Noviembre, El Cairo

[Arcadia]

Hablamos de cortes, de tiempos no propicios
(recordamos si alguna vez hubo algo así como tiempos propicios)
nos animamos entre fuertes ráfagas de memoria y absurdo
con pedidos de cervezas y gaseosas acompañadas con platitos de maníes salados
y pizzas Margarita y Egipto vestidas de sábado a la noche.
Después de un rato
nos preguntamos qué entenderán los más jóvenes de estas conversaciones estridentes
de mesas redondas y como lo estarán pasando:
ellos bostezan o hablan entre sí y se ríen de sus propias cosas y de a ratos de nuestras caras y de nuestros enojos.
(Salimos del agujero interior)
la conversación y la noche se hacen una y diversa
en canales alternativos de armónicas disonancias
que nos recorren epidérmicamente las palabras.

[revolutionR]

My mentor as I call him could translate Spanish, he translated a lot of Spanish poetry, that I would not have been able to read otherwise. I would like to read this. Arcadia.

[Arcadia]

you don´t need a mentor, r-rabbit: it´s just heartfelt white noise!

[revolutionR]

When I first began writing, it helped to have somebody that could show me where my beat words were, somebody that cared that I was a poet, that showed me obscure books to read, that was only in the beginning. I remember when Rik declared that we are now surrealists. And we knew a famous surrealist poet that had met the leader of the surrealist movement when he was a teenager. It seems like a hundred years ago now. I remember when Rik read a poem I had written and he said this is it, and his eyes lit up. I remember getting that poem published in a local paper. Yeah I called him my mentor, but he was a hard task master, being a surrealist is a very unusual occupation.