Una soledad demasiado ruidosa (Narrativa) (Spanish Edition)

En realidad la forma de las cosas Es un aura palpable, Un alma, un eclipse hueco, Una cascada de horizonte helado Sin nada que ocultar. Marianela Medrano is a Dominican writer and poet, with a PhD in psychology living in Connecticut since Her individual publications include: I will arise now, and go the city in the streets, and in the broad ways I will seek… whom my soul loves.

Song of Songs 3: Should I dye my hair red? My old old old hair? Red strands of curls to wrap around his waist and watch him gush forth dripping birthing love again and again. I have no fear of love of soaking in the viscosity of a deferred dream that strips me of my name Nameless I wander the streets dismantled.

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Should I dye my hair red to dispel the voice no longer calling me? Should I wake up to darkness soaring like a kite in his hands? I will arise now, and go about the city in the streets, and in the broad ways I will seek… whom my soul loves. Mechones rizos que amarro a su cintura y le miro lanzarse hacia adelante goteando Dando a luz al amor una y otra vez.

Margarita Drago is an Argentinean professor, poet and narrator who has lived in the USA since she was released from prison. She is the author of the poetry collection Con la memoria al ras de la garganta ; and the memoir Fragmentos de la memoria. Fragments from Prison Luis Luna was born in Madrid, in It amazes you the heat, the uncertainty of the flame, the language of the smoke. The tense dialog from the cold and the twilight with the bodies close to the light, impelled to it as the bird to the edge.

It summoned not by the force of necessity nor the practice but also for the beauty. Te sorprende el calor, la incertidumbre de la llama, el lenguaje del humo. A ella convocados no por la fuerza de la necesidad ni la costumbre sino por la belleza. What matters is the image that arises in your memory the answer that vibrates in the empty hole of your hand.

Linda Morales Caballero was born in Peru, but has lived in several countries. El libro de los enigmas With LAIA, she created a yearly international literary contest and Anthology, and developed literary circles and creative writing workshops. Last year she co-founded the Literary Group: We swam against the current tied by our hands submerging in the bar among mermaids. Deep into the night, among drunks. Deep into time… within the midnight prop craters.

Through the waves of the glances I saw you passing through at once by all perspectives… from my stand point I saw your insides…. And so I loved you, but your confabulations started until a dragon erupted from my mouth the fire of a visceral and well known rage. My green desolation under the Manhattan planes pierced you from my pupils.

I wished to tear you apart, and I did. Suddenly, you became hair, saliva, a diluted smile, a distorted image. The picture of the feared number…. The night ran like a river to drain its tentacles at the sea of the subconscious, to reveal you that your icons live in the hippocampus of my lost eyes… You were so afraid about so much of so much in me… that you madness turned into a scarecrow for children.

A game of chimneysweepers, the organ grinder on the shadowed corner… a life of invented nightmares. Tuve deseos de deshacerte, y lo hice. Poet, ensayist and narrator. Chemist, biologist and college professor. Her work has been included in anthologies and critical studies. In she was awarded the first prize in the World Ecopoetry Contest. I feel the urge for a pocket planet To stroll upon it barefoot Unhurried and without schedules.

A planet to be shared With trees and deer Caterpillars, butterflies and dolphins A planet with seas of medusas and crustaceans And the migrations from arctic flights As far as the Indian Ocean. I survey the lengthening of a sigh And protect inside the pocket My planet of forests and mangrove swamps Voiceless in the air, peaceful in the cities. A planet whose people have green conscience Their hands determined to improve life And a soaring heart bursting by the edge of night.

Siento ganas de un planeta de bolsillo para caminarlo a pie sin prisa y sin horarios. Lena Retamoso Urbano Lima, is a P. She has published two poetry books: A professor of Anglo-Saxon language and literature. He resides in Buenos Aires since He has published thirteen books of poems, most recently: Baus [] y En este duro oficio [anthology, ].

Paolantonio also has six published novels, most recently: Traje de Lirio [] y Aguasanta []. In the theatre he has seventeen pieces compiled in four volumes, most recently: Un dios menor []. Paolantonio has won a many awards including: He has lived in NY since Koki is a bilingual autor Gallego and Castilian. His most recent work in the Gallego language are: His recent work in Castilian include: Ratas en Manhattan Chiado editora, Madrid , Entre tu cuerpo y mi cuerpo: Your exquisite body Sank in the tenuous water, While the moon fi ltered in With all its mysteries.

The window blinds Played with the wind, And the tub embraced you With its arms of iron. The water forever Climbed up your skin With its tender swashing To break your codes. I was the gale Stirring your sails, I was the tsunami Shaking your tub. At the end, however, time was Relentless, and I surrendered, Becoming harbor and seashore, To be the water in your bathtub. Also studied English and German. Also in , some of his poems have been included in the anthology, Solo para Locos Vol. He has participated in several literary events: While I write Someone agonizes Someone plants gardenias Someone unearths the bones of someone who wrote verses Someone sees the moon Someone with a face, with a name, with a tear rebuilds epochs on the sand And I, I carve holes in Time, Thinking myself the epicenter The sun of a galaxy that happens tied to my existence.

It eludes me that the others are suns to their own galaxies Inexperienced gods with a quill and a gas lamp in their chests predisposed to ceasing. While someone writes with blood and sighs their unrepeatable story I hesitate I expire I stop being. Mientras alguien escribe con sangre y suspiros su historia irrepetible yo vacilo yo caduco yo dejo de ser yo. La muerte, al fondo de las cerradas puertas, canta. Sus manos grises huelen a naufragios y a cenizas. A poet, actor, writer and director, he is Associate Professor at the National University of Colombia.

He studied Philosophy and Music at the Universidad del Valle. With Patricia Ariza, he founded Teatro Tramaluna more than 17 years ago. His work Death or how to bury his father has been published in the theatrical Anthology I by the National University of Colombia. One of his latest productions: Does perhaps the jaguar speaks to the lark? Does the saman tree to the murmuring stones of the river bed needs words to bury the roots and to drink the waters?

Within us… the Word. Word that still does not understand the sing of the birds ciphers in languages a paradise of deaths and passions. In the middle of a cornfield the ringdoves fly upon hearing the voices of harvesters that get nearby. En nosotros… la Palabra.

En medio del maizal las torcazas alzan vuelo al sentir la voz de los corteros que se acercan. A , and New York U. Poems in English appear in several editions of various college texts, among them The Bedford Introduction to Literatur e, Latino Boom , and Literature: A profile of him was published in the fall issue of Columbia Magazine. W e want to be our beautiful story. The story, of course, of this wall, ink of settlement, slaughter, slavery printed on pulp of white supremacy, sanctimoniously bound in denial.

Ramos was born in Santa Ana, El Salvador.

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She has been living in New York since She is a writer, poet and educator. Her poetry book Palabras al borde de mis labios was published in Mexico by miCieloediciones, Her poems have also appeared in anthologies, digital journals and blogs and literary magazines in Latin America and the United States. What she said, his sister. What they said, those who saw them go and come. The old pertaining to a group. The same nobility or the same lowness. And finally she who no longer listens. Lo que ella dijo. Lo que dijeron los que los vieron ir y venir.

La vieja pertenencia a un grupo. La misma nobleza o la misma bajeza. Otra vez el agua. Y finalmente ella que ya no escucha. Shapiro serves as Director of Literature and Editor of Review: He gave me a peso crushed smooth by a train, a green clay figurine. We swam in the fountain, circled by cars; drivers stopped to whistle: After that summer, he disappeared into Bloomington, Indiana.

We exchanged letters, one each, and stopped. We found the mummies of Guanajuato crowding a hill, babies in lace caps and trios of men, teeth exposed to sing rancheras to themselves. If I could wake you out of your heartland, I would point my finger south, toward a vanishing point of sand, knowing full well:.

When you placed that silver peso on the track, to smear the face of a man to alloy, entire histories disappeared. She is the author of Seguir al viento [Following the Wind]. She has been included in several anthologies. Her work has been partially translated into several languages. Certainty Death cannot be lamented through swirls of certainty. It happens almost always in the midst of outbursts From one joy to the next It falls silent and breeds in the heart of fear. Life is a crack of light Flowing from the purest black To endless darkness. Death is out there mocking Goading that thing we call absence Ordering others to clothe the body.

We guess, belatedly, other endings Like owners of that life we shared Time and space. We run away, we duck Arrogantly, helplessly, we refuse to move From our own lives. Before us, the others And the only one with a certainty. And we discover that death can be That luminous moment That happens after the black, long while That someone named life. Entonces tememos no ser rozados abrazados ya por nuestros hijos. Huimos, esquivamos nos plantamos arrogantes desvalidos ante nuestra propia vida.

Poet, translator, musician and scholar. He attended Universidad Nacional de Colombia where he studied both music and literature. Carlos earned his PhD at the University of Arizona where he specialized in the study of film and literature. Eunice took several courses in fashion design at Pratt Institute N.

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Secretos del faro is her first poetry book. Her poems appear on Mujeres de Palabra Poetic Anthology. Every race bows prostrate before the same courtesan with the loose-fitting crown under whose skirt lies concealed the rot of a mediocre world. The same woman rises arrogant on the banks of the Seine, Mrs. From Rome the Great to the Restored One the peacocks of phonetics flock together and reply with images that play out behind our backs.

Adulterous gods of noble stock with a shattering song and living quarters of which GOD does not partake. Mankind, meanwhile, saps the strength of silence with the wan joy of its feeling understood and flourishes to the ice bucket challenge in the garden of these lumpen gods. Let us cut the threads that pass through the eyes of the beads on our necklaces made of metal, living quarters and titles which, amid broken lives, keep us eagerly waiting! Cada raza se postra ante la misma cortesana de corona suelta, bajo cuya falda se esconde la fetidez de un mundo mediocre.

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Mientras, el hombre le quita fuerza al silencio con su vago goce de creerse comprendido. Alex Lima is the author of two poetry collections, Inverano and Bilocaciones His poems have also appeared in literary magazines and anthologies home and abroad. He received his Ph.

Despite our differences most of us in this room are less that ten generations apart Reach out! She has published nine books: Her visual poetry is included in the anthology La palabra transfigurada. She is the publisher of miCielo ediciones. I look at the horizon, I descend. A reddish sky blankets the city; so often hated-loved-hated, and fleeting yearning of one who has never walked it.

On the periphery of these jaws that devour, chew and digest without distinction; at the height of horizontal life, my belonging dwell: Leave me with the beastiary that dwells in my dreams and my men and my women and my machine of forgetting and my family history and my laces in my shoes and my errors and my few good decisions and my voice cutting the air, when nothing is enough now and only the Blues console me. Leave me with my posters: Leaveme with Luis Urbina: Miro el horizonte, desciendo. She has lived in New York City since Widely published in Latin America and Spain, some of her books have been published in translation in Italy, Quebec, Romania, and England.

Her most recent poetry collection is entitled Carcaj: She is the founding editor of Ediciones Pen Press www. Juan Armando Rojas Joo is a transborder poet, narrator and essayist. During the spring of Rojas was honored by the Universade de Coimbra, Portugal, as the resident poet. Rojas completed his Ph. I should say, that in this place, amongst other things I teach students grammar. When the course begins we review the present tense:. Days later I teach my students the art of contrasting the preterit and the imperfect. They practiced the language that was taught here:.

Time runs by —like it tends to do—and life gets so complicated that it reaches the point of the subjunctive. The students are graded according to their oral ability:. I should say that I am a Spanish professor and that amongst other things, of course, I teach Spanish. Al iniciar el curso repasamos el tiempo presente:.

El tiempo corre —como suele suceder— y las cosas en la vida se complican, hasta el subjuntivo. Los alumnos reciben notas de acuerdo a su destreza oral:.

Tina Escaja is a Spanish author, digital artist and scholar based in Burlington, Vermont. As a literary critic, she has published extensively on gender and contemporary Latin American and Spanish poetry and technology. Her creative work transcends the traditional book form, leaping into digital art, video and multimedia projects exhibited in museums and galleries in Spain, Mexico and the United States.

Her poetry has been translated into six languages and has appeared in literary collections around the world. The end comes suctioned by the eye of a fleshless god, of a cruel and obsolete god that masturbates sea swells and smashes the world of the enormous city in two. And you arrive as well, adventuress, with your pink belly and your clitoris to be made, with your tender marmalade of a body at conception. Liberated from wise men, from messiahs, from revelations. And the world succumbs its all to the declaration of god, of that god with no memory, with no more direction than a phallus sucked by masses that inherit him, with less itinerary than a crazy confused prophet perpetuated in dildos and charms.

You arrive on time love,. Llega el fin succionado por el ojo de un dios sin carne, de un dios obsoleto y cruel que masturba oleajes y rompe el mundo en dos de la ciudad enorme. Jaime Manrique is a Colombian-born novelist, poet, essayist, and translator who has written both in English and Spanish, and whose work has been translated into fifteen languages. Arenas, Lorca, Puig, and Me. He has just completed Two Men , a new novel. In the engulfing darkness, I cut the stems and make a bouquet for you, dear friend, who died much too soon when so many other things take too long to die.

Let the bees go and feed elsewhere— not on my porch, where I mourn you with rage. Who needs bees, I fume as I cut the sweet basil flowers to adorn my grief. En la oscuridad que me abraza corto los gajos y hago un ramillete para ti, amiga querida, muerta con demasiada premura cuando tantas otras cosas se demoran una eternidad para irse.

Nos las quiero en mi terraza, digo entre dientes. Me quejo con amargura mientras corto las dulces flores de albahaca para adornar mi pena. His work has been anthologized in different countries: Koyu Abe, in a harsh black tunic, head high and shaved brow furrowed plants a sunflower seed in the gardens of the Temple of Genji. Unhurried, he buries the small shell full of hidden light of unfolding wonder in a bowl dug from the Earth.

A breeze runs through the gardens of the Temple of Genji Koyu Abe feels it on his hands sprayed with water. It is still morning and his task is to plant each of these seeds and to cover them and to water them with orange sprinkles. Monks, farmers, all must have hands dampened by the water that irrigates the growing yellow wonders of children: Koyu Abe does not know Van Gogh, but he paints sunflowers with his shovel. Koyu Abe, whose gaze descries, in the distance, the grayish profiles of nuclear silos On the edge of Fukushima rise the gardens of the Temple of Genji and it is necessary to purify the heavens, purify the water, purify the soil, purify the suns, by the planting of sunflowers.

It is not about aesthetic effect—Koyu Abe speaks in the silence of the image: Pasa la brisa sobre los jardines del templo de Genji la siente Koyu Abe en sus manos salpicadas por el agua. Koyu Abe no conoce a Van Gogh, mas pinta girasoles con su pala. A la vera de Fukushima se levantan los jardines del templo de Genji y es preciso purificar el cielo, purificar las aguas, purificar el suelo, purificar los soles sembrando girasoles. She is the Cultural editor of the newspapers El Emigrante and department director of the Casa de la Cultura Guayaquil.

She has received several literary awards in Ecuador and Argentina. Her work has been translated and included in anthologies around the world. How often does the Wednesday woman unfold her face wash her feet and walk again upon her words. How often does the Wednesday woman look for the mouth of her lover, tremble in this arms, and desperate cry out her love and sob her words in silence.

How often does the Wednesday woman want to flee her passion forget her dreams and simply stay tied down how often does she laugh and sing how many tears of love. Not his real name. I know his real name now. He was about 90 miles away, somewhere in New Jersey or Pennsylvania.

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He just wanted to chat. About being a cumslut. Alex had been a more or less normal gay man with a boyfriend. Then he started to crave cum. More than that, he started to crave HIV. He wanted to get infected. These bareback bottoms were called bug chasers The men who cooperated, exposed them to HIV, were called gift givers. Sounds almost innocuous, like straight, no chaser, or like carelessly drinking from the same glass as somebody with a bad cold. It is so deep and dark and damaged, yet at the same time so completely comprehensible, normal even.

Or so I say. I know the idea that I find this anything less than completely revolting will itself seem completely revolting to many people. Are any of these people reading this poem? I suppose some of them are. She has published numerous poetry collections including: She has also published essays: Her latest book, Cartas extraordinarias , has just been released by Alfaguara, Buenos Aires Negroni is a worldwide renowned translator and has received the Guggenheim and Rockefeller fellowships among others.

Her work has been translated to English, French, Italian and Swedish. Born in Damietta, Egypt, , Shahawy graduated from the Journalism Department, Sohag University, where he contributed to establishing a local newspaper. His poems have been translated into many languages including Turkish. Since he participated in many poetry festivals organized in many countries of the world.

I sell darkness and make no profit at all; I sell sleep for them whose heads shine with lanterns that never go out. I shroud defeats, however, and corpses of memories I burn, too, for a very modest fee, in order that lovers may be oblivious, and steal their souls if they like it so. I shall not lend at interest, nor shall bargain, or overprice, even though we trade in blame as pure as rain and make an offer for owners of the Elephant so that they may not destroy the Cube of love, again.

I trade in dust of graves so that the dead may remember less. There is no room for mortgage in my shops, nor shelves for love, since the one who sells love in the marketplace His name is not Ahmad. Translated from Arabic by Bahaa-eddin M.

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He has published the following books of poetry: He has participated in various anthologies, both in Argentina and in other parts of the world. He has been invited to National and International Festivals. To write a ten acre poem I will have to summon all the fish, the magician who wanders through the nights, the smell of freshly baked bread the foam in the sea. I will have to revive those who have left me, bring back ships stranded in the breeze, sapphires and emeralds, the child that dreamed of being a scarecrow, the old bell tower, the train platform in that village.

From the tiniest herb its fragrance, from the jigsaw puzzle its enigmas and from the eyes of the departed his prayers. A ten acre poem means feeling cold, letting yourself go like a weathervane, awakening in the tango that strips us bare, being a kite, a mailbox, an archer. Disabling it will result in some disabled or missing features. You can still see all customer reviews for the product. Top rated Most recent Top rated. All reviewers Verified purchase only All reviewers All stars 5 star only 4 star only 3 star only 2 star only 1 star only All positive All critical All stars All formats Format: There was a problem filtering reviews right now.

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