Charles Bukowski

ABRAZA LA OSCURIDAD

LA PALABRA
I
¿Quién no ha sentido que la poesía devora al miedo y la miseria? Las palabras se derraman como un cielo alucinante, como anzuelos de sangre que atrapan los últimos peces de la existencia. Estas rebeldes de la esperanza nos convocan, mantienen en vilo nuestra lenguas, nos hacen aprender el amor, el único canto del hombre libre.

II
No es él quien en verdad le pasa por encima a ella: ella suspende su cuerpo de cobrizos hilos, expele tantas flores como sed en el infierno, exhibe sus moradas, sus templos de hedonismo, mientras surca con gemidos el horizonte y es ella, la palabra quien pasa por encima de los egos que el poeta guarda en su entrepierna.

Dafne Pinilla

THE UNBREAKABLE NIGHT

“I cannot write-I cannot speak or think-
Alas I cannot feel; for’ tis not feeling,
This standing motionless upon the golden
Threshold of the wide - open gate of dreams.”
E.A. Poe
“Ist es mei leben getraümt oder ist es wahr?
(He soñado mi vida, o fue un sueño)
Walter Von der Volgelweide

RAINING SHADOWS
This time I will run, this time I will open the door and run, no more water, no more salt as diamonds coming from my eyes. I picked time from my blue dress, I took all my words, and I am ready to go. The cottage seems smaller now. The old wood creaks as a dramatic song. Dirt on the chairs, dirt on the table, the same dirt I kept in my soul? Little gaps surround my mind while my feet move to the exit. I hope he does not come, I hope God listens to me this time. The noises of breaking branches move me out of my stupid dream. It is late. That smell and my body trembling are signs all is lost.
I wait hidden under the table. If I could only be invisible, if only he couldn´t see my purple face, if the house doesn’t whisper my name. I hear logs rattling, the smell of leaves sweating: the death of spring. A light is entering in the room, but I cannot see it, my eyes are open but the darkness is still in my head. Weeping, melting, all myself becoming water, my members fusing on the wood, I cannot hold it, I just let it go, I hope he is not seeing the puddle going out. I am not a person. Not anymore. The drops dancing, watering the dirt from my soul, the dirt from my eyes. For a second I´m free, I´m free once again.
There, he is chewing his tobacco, he moves his hand and moves the tablecloth aside. The bends down, he puts his face close to me, he drinks me, he tastes all my water, and he puts myself inside him. I don’t feel the last crack. I am not in pain. I am gone before the scream possesses my lungs. I am not afraid anymore. I just think in running water and its sound makes me asleep…

INSOMNIA
I close the window. The light is outside playing on the grass. I come back to the place I never left. My night, my sweet darkness. That childhood nightmare is still chasing me. How can I put it away? How can I know it really happened? If that never happened why am I so scared? I get in my bed looking at the wood over my face.
Lazy days calling for you
Come out to play
The future lies with you
Now you can be sure love is the cure
I turn off the radio.
There is in my belly a hidden abyss
A throat of noise and fear
I submerge my hands
I see blood and guts
Letters and a small purple butterfly
I try to catch her
She refuses
I turn off my mind.
Insomnia makes me weak. When the desire to sleep flees, I cannot stay. Without resting I feel sick, I talk with madness. I need to sleep, but not dream. Sleep without entering in the shadows, sleep and no more…

THE STRANGER
I am walking in New York. It must be New York. It is too noisy. There is something going on the street: Police cars, firefighters looking at the top of the building. I look there but I see nothing. There is too much smoke. I feel tired and thirsty. I don’t have a penny. I enter in a small shop. On one of the tables I see an orange juice box. When no one is looking I take it and I drink the content. Then a man gets close to me. He is the owner of the box. I say I am sorry. I look at him. I know I have seen him before. There is a familiar smell. Woods? dirt? puddle? He is looking at me with his varmint face. I know he does not want the box, he wants me, I need to wake up…

THE WAX HOUSE
This time I know what to do. I am walking with strangers. They look like movie actors, like those plastic people I used to laugh at. They are really wax sculptures with hard bad gestures. They told me we are looking children musical show. They seem to know where they are going. I just follow them without ask. We arrive to the back entrance, a big and heavy red door. We get in and we discover there is a hall with a hundred of small doors. Someone said: “let’s take this one”. We all get inside. The room is like a princess place: pink walls, ponies, stuff animals, there was a girl with a sparkled dress sitting on the bed. The others keep walking, they don’t notice she is crying or maybe they don’t want to see her, whimpering as a birdie that has suddenly forget how to fly. The others jump out to a blue door at the end of the room. I sit down but she does not notice me. I touch her back, I rub it softly. She turns and jumps in my arms. I see her face, I see myself in her eyes. I keep hugging her, hugging me. I realize it was real, all the childhood nightmare really happened when I was her. We don’t say anything. We don’t need it. Both of us fall asleep; we hope this dream doesn´t finish yet…

AT THE END OF DARKNESS
I get ready. - I am wearing my silk pajamas. I already had a splendid dinner. I am listening to Louis Armstrong and looking out through the window: The lights twinkle over the dark blanket of the horizon. I say good night to the city. I put my glass of wine on my night table. Suddenly, I feel something strange in the air; a long gloomy wind surrounds me. A figure shows up and begins to walk closer. Is he? The game will be over? I don’t see his face but the smell of broken branches, the night deeper and darker than ever. I smile while I let slide the only thing could save me. The shadow jumps over me and when everything seems to be gone I raise a mirror I open my eyes, I see me, I see the little girl saying no more tears, the nightmare has finished and the light of the moon shines on your face. The fear is dead and will keep living without him.
Dafne Pinilla 2009