{"id":1879,"date":"2010-10-10T11:29:40","date_gmt":"2010-10-10T18:29:40","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/jo-online.vsb.bc.ca\/keller\/?page_id=1879"},"modified":"2010-10-10T11:29:40","modified_gmt":"2010-10-10T18:29:40","slug":"poems","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/blogs.vsb.bc.ca\/dkeller\/dounut-media\/los-dios-de-los-muerto\/poems\/","title":{"rendered":"Poems"},"content":{"rendered":"
Beauty which Departs but Returns to Mixquic<\/strong><\/span><\/em><\/div>\n

The small floating island travels through the canal.
\n– Open the door, mother! So that we can surprise
\nthat wandering soul who has arrived at our offerings;
\nthe mirrors of the waterways have blinded her…<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

but she can feel her way, alone, to our house.
\nPrepare the food. That death may see
\nthat this love of life we offer as a gift
\nso that she may better understand what the mystery
\nhas bequeathed.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

– Yes, dear daughter. Our house, clean, welcomes our
\nvisitor.
\nLights. Incense. Tamales. Chairs.
\nThe bed is made with flowers which we bought.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

The little floating house is beauty that traverses
\nby the unparalleled road of all the river banks
\nwe get on and then… Will we return?<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Julie Sopetran
\n(Spanish poet, 2000)<\/em><\/span><\/strong> <\/span><\/p>\n

Source: Poem found in\u00a0Mexico City, Mixquic & Morelos- Through the Eyes of the Soul, Day of the Dead in Mexico<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

\n

<\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

<\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Journalist with a Borrowed Suit<\/strong><\/span><\/div>\n

I am a cadaver of the PRESS
\nI was born in a story;
\nin the most serious of news
\nI am the specialist.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

I see many die.
\nI am the true journalist;
\ntranscribing my work
\nI was left with no skin.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

My indepth articles
\nprovide reason for opinions;
\nunder my blue suit, I hide
\nmy bones and my heart.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Not to argue,
\nthe PRESS has authority;
\nit brings what’s necessary
\nif it’s to report the TRUTH.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/strong>My style is to present the naked truth
\nsince my suit is borrowed;
\nI like the raw news
\nand I outline the story.<\/strong><\/p>\n

Death beckons me
\nshe follows me;
\nif I don’t write about her, she will come for me
\nor she will sentence me to oblivion.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

The interview torments me
\nI detest the transcription:
\nshe doesn’t bother with gossip
\njust the facts.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

I research the questionnaire
\nI like what is ethnocentric;
\nI am that skeleton in the closet
\nand they call me egocentric.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

I have many educated readers
\nwho growl at me;
\nthey are like adult children
\nforgetting death.
\nSubjective, impression,
\nbias from which we suffer;
\nDeath without a heart
\nidea she doesn’t deserve<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

I write for those who think
\nmy advice is precise;
\nI send my message through the intense
\ncalling of notices.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

My friend plays the drums
\nannouncing the carnage;
\nawaken into Love!
\nWithout which you have nothing.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Come on! Read the news
\nfor in this world of excesses;
\nonly he who thinks is saved
\nand the rest, are bones.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Don’t look at me if you are scared
\nbut that coffin is my home;
\nif you can’t handle its sight
\nits’ better to take it in jest.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

I am a professional
\nof the profession of providing news;
\nnews-it’s all evil
\nto be good is only … sacrifice.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Diversity is the secret
\nof being and enjoying;
\nplaying the drums, dares
\nthose who know how to Love.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

And me as a journalist
\nof the NEWS skinny and frank;
\nI invite you to run the show
\nbare and for no reason.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Bones and heart to the wind
\nWho can stop us?
\nNot the internet, nor thoughts,
\nonly those who can READ.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Julie Sopetran
\n(Spanish poet, 2000)<\/em>
\n<\/span><\/strong>
\nSource: Poem found in\u00a0Mexico City, Mixquic & Morelos- Through the Eyes of the Soul, Day of the Dead in Mexico<\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Message in Colors<\/strong><\/span><\/em><\/div>\n

Lit candles. Faces. Memories
\nand an entrance that’s a rainbow: protection for the place
\nof rest and meditation.
\nNecklaces. Cempasuchitl, pre-Hispanic links, songs,
\npaper medals, flames talking to the wind
\nthe diverse language departed.
\nIt is the prime time of the celebration
\nor death’s thread, threaded
\nthrough time’s needle.
\nIt is the decomposition of matter, transformed into art.
\nIt is the final curtain awaken from death in Ocotepec.
\nYes. An eternal dream of uncorrupt flowers and of
\ngibberish.
\nIt is death’s lament, fading away
\nand it is also the respect made a tribute.
\nWho could have imagined so much beauty on a tomb?
\nMole. Glass of water. Copal. Salt. Prayers.
\nFirecrackers. Fruits. Bread. Music.
\nCorridos. Bolas. Romantic songs.
\nHistory, praised. Creativity, expressed
\nin its most raw form…
\nAnd it is the color purple, elegies in white, blue, pink.
\nIt is a blow from grace so heightened as artificial fire
\nthat reveals the soul’s presence in the darkness.
\nSomething like the flowering of martyrdon in flames.
\nAn arrangement for the end or the posthumous splendor.
\nIn Morelos everything is possible
\ngloom battles with life and its victor,
\nit is once again for a little which, happiness, live tradition
\nwhich overcomes reality.
\nIt was before these ornate gravesites, when I knew
\nthat in Ocotepec, as in my heart,
\nthose that have departed return every year to remind us of
\ntheir love.
\nAnd that only LOVE can save us.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Julie Sopetran
\n(Spanish poet, 2000)
\n<\/em>
\nSource: Poem found in\u00a0Mexico City, Mixquic & Morelos- Through the Eyes of the Soul, Day of the Dead in Mexico<\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

\n

Unnamed<\/strong><\/span><\/em><\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Death has arrived
\ndancing the carisisqui
\nshe has come to take with her
\nthe visitors of Mixquic.<\/span><\/strong><\/strong><\/strong><\/p>\n

Tacho, Street Poet<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/strong>Source: Poem found in\u00a0Mexico City, Mixquic & Morelos- Through the Eyes of the Soul, Day of the Dead in Mexico<\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n


\n<\/span><\/strong><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/strong><\/strong><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

Woman with a somber gaze,
\nTell me, what do you see if the candles?
\nare the ghosts in the night
\nor are they flowers of the earth?<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

What do you treasure on your lap
\nilluminated and transparent,
\neven in the air
\nyour silhouette appears?<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Twice as much the pain,
\ntwice as much the loss,
\nthe flowers have become the rivers
\nand the fragrance cries out.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Pondering at night,
\nvigil of the imagination,
\nbundle of lights and echoes,
\nstay up late during the wake\u2026<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

Woman with a tender gaze
\nthe flames of candle reach out;
\nare they mocking this moment
\nor are they restfully flickering out.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

In your illuminated face
\nlife rejuvenates,
\nto those who love death
\nthis is a golden in their sight.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

For those who love life
\nit is a night of confusion,
\nthe wax kisses the flowers
\nand the flame caresses the emotions.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

What is Death?<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

What is death? It is the glass of life broken into a
\nthousand pieces, where the soul disperses like
\nperfume from a flask, into the silence of the eternal
\nnight.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

Unknown Author<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

<\/strong>Source: Poem found in\u00a0Michoacan- Through the Eyes of the Soul, Day of the Dead in Mexico<\/span><\/strong> <\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

\n<\/em><\/span><\/div>\n

<\/span><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n

<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Beauty which Departs but Returns to Mixquic The small floating island travels through the canal. – Open the door, mother! So that we can surprise that wandering soul who has arrived at our offerings; the mirrors of the waterways have…<\/p>\n

Read more →<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":20,"featured_media":0,"parent":1872,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-1879","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.vsb.bc.ca\/dkeller\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1879","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.vsb.bc.ca\/dkeller\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.vsb.bc.ca\/dkeller\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.vsb.bc.ca\/dkeller\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/20"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.vsb.bc.ca\/dkeller\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1879"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.vsb.bc.ca\/dkeller\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1879\/revisions"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.vsb.bc.ca\/dkeller\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/1872"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.vsb.bc.ca\/dkeller\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1879"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}