Blanca Andrew He was born on a day like today in La Coruña in 1959, but his childhood and adolescence were spent in Orihuela. The study philology who ended up in Madrid where he met the writer Francis Threshold, who presented her in Madrid literary circles. A hole was made in them and he succeeded very young with his poetry. She later married the novelist John Benet and, widowed, he returned to La Coruña.
Some titles of his works are Of a girl from the provinces who came to live in a Chagall, Captain Elphistone o the transparent earth. Among the awards she has received are the Adonais or the Ícaro Prize for Literature. With this selection of poems we congratulate her.
Blanca Andreu — Selection of poems
How strange the air that surrounds me will seem to me
How strange the air that surrounds me will seem to me,
how will it be so strange,
when you are no longer there,
the cathedral of the day,
the cloister that condenses the great age of light
and the character of storms.
My love, my love, you without a day for you,
swarmed between mirrors and between bad things,
dead transcendental silver
and the ancient anemones of egloga,
dead this version, now obscure, and I decline, to read it, younger.
My love of never, feverish and peaceful,
verses for the little octopus of death,
Verses for the rare death that makes the crossing of the telephones,
for my weakened mind verses, for the circuit of the violin,
for the heron circuit,
to the southern end, of sleep,
verses that do not asylum me nor are they a cause of life,
don't give me the sweet umbilical snake
nor the glucose room of the uterus.
from iraq
Answer me, politician, why
Do you want to disfigure the face of the world?
why do you want to cut
the blue heads of my temples?
Because you want
splash with my blood
to your innocent people?
Don't you know that if you send
death to visit me
Will it come back to you, boomerang in return?
Because you want
kill my house
break my child
burn my dog?
Say you wanted to be a lean horse, name
Say you wanted to be a lean horse, name
of some mythical horse,
or perhaps name of tristán, and dark.
Say it, Greek horse, that you wanted to be a statue for ten thousand years,
Say south, and say white oleander dove,
that you would have wanted to be in such things,
die in your substance, be a column.
say that too many times
astrolabes, stars, the nerve of angels,
They came to make music for Rilke the poet,
not for your knees or your wall soul.
While marijuana distills seas of green,
He speaks at receptions with his green tears,
or robs the light of its greenest light,
you don't know yourself, you don't know yourself
men of the oceans
I sail
on celestial wheat
among blue herbs by the sea fields.
Here are seagulls the turtledoves
and the blackbird, cormorant.
Those who carve these humid furrows
green or indigo
collect money
if they sow
dreams
or wishes
to return home.
Marina
I've seen you ocean
I have galloped you
on the back of a violin
polished wood
of a warped foal
the color of the cherry tree
and you were, ocean
a meadow
blue grass
moving.
As if you were
forgetfulness itself
I have visited you
ocean
emperor of the waters
deep sky mirror
and I have seen in your eternal beards of foam
blue cereals and flowers of silence.
Offering
Tell me, water, raging fire, bride of hell,
on the great sea roll the drums
from the enemy wind and resound like bells
copper ingots in the bilge.
Tell me, ballast or merchandise, bales of spices, black
They were sacrificed to the great robber, they went overboard,
kidnapped shadows, clothes, animals
and a woman.
shadow and rite of love
Shadow and love rite:
say your visible angel
whose existence is forged in insubordination
to the word and to his asylum
say you angel thinned out by silence,
very slender in the quiet,
with the side intact ancient in wars
Say the word that I read in the minute that my heart lasts.
I see you in a still clear depth
I see you in a still clear depth and your loving eyes
They follow me closely. Well you can break all my
prim opinions full of gossip, entanglements and vices:
between you and me there is none.
I alone dark by rooftops
I alone dark by roofs with wings piled up by the stillness and by the
death enlarged and by songs telling you oh lead me with my heart
stranger at the door of the shops, all of which sell very high
infinitely confused angels gravitations that come in compasses of trains
and they shelter in gray estuaries oh lead me now when my strength martyrs
spilling when excessively raises arms of nothing and rushes on nothing
as a certainty and an antiphon of elimination.
Source: A low voice