ONE
've been through the house of Lourdes. Countless memories have flown over my head. What is she doing my sweet and beautiful love of puberty? At the door of the house I recognized his father, suffering from a disease, but quiet and loving life. For a moment caused me to ask for Lourdes, but kept walking. Incredibly, few minutes before with Kito Cortés had talked about it. "My Girl"-ruled my friend. I calculated that I did not know or did not remember something I had to do with the most beautiful girl in Santa Isabel in the early seventies. Kito was indeed his first came to be tempered with her. At that time Lourdes came at a high red bicycle for a walk near my house, because he cultivated a friendship with Emily, one of the girls Navarro, our neighbors.
me he was after. Ten years later. I returned to Piura a vacation and was reunited with her. It was full of splendor in her blue dress and the most rapturous eyes never enjoyed the city of sun and carob trees. We met in Lima and wandered through the streets of Barranco, in and out of pubs near Bridge of Sighs, yes, sighing from time to time for that love to throw to the wind of the cliff and wrapped in the solitude of time . After twenty five years of absence, Piura again have the chance to see it and recover in their beautiful eyes, like a fountain of youth, where watering the music of the song that we lost in thought.
I was wondering if you still hear that theme Perales: Love, playing in his heart as he flew through the dusty highways of Piura, in the toyota-crown of my father, from The Farm to Country Club, avoiding the ruthlessness of open days and the tedium vitae. The joy of Lourdes lives in me. It is as if life had not delayed. The images come flying smoothly and my poetry. What we have to compose melody now? DOS
TODAY IS May 25, 1956. No. It's the same date but 43 years later. I am a poet. All I wanted to be, since I wrote the first poem at age 15 in 1971. Teen in crisis, one June morning with the friecito of Piura, sitting in my room on the 4th high school at the Colegio San Ignacio de Loyola, suddenly wrote a poem that I called World in which I questioned about the infinite reality around me. And I had no response. Only a rare calm after throwing everything he had inside. And that was enough.
strange thing is that from that moment of solitude I had no other interest to become a poet. Since it was (I felt I was) but were projecting, study, read in order to reach my language, my original tone. But what does the date today? Is that my birthday, my saint, my birthday, to say a word fetched, and is 28 years since I took the call, body and soul. What happened this time? "There have been deaths and marriages" could say with the poet José Watanabe, or perhaps succumbing to the memory (the surf-Vallejo dixit-) of the intensely lived.
In the second half of that in 1971 I met a cute blonde who remember as Beatrice (this was his third name). I was absolutely in love with their eyes-between lead iridescent, blue and black blue and green radiation. With it maintained a platonic relationship that I threw the wastelands of despair, grief and melancholy. To make matters worse during school English Literature Gustavo Adolfo Becquer discovered my passion was unleashed and the ravages predictable. At the end of the year with a broken heart I tried a collection of poems about the dismal experience. It was something that marked my adolescence in a bleak white label love. Summer vacation cured my pain. And what's worse, I decided never to fall in love again.
high school in the 5th I did wonder. Without realizing it, I was tuning of Anne, sister of a classmate who had the kindness to take me to school on the van of his family. Ana had ended (a year earlier) and left high school to accompany his mother, who was driving the vehicle, or to attend classes at a secretarial academy in the city. Against all my predictions Ana corresponded my request and I was the happiest poet during the days of furtive meetings and poems written for her. Occurred at night in the square of Santa Isabel park or I throw the pear, quoting me with Ana in San Sebastian church or on the roof of a building unguarded -Exotic places, quiet, unheard-of way that nobody dared to speak our love, sacred to all true love. It was beautiful, unforgettable blue as the ocean of his pants. Ana Where will you be today? What anguish seizes me warm in the afternoon translucent and meek. Disappearance. THREE
strange thing is that from that moment of solitude I had no other interest to become a poet. Since it was (I felt I was) but were projecting, study, read in order to reach my language, my original tone. But what does the date today? Is that my birthday, my saint, my birthday, to say a word fetched, and is 28 years since I took the call, body and soul. What happened this time? "There have been deaths and marriages" could say with the poet José Watanabe, or perhaps succumbing to the memory (the surf-Vallejo dixit-) of the intensely lived.
In the second half of that in 1971 I met a cute blonde who remember as Beatrice (this was his third name). I was absolutely in love with their eyes-between lead iridescent, blue and black blue and green radiation. With it maintained a platonic relationship that I threw the wastelands of despair, grief and melancholy. To make matters worse during school English Literature Gustavo Adolfo Becquer discovered my passion was unleashed and the ravages predictable. At the end of the year with a broken heart I tried a collection of poems about the dismal experience. It was something that marked my adolescence in a bleak white label love. Summer vacation cured my pain. And what's worse, I decided never to fall in love again.
high school in the 5th I did wonder. Without realizing it, I was tuning of Anne, sister of a classmate who had the kindness to take me to school on the van of his family. Ana had ended (a year earlier) and left high school to accompany his mother, who was driving the vehicle, or to attend classes at a secretarial academy in the city. Against all my predictions Ana corresponded my request and I was the happiest poet during the days of furtive meetings and poems written for her. Occurred at night in the square of Santa Isabel park or I throw the pear, quoting me with Ana in San Sebastian church or on the roof of a building unguarded -Exotic places, quiet, unheard-of way that nobody dared to speak our love, sacred to all true love. It was beautiful, unforgettable blue as the ocean of his pants. Ana Where will you be today? What anguish seizes me warm in the afternoon translucent and meek. Disappearance. THREE
PIURA, May 26. Yesterday I celebrated my saint with a poetry reading at the National University of Piura. It was a beautiful experience in a classroom on the campus of an institution that was founded by my father. The poet Siegfried Burnet with the narrator Rafael Gutarra me entertained in the Gulf. Previously, in college I heard excellent exposure on my poetry and then answered all the concerns of students in Education, specializing in literature. In the evening we agreed to go to poet with whom I Adolfo Venegas memories of early youth in Lima, when Nubetonta journals and bean stalk, mutual friends hows Montalbetti poets and Edgar Mario O'Hara.
At this moment I write in my father's desk. I see old photos of my family and I always find it incredible the miracle of existence and time: from nothing to life again and again to nothing. At least I am calm, always gentle invisible anguish. But that dissatisfaction does not suffer desperate youth. My sorrows are as mitigated. I reconciled with myself, just now I am overcome the memory of Lima and I have some melancholy. I feel a subtle shudder at the memory of Dalmatia, the companion of the rebellious and arrogant or Mabel, the wife of my limensis recent times, but we must follow. If I could not stay in the City of Kings, I have hope again, but when? FOUR
At this moment I write in my father's desk. I see old photos of my family and I always find it incredible the miracle of existence and time: from nothing to life again and again to nothing. At least I am calm, always gentle invisible anguish. But that dissatisfaction does not suffer desperate youth. My sorrows are as mitigated. I reconciled with myself, just now I am overcome the memory of Lima and I have some melancholy. I feel a subtle shudder at the memory of Dalmatia, the companion of the rebellious and arrogant or Mabel, the wife of my limensis recent times, but we must follow. If I could not stay in the City of Kings, I have hope again, but when? FOUR
at this time of evening I have been given written. I must, if he fought so hard to dedicate myself to this strange occupation, I have to stay in shape. The subject does not matter. What is important is ideal pergueñar few sentences, a music pit open heart. And will be three weeks that I carry in my hometown. I was forced to leave Lima because of the difficulty of survival being observed. You could say I am a refugee in the old house of my parents, now deceased, who now runs my older sister, Lola, with his gentle authority and customary.
Piura What do I do? I'm away from my friends from Lima, my post in the vanguard of Peruvian literature, my advocacy of recitals, concerts, discussions, in short, the famous counter-culture. Today I can only recall 25 years of establishment and radical action. But that memory-is undoubtedly allows me to live. I'm alive. Perennial'm there and here. These days, it is necessary to see well-represent the rest of the warrior, the song later.
Here I have the direct support of my family to live and write. In Lima it was becoming increasingly difficult. "We never find me down" could mean a verse of Jorge Pimentel. What is the crazy? We spent a great time, a long time and in different stages. Here I can remember it with affection. My time with the Zero Hour Movement and then my personal and professional relationship with the author of Kenacort and Valium 10. Youth learning ultrismo, anger and passion. What else. The beauty of certain girls. Otherness.
In Piura mercilessly falls another evening of poetry. Ie I can write that I'm single and pure, that my life is an amazing recycling, but nothing will be like the most beautiful poem ever achieved. Because it is non-existent, but it is. FIVE
Piura What do I do? I'm away from my friends from Lima, my post in the vanguard of Peruvian literature, my advocacy of recitals, concerts, discussions, in short, the famous counter-culture. Today I can only recall 25 years of establishment and radical action. But that memory-is undoubtedly allows me to live. I'm alive. Perennial'm there and here. These days, it is necessary to see well-represent the rest of the warrior, the song later.
Here I have the direct support of my family to live and write. In Lima it was becoming increasingly difficult. "We never find me down" could mean a verse of Jorge Pimentel. What is the crazy? We spent a great time, a long time and in different stages. Here I can remember it with affection. My time with the Zero Hour Movement and then my personal and professional relationship with the author of Kenacort and Valium 10. Youth learning ultrismo, anger and passion. What else. The beauty of certain girls. Otherness.
In Piura mercilessly falls another evening of poetry. Ie I can write that I'm single and pure, that my life is an amazing recycling, but nothing will be like the most beautiful poem ever achieved. Because it is non-existent, but it is. FIVE
TODAY IS 2 July. I have spent almost two months in my native Piura. A week ago I proposed to work in North VISION, a local newspaper and did not accept because it is my desire to return to Lima soon. Piura nice thing is the weather, but nothing more. I'm used to the rhythm of the City of Kings and there I go. Mabel and contacted me, my partner and lover to return to his thin arms and nights love. Here I spend my days reading, happily intact the classical library of my father so I can cheer the spirit good pages. And writing. I'm writing poems with the peace that had not had enough time in Lima, for disorderly life I took and I hope I have finally concluded. Meanwhile I'm preparing the presentation in Piura my last book, the Holy Trinity nouvelle for Friday Oct. 23, in the auditorium of the Municipal Library of Piura. I will count on the opening words of the poets and teachers Sigfredo Burnet, Lelis and Adolfo Venegas Rebolledo. Then stay ready for my return to Lima. To continue writing the novel Comrade dancer that I have started on the computer Mabel. These are my immediate plans. SIX
FAD REAMING
Blue Afternoon
my strange heart itself will not survive the pustule
And in that vain sun your cool auger
beautiful as the flower opens
put in Rarity
doubt poem that comforts us sad memory
Either way you're naked
Just in case the rain insists
You
cerretera advance the penalty but not death of kung fu
You know the line is clear and you
Corres tirelessly
border
Santa Isabel, Piura, Domini Year 1999.
my strange heart itself will not survive the pustule
And in that vain sun your cool auger
beautiful as the flower opens
put in Rarity
doubt poem that comforts us sad memory
Either way you're naked
Just in case the rain insists
You
cerretera advance the penalty but not death of kung fu
You know the line is clear and you
Corres tirelessly
border
Santa Isabel, Piura, Domini Year 1999.
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