Welcome to the Third Issue
Welcome to the the third Issue of the Dialogue of the Dogs. The issue was published in the Summer of 2001 in Spanish but I had it interpreted to English. It had a total of 17 poetry contributors.
Contributor 1: MILENA RODRIGUEZ
This young poet was born and educated and n Cuba, but it takes a few years studying at the Faculty of Arts of Granada, whose magazine, POINT CLEAR, makes literary standard. He proved in the First National MAGAZINES SPANISH related to the University. We extract some poems from his book The day our daily bread (Granada, 1998), winner of the Prize García Lorca University.
THE OUR DAILY BREAD
Women sit behind your dreams
wait for men.
And men do not come.
Women take away the peel
They throw them salt and sugar
They put them into the fire
and they turn them back.
And men do not come.
And they spend, spend.
And removed from the oven
and they go to the yard
and they eat.
It is not the Alhambra
with five light
sad walking promenading.
It is not the Huerta
where the good Federico
He displays your love and papers.
and cobblestone streets dressed.
singing and dancing in the corners
in the Roma who they are not but feel.
No blood weddings
ink ink that is written in the press.
with their dwarf red and coyotes
dawn in Baghdad and sidewalks.
Granada is Juan Carlos and his angels
lights before five
with silver wedding
with art and letters
inventing the most valuable surrealism
to surrender their hugs given away
Havana to bring me home
every day I walk through the door.
Contributor 2: WHITE MARGA SAMOS
This works lecturing Granada Spanish Language and Literature in a village near the city where only comparable to that monument Taj Mahal in India, according to words of Carlos Cano is housed: the Alhambra. Part of the editorial board LETTER CLARA, journal of the Faculty of Arts of Granada. He was representing and defending tooth and nail your project (published, for the moment, on paper) in that FIRST MEETING OF NATIONAL MAGAZINES related to the University held in the city of Murcia. Quarrels and disputes between juicy got “steal” sneak these poems.
Walking the Andean mountains
red scarf at the neck,
walk the streets
from the plates
every last blade of grass,
summarize the corners in a kiss
see three museums in one day.
Those things that are fun
if you like who accompanies you.
On your body
my shadow leaves
because it covers the entire,
I cut for you
the sun of the mountains.
FROM THE SOFA
When the hood cooled back
with the powers of adolescence,
a wind vane hair changes
he resists we estrellemos on the horizon.
Two butterflies with his winged love
They lost in the clouds.
Illusions that could have been met
leave as Lepidoptera,
on a sofa in solitary hours
with flowers that inflame the air.
Let us run, are the provisional gardens
that gives the spring,
as a dry elm,
as a new source,
as you back tomorrow
the pleasure this afternoon.
Contributor 3: JORDI Virallonga
Born in Barcelona (1955). He is Professor (EU) of Spanish Philology at the University of Barcelona and president of the Poetry Classroom of Barcelona. Specialist in contemporary poetry, regularly publishes articles on literary criticism, and books translated from Italian, Portuguese, French and Catalan.
His poetry is composed: saberte (1981), Perimeter day (1986), the profile of the peace (1992) chronicles of usury -prize Irun City (1997 and 1999) – and the anthology Take you home the day (2000).
Has also published booklets Life’s a lie, yet he is serious (Madrid, 1995) and with order and harmony (Palma de Mallorca, 1996). His poetry books have been translated into Italian and Turkish. Some of his poems into French, English, Portuguese, Romanian, Macedonian and Danish.
Among his books of essays include: Jose Agustin Goytisolo, life and work (Madrid, 1992). He is a founding member of AUNA (Aula Barcelona poetry), electronic magazine participant FIRST MEETING OF NATIONAL MAGAZINES LINKED TO SPANISH UNIVERSITY.
These texts are drawn from his very recent book Turin’s poems, published by the prestigious publishing house Lumen Catalan.
They had to fight to the death
and many wanted it. They burned
temples and libraries and filled
valleys, bilges, plazas, of corpses.
Prestige sought and obtained,
only some anonymous honors
scattered pieces in museums.
Poet chase rewards
if you can deny that in this place,
Far from gatherings and conferences,
where children come to smoke
and piss on capitals and bottles,
buried, they ignored five empires.
It will last flight, no birds,
fire without war, land
by the water, without good without evil.
The ideas changed the streets, not the air,
they are a shade floating in the sea.
Whatever it is, like it or not, it is what awaits you.
You need that big
he yields to the small,
fall asleep, create monsters,
and it is collected.
How we use it every day
to be alive counterbalance
the value of calm and joy
on agreements, assets and beliefs.
I am not mistaken:
everything is an offering
that chance has
Just do not be a miser.
The rest do not know.
Contributor 4: VÁN TORRENS
Born in Barcelona in 1966. He writes poetry since dropping their hands in Los Angeles from Rafael Alberti, that is, about 20 years ago. He has participated in concerts organized by cultural associations of Barcelona (Institution of Catalan, Cambra Iberoamerican Poetry and Poetry Hall of Barcelona). So did the First National MAGAZINES SPANISH related to the University.
He coordinates and digital editor of the online magazine of poetry AUNA, which publishes the Barcelona Poetry Classroom online only.
All his work is unpublished and the -a time judging by what is done to pray to bring to light some of his poems is not worried too that continues.
Carebánol is a city
with more than a million poems
(According to the latest statistics).
But television is the most widespread on the planet means.
They say electronic displays.
Says the newspaper.
I tell you.
And I say that sometimes at night I toss and turn
and I wonder lexical bodies
that vorticean on tables full of novelties.
I am that I look how children are born and mouths speak,
and hands write and publishers publish the specifications.
I’m wondering if the poems
are more than a million in Carebánol,
because I’m afraid of big bodies dryness.
I am not a citizen, that belongs to the old history.
I can manage, promote
and protect their own desire and capacity.
I can communicate
with people looking, albeit differently,
build their life project.
And how are you?
I do not believe in the country,
I am an ordinary man.
It is free because his seed long ago
that was sown in the ground
and because it can not be smoked or ingested.
Swarms and sprouts. Made twigs and stems.
It multiplies briefly in a place or island
between people or things.
Visual surfaces say
if you smile you’re happy.
I do not want to smile
I can not sleep
I can not laugh
I can not sleep
give me some peace
I want some peace.
Let the warrior die on the shore.
THE DOCK OF THE CROWDS
You tire of me
that you can no longer put up with
that ye can not over boredom.
I do not tell me you aguantéis
and two stones to grind me.
I will chafe like me
a subway car.
Neither will I know that I took the line 2.
I’ll go in the opposite direction, towards La Mina.
I forget to go to the photo shop,
four spools remain in my portfolio
and I no longer wait for the subway cars
they are timed.
Suffice it to look
1999 would be the end … but I let it go
train No. 412 bound
the platform of the crowds
where poets write
in squared notebooks.
I do not care apretujarme
in the car line 4
I do not care that I zarandeen
automatic doors, nor do I care
not knowing what I’m station
transshipment or what I take.
If I go down and I hope in Girona
the next train is sure: I’ll be home.
Not rush today that I can
write a few verses.
Who cares that in line
Photo Store there are ten people
and is the most unfriendly clerk
which treats me.
I do not care
if there is nobody to wait for me, if you are a crowd.