ceremonia
ve caminando hasta un árbol cualquiera,
podría ser el de las raíces aéreas
o aquel cuyo tronco tiene la apariencia de un lagarto;
tomá el camino largo, donde los cuises
se esconden entre las ramas de los arbustos,
el sendero polvoriento, el de los huecos,
el que solo transitan, a veces, los caballos;
no pienses demasiado en lo que estás haciendo,
alrededor habrá cosas más notables:
una lechuza, inmóvil, posada sobre un poste,
una planta que podría matarte si la comieras,
botellas rotas, también, y una lápida olvidada;
pero no detengas la mirada ni frenes el paso,
a menudo el universo podría retenerte,
podrías encontrar tus recuerdos, de nuevo,
en una brizna de pasto seco o en una piedra;
camina, por lo pronto, sin borrar las huellas:
nadie te estará siguiendo, no esta vez, de puntillas,
nadie sabe, incluso, que todavía estás en el mundo
tratando de encontrar, a tientas, en cualquier parte,
una palabra a la cual aferrarte, algo que pronunciar,
o al menos un graznido que destroce la noche;
por favor, no pienses en eso durante el recorrido,
solo camina hacia el árbol que habrás elegido,
no importa realmente cuál sea (no es más que un árbol)
y estás muy sola como para que algo tenga sentido;
cuando llegues, saca el cuchillo que habías preparado;
está oxidado y tiene sangre milenaria, cosas ya muertas,
pero todavía se puede ver tu reflejo distorsionado;
no lo mires, por favor, no hay reflejos realmente,
y no estás dispuesta a lidiar con lo que muestra,
solo haz un corte pequeño y profundo en el tronco
y retira el cuchillo lentamente, a conciencia,
recuerda que, a fin de cuentas, es una ceremonia,
no la que esperabas, es cierto, pero ahí estará,
sucediendo aunque no lo quieras, otra vez,
como el polvo que se te adhiere a los ojos
o los huecos en los que creías esconderte;
arroja el cuchillo entre los yuyos, ya no sirve,
y observa el tronco herido, llora por él incluso,
de todos modos, nada de lo que hagas
tendrá un efecto real sobre ninguna cosa:
eso es lo que veías desde tu hueco, tan profundo,
nada podía escapar, ni las palabras ni las ideas,
ni siquiera el llanto se escurría entre la tierra,
por eso sentías que no estabas allí, en ninguna parte,
que eras solo lo que faltaba, la ausencia, siempre,
desde tu madriguera, pensando en el sol a destiempo...
y ahora, en cambio, deberás mirar la resina
hasta que se convierta en un pájaro implacable;
saldrá volando, y emitirá un único chirrido,
y su voz caerá como una piedra, absurda y esencial,
sin ningún significado, ni manifiesto ni oculto,
y esa será tu palabra, no la que te salve, no
ni siquera la que te nombre (esas cosas no suceden)
solo la palabra que selle el hueco, que recubra,
que colapse sobre sí misma o se desbarranque,
y esa será tu última oportunidad para abandonarte,
para enredarte entre el silencio y la palabra,
o quizás no necesites ninguna ceremonia
y el hueco sea algo así como una respuesta,
la humedad otra vez invadiendo los sentidos,
no puedo saberlo, no ahora ni desde este agujero,
al fin y al cabo solo nosotros pensamos en esas cosas,
eventualmente
ENG - Translated with Deepl. The translation of poetry is very complex, therefore, in this case, it is not intended to have literary value, but only to serve as an orientation for reading.
ceremony
walk to any tree,
it could be the one with aerial roots
or the one whose trunk looks like a lizard;
take the long way, where the cuises
hide among the branches of the bushes,
the dusty path, the one of the hollows,
the one that only horses sometimes travel;
don't think too much about what you are doing,
there will be more remarkable things around:
an owl, motionless, perched on a pole,
a plant that could kill you if you ate it,
broken bottles, too, and a forgotten tombstone;
but don't stop your gaze or slow your pace,
often the universe might hold you back,
you might find your memories, again,
in a blade of dry grass or a stone;
walk, for the moment, without erasing the footprints:
no one will be following you, not this time, on tiptoe,
no one even knows that you're still out in the world,
groping around, trying to find a word to cling to,
something to utter, or at least a squawk to shatter the night;
please don't think about that during the walk,
just walk to the tree you've chosen,
it doesn't really matter what it is (it's just a tree)
and you're too lonely for anything to make sense;
when you get there, take out the knife you had prepared;
it's rusty and has millenarian blood on it, things already dead,
but you can still see your distorted reflection;
don't look at it, please, there are no reflections really,
and you're not willing to deal with what it shows,
just make a small, deep cut in the trunk
and pull the knife out slowly, thoroughly,
remember that, after all, it is a ceremony,
not the one you expected, it is true, but it will be there,
happening even if you don't want it, again,
like the dust that sticks to your eyes
or the holes in which you thought you were hiding;
throw the knife among the weeds, it's no longer useful,
and look at the wounded trunk, even cry for it,
anyway, nothing you do will have any real effect on anything:
that's what you saw from your hollow, so deep,
nothing could escape, neither words nor ideas,
not even weeping slipped through the earth,
that's why you felt you were not there, nowhere,
you were only what was missing, the absence, always,
from your burrow, thinking of the sun at the wrong time.....
and now, instead, you will have to look at the resin
until it becomes a relentless bird;
it will fly away, and emit a single chirp,
and its voice will fall like a stone, absurd and essential,
without any meaning, neither manifest nor hidden,
and that will be your word, not the one that saves you, no,
not even the one that names you (those things don't happen),
only the word that seals the hole, that covers,
that collapses in on itself or falls apart,
and that will be your last chance to abandon yourself,
to entangle yourself between the silence and the word,
or maybe you don't need any ceremony
and the gap is something like an answer,
the dampness again invading the senses,
I can't know, not now and not from this hole,
after all only us think about such things,
eventually
La imagen fue creada con el modelo de inteligencia artificial Stable Diffusion.
The image was created with the Stable Diffusion artificial intelligence model.
I don't know Spanish but the translation is a really interesting read. It feels lonely and like you're grasping for answers that might not even exist. I like it :)
Thanks for commenting! Ceremonies consist of a series of absurd steps to achieve something, sometimes answers that might not even exist, and some people's lives, I think, have the structure of a ceremony. I guess that's where the poem is going.
That makes sense. It seems like most ceremonies are tied to religions in some way. As such they probably serve to help people search for and find meaning in life. And maybe sometimes you have to touch the absurd to arrive there.
Poem of great density, with images that move from a certain onirism or surreal reality. Thank you for posting in the #BlockchainPoets community. Greetings, @agreste.
Thanks so much for the comment and for supporting poetry!
It looks to me like this is a rite of some sort. A ceremony, that follows a process but there's a sense of desolation in it. Like the poet personal fights not to dwell on his life's problems and the inner demons he faces. This poem is beautiful and soulful and though I try to grasp it, I'm still enthralled by what it represents. Good one!✨
Thanks for your comment, @jhymi! That's the good thing about poetry, I think, sometimes it's just enough to convey a feeling, like desolation, even if the meaning can't be fully understood. Greetings!
And to you too. Do have a wonderful day.🤗
This is a really nice poem
thanks!!
For a minute, I felt like this was the type of advice the voice inside you would be giving.
Your words carefully describes each step the character takes and each move he makes. A proper description of a ceremony.
I enjoyed reading through dear agreste ✨
Thanks, @wongi! Yes, it's definitely a possibility that there is a single character who talks to himself. I'm glad you enjoyed it!
I did enjoy it✨
Have a splendid day
There seems to be a certain futility in the journey; tinged with great sadness; loneliness. But there is also an urging to be alive to the wonders that persist on the road of life, especially if we take the road less traveled. Keep looking forward; we may seem insignificant and our actions may appear not to make a difference, but if we choose wisely then we can contribute to peace, and put the bloodshed behind us; put our old selves (the reflection we no longer wish to see) firmly in the past and move forward anew.
A deeply reflective poem from you as always - always complex in construction and open to interpretation. They always make me think! And I love that 💗 !LUV !ALIVE !PIZZA
I dropped in from Dreemport this evening. #dreemer for life
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@agreste! You Are Alive so I just staked 0.1 $ALIVE to your account on behalf of @samsmith1971. (5/10)
The tip has been paid for by the We Are Alive Tribe through the earnings on @alive.chat, feel free to swing by our daily chat any time you want.
Hi, @samsmith1971! Always a joy to have you stop by to read. In the comments there are many interpretations (I love that), but the feelings it produced are quite similar: sadness, loneliness, desolation, futility (I think this word you mention is one of the keys to the poem), as if poetry stirs things that are on another level. Perhaps the fact of wanting to interpret the poem is just a way of rationalizing those feelings that the word has already generated (I am thinking about this as I write it), a ceremony itself, tinged with futility, but born of that being alive that you mention. Surely we are mistaken when we think that certain things are produced by the ceremony (that it rains because we dance in the round) and that reminds me of a phrase of Lacan, something like: if you think you have understood, you are surely mistaken. And in the rain dance there is one thing that is very certain: the desire for it to rain. I guess that's wonderful in itself. Sorry for all this delirium! Cheers! !LUV
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So true! There is so much more out there than we could ever comprehend. It would be sheer arrogance to believe that we have a handle on all of it. But we can seek to understand increments with humility.
And yes... the purpose and intentionality behind the rain dance. If we don't at least start with that; with a clear objective and idea in mind, then where is the point in it all? At least we have that... purpose 💗
and not delirium at all hehe. I love the way you formulate your thoughts !LUV !ALIVE
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La vida a veces nos atrapa con trampas tan sutiles que se nos convierten en un dilema y quizas haya que ponerse ceremonioso para encontar ese punto que nos libere o simplemente encontrar la palabra que necesitamos para seguir buscando respuestas, ¿a qué? no lo sabemos, pero se realiza la ceremonia para seguir soñando. Es quiza la respuesta que conseguí con este ceremonioso poema. Saludos poeta, desde este rincón de Venezuela.
¡Hola, @silher! Qué bueno que hayas pasado por aquí. Me gusta tu interpretación, la relación entre la ceremonia y la palabra, el lugar que ocupan las ceremonias en la vida para seguir soñando. Tal vez todo preguntar sea una especie de ceremonia. ¡Saludos y muchas gracias por tu comentario!
The mysticism of the human being leads him through ritualism, perhaps trying to find hope in a rally of unfounded faith.
I really liked reading your verses.
Thanks for sharing.
Good day.
Thanks so much, I'm glad you liked it!
Hermoso. Siempre es hermoso lo que escribes, y profundo. Quizás es cierto, de hecho lo es:
He escrito un poema rimado... pero esta obra de arte tuya debió ser mejor valorada, amigo. Que mis palabras te animen a seguir.
;)
¡Muchas gracias, @nanixxx! Me alegra que te haya gustado. No hay mayor valor que sus comentarios: es la palabra la que sella y recubre. ¡Saludos!
Hello @agreste, my name is Silvia. I want to ask a private question to you. Do you have twitter or discord account? thanks in advance
!PIZZA