For
Ademir Jesus Morales Rojas.
The wonderful thing about life is that every day gives us a new reason to disappear.
Cioran. -------------------------------------------------
--------------------------------------------------
--------------- Everything is easier without heart?
Sometimes I think I am a pot
With a string of snowy cores
And man ... and the world ...
learns to love ... I love
Village
Lily's mouth and spruce all crack me ...
... anything goes as long as my wings
swapped a pendulum in ecstasy
Absórbanme ephemeral children!
That I am always a line.
(From Absorbez-moi)
pain, failure, frustration ... that the world hangs in the void is obvious and distressing, and yet there are people who struggle to prevent irreparable fall, its absolute destruction.
Bellrham Dina's poetry is a valuable testimony of this redemptive urge that constantly transmuting, so often tortuous, emptying into words being lost reservations, food for the exhausted souls, are making a singular act of sacrifice and sneaky but eventually gives a rationale, however fragile and crystalline enough for the whole fabric of reality that contains us and leads.
My loves have been a heap of broken intensity.
My hands have always beat for a fleeting flight.
But I'm so intense and grim. Happy alone.
... If I have become universally eyes ...
... Rather, I am the sea. Because like it or not crawl to my side
filth and tenderness. I am a passive sponge.
Sometimes I think I have a layer of paradoxical powers and I can morph the heart of this wicked world.
(Letter Doctor)
is possible to analyze the compositions of the author where identified the following scheme:
1) I (enunciating poetic / author)
2) He (the beloved / the recipient of the message text)
3) The word (petals painted and silences red / poem / writing)
The interaction of these three core compositional results in a unique dialectic be summarized as follows:
a) First refusal (the poet refuses and transmuted into verses)
The poet / poetry advertiser done is alienated word elegant is unknown in terms of their nakedness, their anatomy exposed in a "sanitary" (perhaps the formation medical science, the author makes this transition) and the emptying of identity in the poem is reflected in many beautiful and expressive models:
I hung out to dry my
atrium where they emerge
words ... Everything is easier heartless
(De Absorbez-moi)
I feel invisible, stored in a canvas
archaic
was never famous ...
(De Retour)
'm caught in my reflection of human ...
(De Epistle (poetic prose )
My hands do not understand dwarf their anxiety malnourished or these eyes
his unexpected sliver
who wanders in
wheel skeleton (De spiders bipolar)
Second negation (the verses are not enough to get close to be desired)
b) expressive intent of the author may never complete its mission in the first instance, the lack of sensitivity of the loved one or lack thereof, and for the climax of love, the delightful depersonalization of both participants, motivate the inherent limitation of a building so lucidly beautiful, as insufficient to contain the time trying to rescue: I have decided
dementia weaving in my condor feathers
snowy ... without you ... I prefer to fill my plate
to overdose ...
vessels (spider bipolar)
Meanwhile let us go up to the stage and costumes
kiss while
shelters and its complex of millipedes ...
Meanwhile my love ... we are unknown
(Delirium II) sodium Nights
I tattoo while I do the sleeping.
Sometimes I think you hate me, and transmits a gesture
eschatological
from the brothel where you live
(De Retour)
c) Assurance (failure stems from the above poem, which serve as food to the reader, repeated the dialectic implicitly deny everything that he read, however, this results in persistence of being, the dialectical progress, save the world)
The poet has made word, poem, dragonfly in flight, seeking to express the permanent failure fully cherish the beloved, she already discussed in verses offering food, healing, in the eyes of the reader (also their own so therefore) that by participating in the work, to transform spoken words all virtual elements that led to the disputes, but inside the reader, the seeds of life that the author placed in his works, germinate, and construct a particular world perspective on where they now have feelings, memories and experiences which previously lacked: the dark dragonfly, from the shadowy regions of suffering, has offered up made light, wanting to reach the moon, to illuminate the world, and make clear that it was completely different to what I always, from one moment to another it was thought.
Die! ... Rhinoceros
my end my pain I'm happy
ant.
(De spiders bipolar)
... Someone smiles at me while I expand my legs
like a book ... ... The staff digested the last heat ...
-silence becomes you, "
(Of Do-re-mi)
And me?
also necrotic
animals hanging from a tree ...
spelling sheltered bodies
lyrics ... I'm not yours
these nipples contain mana lumólogo
to my crotch ...
uncorrupted
for latent launches poetry ... your branches are
perennial autumn and I fulfill all seasons
bloom!
(De not ego, is tired)
am born
always love (factory default) and a woman
ecstatic of cobwebs ...
again be your monster under the bed
recognize my poetry inevitably esoteric
and forestry nothing ever will be.
Nothing, when I was everything! You'll still fearing
moistened my skin beats
snobbery ... there elixir for my bad
die and I am born
made love ... And I kill myself as well ... Because while the fingers
spill our outbursts
I am ... I'm loving
podridamente
(too much)
Everything and nothing, negation of negation: love.
Bellrham Dina's poetry is ultimately a sacrifice of love, tortuous, plaintiff and all, a gift motivated only by the noise to be loved, be loved by the silence, we returned redeeming gift from the poet, who becomes old when he writes, giving their lives in the sap of the pendulum, to return the silence that has never failed to express the emptiness of a world defenseless, but now, touched by this issue of the dragonfly ecstasy, is a silence grateful for having been able to enjoy a little time, if the fertile radiant and fleeting sound, light.
The numen of yesterday has left seeds
his secret is mine ... we are lovers and enemies
...
(De Epistle poetic prose-)
Not that I love. Not conceive the idea that I love.
I who am dragonfly storing tree branches.
I love.
(From Letter to Doctor)
Site
poet Dina Bellrham:
http://bellrham.blogspot.com/
0 comments:
Post a Comment