Dream Labirinth/ Sueño Laberinto

During the Encuentro Hispanoamericano de Poesía 2008 http://floricanto.blogspot.com/, at La casa del Poeta (the poet's house), we had a guided visit of the house of Ramón López Velarde, a very important mexican poet, and we went through a kind of labirinth with a multitude of objects which are a metaphor of his life. It looks like a dream. I took some photographs that evoque such labirinth-dream. Thinking on heightening that perception I choose a photo and did some digital effects. The result was around 80 different images, all comming from the same. To the last one, I added verses from the poets that can be seen in the picture. Clockwise starting from the left: María Paz Moreno (Spain), Rei Berroa (Dominican Republic), Antonio Barbagallo (Italy-Spain), César Rodríguez Diez (Mexico), & Obediah Smith (Bahamas) http://www.periodicodepoesia.unam.mx/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=966&Itemid=80. 10/08 EHP, Sueño-Laberinto serie H R, D E

The Poet afraid to loose his blackness/ El Poeta con miedo de perder su negrura

Long time no publish. I was busy. Unemployed now.

This photos feature Obediah Smith, a poet friend from Bahamas whom I met last year at an international poetry festival http://floricanto.blogspot.com/. He is such a character. Everybody liked him. In the pictures where he holds the coffee, it looks like he is drinking many cups, as if afraid to loose his blackness...! The other pictures are related to the poem , and they tell a story. 10/08 EHP series. H R

Nostalgia

Obediah and I we have the same skin.

He has gone,

and I remain with a knot in the heart,

tears in the eyes.

His huge monkey smile.

His black women from the Hilton,

one on each hand,

writing, anywhere,

untiringly,

on his notebook, with no order,

from right to left, up down,

in the restroom, on the hand paper.

I don´t want him to leave,

and is already gone.

I miss him competing with me for Maria,

writing her verses, driving her nuts,

writing to everything,

while he listens to others reading,

saying poetry,

not understanding: feeling,

writes and writes, inexhaustible,

poet all day and night,

everything inspires him,

me, me inspired by him.

>It’s that there’s a very thin skin between myself

and life<, he told me.

The last on everything,

enjoys each moment, wrapped on the present.

I never met someone who was more out of

this world than myself,

exchanging books with everyone, and,

even though he doesn’t speak Spanish,

reading them,

writing the hour, minutes and seconds when

he finishes a poem.

I miss Obediah,

I miss my poets with the heart on their skin!

P.R. 10/08

http://www.bestwordsmith.blogspot.com/

>Sambhogakaya

I took home with me a small glass bottle of Coca Cola because I liked it. I saw that the light was interestingly disseminated on the inside and started playing with it. Among other things, it occurred to me to put images of Buddhas at the bottom, and then photographed them from the top. The Buddha's energy, their illuminated power fields manifested. These are some of the pictures. 03/08 Buddhas & Boddhisatvas serie. L R

>Buddhas in the sky / Budas en el cielo

I love the sky. Ever changing. I like it when the sun is behind the clouds and beams of light glow in all directions. When I saw the first photo, with all the light shinning from the cloud, and its round pattern, I thought: Wow, looks like a Buddha could be appearing there. And then I thought: Why not? So I took the previous pictures from the CC bottle series, and added them to it. 07/08 Buddhas in the sky serie. H R, D E

*My element / Mi elemento

Yo nací de cabeza.
¿Por qué tengo que pasar la vida adherido al suelo?
Mi naturaleza volante agita las alas y no me elevo.
Arriba estaba. No lo recuerdo, lo siento.
Un día caí y quedé pegado al suelo.
El aire me envuelve, alienta,
susurra mejores momentos,
me conquista.
Cuando me acuesto y miro al cielo
sé que es mi elemento.
No vuelo, no caigo.
El cielo no es arriba, es abajo: un precipicio.
Estoy fijo a un techo que me detiene, succiona,
me esclaviza.
Miro el espacio; los edificios, árboles
como raíces aéreas no yacen: cuelgan,
las nubes ligeras, el infinito
con gravedad, como imanes, me atraen

y quiero lanzarme, dejarme caer como un águila,
¡saltar a la libertad!
"Mi elemento", PR 11/05

The sky is my element. I was born upside down. Up there I was. I don't remember, I feel it. One day I fell here. The ground is a prison that holds me. The sky is not up, it's down; the clouds, the infinite pulls me. I look at the space; the buildings, the trees, like aerial roots they don't lie: they hang. I want to let go. 04/07 Ags & others serie. L R

>High Flight / Vuelo Alto

The high sky, another world, another beautifull world. So distant, so close. "Up there in the distance sat beauty, too distant to touch, too close to comprehend." High Flight is the name of one of the best poems ever witten about flying, made by John Gillespie Maguee Jr. during the II WW. "...and, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod the high unsurpassed sanctity of space, put out my hand, and touched the face of God." Various series L & H R