Contributor 9: Leo Zelada
He was born in Lima on January 6, 1970. The Peruvian poet falls paternal line of the Inca dynasty through his mother and a Creole family. He studied Philosophy at the National University of San Marcos. We always accompanies some Blake and Maldoror in his writings. He has published books of poems Delirium tremens (Neon) and Diary of a cyberpunk (Neon) and testing new political culture in the XXI century (San Marcos).
He is about to publish his novel American death of life, from his trip to the adventure in Latin America, backpack, which took him from 1993 to 1998 from Lima across the Andes, crossing the Amazon, the Caribbean and Chiapas down to Los Angeles. It has a personal page where shown, among other things, the first book of poems in full.
The red gold.
The golden sand.
Behind the ocean
a lone man waits
and cúmulas clouds
in wild hairs
Grape and lucuma.
and the sky of Lima,
the most depressing city in the world, according to Melville,
litmus becomes gray carpet
radiant multicolored butterfly. “Come, my silent strikes
and immutable presence and break my suicidal dirt
Contributor 10: Agustin Morales CARVALHO
I’m Mexican and suddenly towards the release of aura, beyond the empty silhouettes and ocher flesh of dreams. Thus begins this path never plan this trip aboard the ship of the darkest desires stored in a drawer almost forgotten the mind; with this brief hallucinatory midnight I throw small pieces of my battered spirit, to which I attached a worm and a sweet, different baits for different appetites waiting to be filled, at least fleetingly. Edit an electronic magazine that collects all the bases of my poetry, I gave the name unexpectedly.
THE TRAIL OF FISH
I stop to not look at the last landscape.
I rush consume more distant times.
Cargo with the burden of three hundred tunes
in my path
the route of the fish.
I follow the example of heroic toads,
singing to the sound
more desvelaré not my secret to the walking,
I will correct the errors no horizon,
I do not trample the memory of my predecessors,
I not look askance landscape outline.
I will not abdicate.
I will not give my birthright.
I am the heir to the route of the fish.
I will not stop because of adverse winds.
I expect the windmills,
I hope my conquests.
It’s not bode
do expect to destination.
to meet me,
at the end
Contributor 11: LUIS MARTINEZ DRAKE (†)
Unfortunately, the 1959 finalist in the prestigious Adonais Prize with the book The grass, died in 1999. His son Paul was kind enough to give us, among other things, a long poem writing dated 1970; novelty for our readers is that it is not included in any official poems. It is an honor to include it now in our magazine because to date the manuscript had been lost. With a sharp bleak nature, these verses drag breakneck, jazz, tonality irrepressible walks of life to what is not known. Nomadic and sedentary poet, the only certainty is the condition of the author strange ritual that leads to this state of almost hallucination and memories. For those who like their pen and want to delve into his poetry, the distinguished Editorial Trotta, which both guards the presentation of his books, published a few years ago a volume of his poetry brought together, to which you refer. From The Dialogue of the dogs I would want to provide a literary tribute to the memory of Luis Martinez Drake and we believe the best way to do so.
RITUAL OF MUSIC
SATURDAY, JULY 21 9 NIGHT
San Justo Church
CHAMBER MUSIC CONCERT
INTEGRAL Sonatas for viola da gamba and password Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750)
I did not sleep last night and tonight can not attach eye
then perhaps some wine to start but I am afraid it will be impossible to insomnia
It is when I cough more strongly vomiting read back to bed
I go to the living room write sad verses I’m sick
I look out for people between feel like talking
has refreshed me not hinder the shawl is not necessary to visit
I ask the usual
two crosses hundred forty two million dead
I want to kiss you naked expected I did not take anything
if I take a sleeping pill tomorrow I blow
This coffee is better lamb is magnificent wonder
I explore all the neighbors nothing happens
just a matter of nerves
I did not sleep last night and I’m afraid
to give me the many hating feverishly on the couch
She is crying like a fool in front of a whiskey smoking and writing
verses letters and ties
July 21 9 night Church of San Justo
Sonata in D major BMW 1028
How well-fed mothers breasts leonine fondonas
and a little longer on the hard bones Pellejas with batons
spills tears and tenderness of children’s stories
how insulting triumph how how how stoned shout
and how humanly correct to understand and we are only men
petticoats behind maternal pleased behind the eyes of history
(They are the best product)
and how they are released from the nauseous humiliation of grief
after vomiting I lay in bed on your back
hot and want someone to sing to me
or to tell me a lot of lies and kiss me on the forehead
because I really think I have a high fever
what hard with hands hard on the eyes and teeth
and how useless hardness for soft and fearful clay
How not to be happy for so great hardness makes homes hospitals schools
scapulars work distributed power pours handfuls
its crushing handfuls justice
Among the whitish light of dawn in thin slits through the open window
I’m tired sleep without someone to sing me or to tell me
a pack of lies
Recercadas Diego Ortiz (1550- date of his death is unknown and put the sign “?”)
I applaud you applaud us applaud all
and we go
Love may have behind collegiate evenings
with puddles give thanks
all the words we said
in the woods watching the river go