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11 poems to learn about poetry in Argentina

From Ioshua to Jorge Luis Borges, we walk through classical and contemporary authors. A diverse list that suffices to show how gender was manifested and continues to be manifested in the country.

Art and Literature
poesía argentina

 Boundaries (Jorge Luís Borges)

Of these streets that go deep into the west, there will be (I don't know which
one) that I have traveled
for the last time, indifferent
and unguessed, subjected

to anyone who prefers omnipotent rules
and a secret and rigid measure
to the shadows, dreams and forms
that wean and weave this life.

If for everything there is term and there is tax
and last time and never again and forget
who will tell us who, in this house
without knowing it, we have said goodbye?

Behind the gray glass the night ceases
and from the height of books that a truncate
shadow dilates through the vague table,
some of us will never read.

There is more than one worn gate in the South
with its masonry vases
and tunas, which in my way is forbidden
as if it were a lithograph.

Forever you closed a door
and there is a mirror waiting for you in vain;
the crossroads seem open
and watch it, quadrifronte, Jano.

There is, among all your memories, one
that has been irreparably lost;
neither the white sun
nor the yellow moon will see you go down to that source.

Your voice will not return to what the Persian
said in his tongue of birds and roses,
when at sunset, in the light scattered,
you want to say unforgettable things.

What about the relentless Rhone and the lake,
all that yesterday I'm leaning over today?
He'll be as lost as Carthage
who wiped out the Latin with fire and salt.

I believe in dawn to hear a busy
rumor of crowds moving away; they
are what I wanted and forgotten;
space, time and Borges already leave me.

 Farewell (Alejandra Pizarnik)

An abandoned fire kills his light.
A bird in love climbs his song.
So many greed creatures in my silence
and this little rain that accompanies me.

 Disarmament (Florence Piedrabuena)

The first day I was going to kill you because of a proliferation of glances towards the walls of the bar.
The second day I was going to leave you after sex.
On the third day I was going to compete with words, hit you with your tongue and your saliva.
On the fourth day I was going to break you and enslave you.
On the fifth day, when I had no more bullets left,
I was going to poison you
kissing you.
On the sixth day, I decided that I wasn't going out of uncertainty,
and I went to open your head to put doubts
and a time bomb.
It didn't explode.

On the seventh day I was going to say no.
The eighth I can't do it anymore.
I'm another one.
In my desire to show you that I can destroy everything,
I broke up with me,
and I broke up.
I mean,
I'm my pieces
and
I'm also out of guns
but I'm also

I stayed with you.

 The footprints (Silvina Ocampo)

On the banks of the waters collected
in the regular light of the ground united
as if together they always walked,
alone, it would seem that they loved each other,
in the salt of the foam with stars,
on the sand under the sun the footprints
of our bare feet
so distant, and dumb.
Leaving a promise drawn
our voice meanwhile self-absorbed divides
into the air and crosses
the blue cruelty of nature
as we alone cross
the beach and talk to each other.

 Evil is Man (IOSHUA)

I open the book on the most open page.
In the one I can say by heart with every tear.
The one that says the same thing from the first time
we were so close that we had the smell of each other between our fingers.

it was already.

For all the times I charged to take, I
'd pay to be loved
and something left

of what's gone
from what I've already lost
from
what I've already spent to keep something
with me.

 Superpower (Fabian Casas)

Like he's a superpower, he's got his feelings encapsulated.
When you open them, they're just like you left them. We could say
that bureaucracy is that place where there is no longer a shred of love.
The long runner of the years, shining, vacuum-packed.

 Moms (Soledad Castresana)

Do you remember
that time we
bathed the chicks with shampoo?

we scrub their wings
and sink them in the bucket
to rinse the foam

do you remember?
we put them to dry in the sun
on the
sliced short
they smelled like seaweed

one by one
slowly
began to die

do you remember?
we spent the day
crying to those children
who had not endured
so much love

 Untitled - from the book black water (Martin Rodriguez)

dad is asleep
in the trunk of an old car
yesterday opened it to fall asleep there drunk
and flew moths, crashed into
the windows
of the church, gave
me a warmer and a bottle
with a rag in your mouth
-keep warm that it is night and it will rain, you're big enough
said.
With your arms down, Dad,
you look like a bag of potatoes or a bull.
Did you build buildings?
The hard crust of houses stone on stone?
I don't get to you.
You're high, the armor shines
like a cold star.
you were of the German army
your smile waving
from above a Panzer behind the back of a destroyed city, serious camera
look
in the hands of the lawyer's diploma, fog-filled
photos in old boxes.
at night at home
you passed gauze with pure alcohol
to the black boots, the cigarette lit on the lips
- this gives shine - you said
the stir in the pocket of the sack.
sleeping dad is an old car
the big industry the family
broke and soldered the broken inside
a dog that never corrected his tenderness
well
curled up in the trunk:
don't wet the rain
I'll look for an awning to cover us
warm up, the cold comes to the bones
and stays there

 The Sword, the Staff (Leonidas Lamborghini) I
what vanquished by age: the sword.
what he complains: the staff more corvo and less. what
the shadow steal. the eyes
that do not find.
the memory less. the sword
less.II
by whom it expires already: more corvo and.
what you don't find
in what, the less strong sword, the whining of the staff.
what death crumbles: eyes.III
memory of death: the streams
of the yellow. what the shadow. the spoils. the
yelo in which the eyes. the mount. the sword. already:
from yelo.IV
what the shadow stole: the light.
the sword of light, the most of the staff.
strong walls. age by whom: bravery. V

the sun drank: the streams. Already
crumbled herds. the yello of the eyes. of the stone. the yello
of the mount. of the shadow.V
more from thisother part: gloriously burning
medullas. gloriously veins.
gloriously unleashed body. dust and
ash: gloriously burning.
VI
of that other: a God-To-Flame
who loves swimming
in love, a God-Ama
who burns: with cords, with veins. with humor:
respect lost to severe law. the flame
that nothing. a God-Ama swimming
in love in Agua Fría. A God All that is Body
in love. VII
but not from this other side: severe law
that can:
close your eyes. VIII
more of that other part on the bank:
Flame that nothing and Nothing
in Cold Water: it will make sense.
Nothing burning unleashed: it will make sense.
Flame body that knows how to
swim Nothing in Cold Water: it will make sense.
Powder-nothing: Ash-nothing burning: it will make sense.
God loves nothing
and calls Nothing: it
will make sense.

 Untitled - From the book popular poetry argentine (Vicente Luy)

Before we ask you to leave.
First, we ask for justice.
Now we ask you not to laugh at us.
Then what shall we ask for; mercy?
Use your hatred for the common good.
Put your hatred at the service of the common good.

 A clear plastic (Fabian Casas)

I opened the door and you were taking a bath.
The fogged glasses, the noise of the water
behind the curtains,
the essential things installed
outside the reason.
You called me, you approached your face
and we kissed through the
transparent plastic - it was an instant.
Couples and literary magazines almost always
last two issues.
However, little by little,
we gained ground for the river: endless
days when chaos
took your shape to wrap me better.

Source: Cultura.gob.ar 

Publication Date: 09/05/2019

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