would never exist but was accepted in faith
Just like a child who for a long time believes that life is joy.

And above all, someone who flies without expression
And dwells among us with his injured knees
For the normal anxiety already completely known
The highest and most remote scream

The broken compass and the scroll that did not survive the rain.

jueves, 28 de noviembre de 2013

Cu hi d ai

Cu hi d ai

Saying that he returns everything gave to him
That he only loves somebody who loves him
And all they taught of him was little
That someone who ignores is not guilty
And as far as he knows he is limited.

When in his unskilled hands
He supports as he can those of his son
Who did not learn to live and scores death
Thus how one and another human receive the seeds
With the most hostile resentment or humiliating acceptance.

Physicians are destined to love the world as their only option
And sentiment is not enough as neither is the knowledge they could have
The needs are above, inside and besides
For all those who want to overcome their fears
Daring to destroy what has been done intending to build something better.

Saying that speeches are only words
Feeling that someone says something different from what is written in books
Imagining judges devoted to fill the abyss of their bodies -
But it is not patience what keeps him sitting in the chair besides his bed
But helplessness to change the unchangeable and find a response.

That night or during the next morning
Somebody would have to wash the body of his son
And even though someone can do it some sometime later
He also has to clean the soul of the father
But maintaining his soul clean will depend on him.

He says some people talk ignoring or for have not been there
That they are weak and do not know hatred
And it could have been easy to transform his resentment
Into a real and unconditional gratitude
If only somebody continued supporting him.

The meals will be different but not the food
The same boredom and the same deception
The bitter days without any possibility to sharing them together
And one another, thinking of the future every moment

Reading with you the unchangeable reality and approving those who blame you.

martes, 26 de noviembre de 2013

Looking back

Looking back

When the sound becomes clear
And all space matches its quality
Imposing an order even for absences
And still echoing the passing clash
As in the clarity attained calm finally comes.

Because I said yes to my heart
When she asked me something that was not love
But the natural passion that faces and conquers
To caress the calm that always flees
Because in its center there is more blood than flame.

However, sadness exists
Because when somebody ends with someone else
It is when the world really starts
Since the closer persons are it is not always so
Even those who were born near your own cradle.

Each one with his own excesses
Where intensity does not exist for not being explained
Where all scarcity has its roots in disbelief
Where you have to enter sometime when it is possible
With a pristine message of the effort made.

Before and without any quick steps not taken any more
Your permit your own advancements or developments of your ideas
Permitting them to fall without much distress
The scale of tired skin that soon during summer
Will look from below, satisfied to see how the new comes to continue the journey.

The owls discover they are not alone
For a friendship started years ago
And today the structure of the walls is closing
Where there is a space for an inviting door
And an immense grave for those who are not welcome.

And then in hours that not always match the clocks
Playing the game with almanacs loosing reliability
With six scorpions, the kiss of an angel, an abbey and a street
They are testing weights and balances to enhance the boat
That does not search or avoids storms during day or night

Even if it does not intend to simply go a little further as passion calls.

domingo, 24 de noviembre de 2013

The girl II

The girl II

Not knowing and still ignoring
She said two or three sudden words
The girl reaches deep in my heart
And in my eyes she analyzes the dimension of her life.

Air does not cease, it is scarce
When she is away
Her absence seems like a stone
And its weight can only be endured by the promise of her return.

Why is everything so serious with her?
That foundation demands culmination
And each arrow must have a precise target
Because it was given in answer and blessing
As perfect light is given to an unskilled painter.

In the middle of my throat, which many times was blamed
She knots a band that only tears can loosen
And tightens so much taking each fiber to its limit
And life becomes like sea and sky fused in a mountain.

Fragility, when someone feels that others know more
And walks between mirages of respect
Returning smiles as what you keep inside is not known –
And as strong as someone who instinctively knows
That is not enough to impose directions, but just suggest them.

Taking the risk of persevering in this timelessness
Thankful for a few desires thinking of her name
Making my thoughts spin again and again
The painful joy of the reality of her life
To see if I can attain what I intend,

Time without moments
Happiness without description
The verb without sentence
The bottomless shape.

And then I will sit down
To see how the girl is enduring
In her own spiral
And also her unique rapturous carrousel.

Finally she chases me
And she subdues me without delicacy
With just a glance she broadens my heart
Pressurizing me to be what she wants

Letting me know that she already perceives the distance.

sábado, 2 de noviembre de 2013

Santiago Posteguillo, trilogía sobre Publio Cornelio Escipión

Ficha de los libros:

Africanus, el hijo del cónsul 
ISBN 978-84-666-3932-3 - 607 páginas

Las legiones malditas
ISBN 978-84-666-3657-8 - 703 páginas

La traición de Roma
ISBN 978-84-666-4082-4 - 703 páginas

Autor: Santiago Posteguillo
Editorial: Ediciones B
Trilogía sobre Publio Cornelio Escipión
por Silvio M. Rodríguez C.

Uno se fija un objetivo, planea cómo llegar al mismo, y entonces ejecuta acciones como inacciones, uno hace y deja de hacer. Cuando este objetivo es la destrucción de un enemigo, ya las variables se multiplican, dado que el enemigo también planificará y ejecutará. Si las fuerzas son parejas en inteligencia y poderío el resultado podría depender de la suerte o el destino, es decir, de aquellos factores que no se tomaron en cuenta en el momento preciso en el que debieron ser considerados. Mucho de esta trilogía marca qué difícil resulta manejar toda la información posible e interpretar sus señales.

El autor nos presenta primeramente el entorno filial de Publio Cornelio Escipión (hijo), dejándonos ver el sistema educativo militar e intelectual en el que se formó de acuerdo a su clase, las relaciones comerciales de su familia, como también los lazos afectivos y políticos con otras familias afines a la ideología Escipión, y la situación con aquellas que se le oponían abierta o veladamente. Al tiempo, nos va situando en el contexto de la Roma del siglo III antes de Cristo, describiendo su coyuntura socioeconómica además de los usos y costumbres de su gente, incluyendo la trascendencia de sus ritos religiosos.

Luego de esta ambientación, el autor nos dibuja el paralelismo entre Amílcar Barca, padre de Aníbal, y Publio Cornelio Escipión, padre e hijo. Del mismo modo, nos presenta la ideología en el seno político cartaginés y  la que sostiene el senado romano, la tensión que genera en los generales el tener que obedecer a quienes no están en el territorio de combate, y la complicada situación que les genera el lograr una victoria tras desobedecer a la élite política. El orgullo personal, aquí, se va mezclando, amalgamando con el nacionalismo que portan aquellos que están decididos a morir por su patria.

Muertos los padres de Publio y de Aníbal, son estos los generales que allanan el relato. Cada uno como representante de su estirpe, con toda su inteligencia, fortaleza y decisión, habrán de planificar y dar batalla, resistir, retirarse, acordar con naciones extranjeras, esperar y acelerar la marcha. Justamente, uno de los puntos altos de esta trilogía es la recreación de cada una de las batallas, en donde el lector accede a cuáles fueron los recursos con los que cada ejército contó, sobre qué se basó cada estrategia y desde ahí comprender los aciertos y desaciertos que generaron tales y cuales resultados.

Pero, aparte de que cada libro contiene mapas tanto de la geografía de entonces, como de la conformación de los ejércitos en las batallas, además de un formidable glosario y el árbol genealógico de los protagonistas, el mayor sustento de estas novelas radica en el encare que hace Posteguillo respecto de la emocionalidad de los personajes, porque las emociones, los afectos y sentimientos, tienen peso a la hora de conformar y culminar todo hacer. La incuestionable admiración del autor hacia Publio, siento, está detrás de un tratamiento riguroso de los detalles que le dan a estas entregas un sabor a victoria.