Contributor 11: Juan de Dios García
Juan de Dios García is a green dog that works in all literary magazines that can, knowing the business scope they get. In book form it is unpublished, awaiting a generous patron. He has won the poetry prize Monroy, prepare your dissertation on the play by Alejandro Casona, has written short essays and lectures about Lorca, Borges, Ruben Dario, Horacio Quiroga, … recognized Melómano, in his verses they can shine echoes as disparate as Manolo Caracol, Bob Marley or Stravinsky. Composes and adapts to the Flemish singer Curro lyrics Piñana. These poems are in his book Words in water, a complex device in which the marine and literary language is based.
I can drink fire lograrte poultry.
So, as fast as you breathe thud.
I came to see you to lose a secret.
Did you reach namely as read Homer
It is the same as drinking wine waterfront? God!
to face death.
It is true what you call into question.
Words can create other worlds.
But careful !, Walk
They can also destroy yours
Leave me the coast if you desire to go away.
Flee inland with your sweet deception
and your hearts polite.
I’ll stay here,
fighting on the shore,
with the movement of men and boats,
with the cry of children in ports.
Creéos safe in the silence of the mountain;
creéos water forest not want to be wild.
We must all be wild one day.
gesticulating with your mouths
and your twisted tongues.
To me let me on the coast,
with wine, wind, and the death of the waves.
Contributor 12: David López Sandoval
DAVID LOPEZ SANDOVAL is a novelist, but here we will you please write some short poems. His first published book Journey to Parnassus (1999), a very funny and clever satire against the “official” Spanish publishing system in these times is entitled. He has won numerous national and regional awards. The last one was the consolation prize of the Young Murcia 1999 accounts. It looks set to be at least one San Bernardo. This Cordoba has lived in Barcelona, Morocco, and for some years living in Murcia, married, works as a waiter at the famous Zalacaín cafeteria and is writing his doctoral thesis on The Primero.
Tonight the souls of the castaways
They gather here, where you left
a sea that throw and be saved.
and projects are
Worm and butterfly.
in the mirror, I do not know
what is this shadow body.
Pour the winter
in our dark bed
rivers of milk
I was a man and I could spot birds
strange flowers that would not die
Touch up any body.
She extends her hand
and I fall asleep:
the five senses.
Contributor 13: Diego Sanchez Aguilar
DIEGO SANCHEZ AGUILAR is an emerging regarding publications puppy, but has won several awards as a storyteller. His life is giving delicious stumble between Cartagena, Valencia, Murcia, … Now we have earmarked as interim professor of language and literature at Huelva. We were made Andalusian, surely. Having written an interesting academic study on the narrative of Onetti, he works as a future doctoral thesis on the Argentine poet Roberto Juarroz. Serve as a sign of his talent this elegant poem:
From the belly of the whale
If I ever get out of here
recalls that waited under clouds
covered by a shower of time and with the certainty of the flood
that ripped the roots.
My sweet legs running like insects never knew, you know,
but no one was saved and I thought of you my love
floating logs angry without understanding
the astonished streetlights funny flooded rooftops.
Remember also turned my head
and he drew a smile from the treetops
under the wind sympathetic helicopters
under hurricane impatient asking my clothes.
The stars skated on the ice that might be in your eyes
and they smiled from his height
straight into my face.
Sea slept when I opened your sheets
when the noises away muttering
Who cares what they say?
Remember thousand shipwrecks found
and none was able to confirm my suspicions, no one knows your name.
Shipwrecked only play roulette quiet
curse the silence of her fingernails things that float,
the shining up there
They ignore your body than mine.
Remember that since I sat here
I adorned with silk dark silent film
with schedules that are falling sometimes as jellyfish
and I choose red odd and almost always for you my love.
If you ever go recalls that since I fell here
I picked up the habit of talking to himself
If one day I leave here and I find
remember that your name does not matter
and you would wait in the rain.
Contributor 14: Antonio Llorente
Antonio Llorente is the director, with Hector Castilla, of the poetry magazine La Galera. His poems always leave a trail gloomy reading, and also an air of irony, but consistently painted by an indefinite sadness, because of its strong skepticism. Poems for the painful joy of those moments that life brings. This purebred Dalmatian performs and organizes recitals few can; the last of which took place in Cartagena, following the tribute to the master Borges last year, organized by the poet José María Alvarez surrendered.
I leave you in your home and find out the streets,
the brown walls of buildings,
a guy who called me to ask me a cigar,
rapid return to my home
when I have no hurry.
And I just drag my poor broken this silence
Mirror of Memory
The mirror serves to remind us,
and personal memory has no witnesses.
It is impossible to deny what it reflects.
The mirror reflects the light travels and
Yesterday everything he could,
what we was true,
what was killing me.
In his tour of shadows
it becomes more genuine and shakes
in this dream I am chill.
And come back to me and always
ends in me
as a corner in another corner only
It is, consoles and looks.
Mirror memory’m finally.
Contributor 15: Sergio Gallego
SERGIO Gallego is another notable contributor to the magazine La Galera Cartagena. Write angels in the gut; every line of his is a crack that opens before our eyes. It is obviously one of our young talent in the current poetic to say. According to this hunting dog, “the poet is nothing but a linker of words whose mystery is not to find one or the other and placed in a precise location or even reverse them or doing a handstand while on paper or plasma screen, but to find a surprising and subtle, fine and friendly relationship, which stretches the lips or shrink the stomach.”
When I write,
My hand looks like a bird speared
from peak to the side
and clings to the weapon to life
while dripping down its edges
what it looks like a last breath
but still bleeding
and it seems that the launch cries that death
and I write by the approaching death
until the bird is rendered.
We will play the instrument of knowledge,
tañeremos leaves fell down,
we will give your sound.
We will intend to dance
intention to give almost everything
We give light and heat to silence,
We give what little remains
And we will be as before,
with two eyes,
with two intentions,
with a touch and the whistle of a night.
We give us what little remains
and we will stay, we will stay simply.