jueves, 10 de noviembre de 2016

Niebla espesa

Cuando levante esta niebla
te volveré a amar
Niebla espesa
Ya no puedo recordar
De donde vengo ni adónde voy
Los años pesan en esta niebla
Sin querella sin enmienda
Quiero dejarla pero es gruesa, densa
Y frena
Es una vigilia sin sentido
De nostalgias absurdas
De lo que pudo haber sido
Nosotros tenemos algo, lo sé
Es más real que esta niebla
Que se cuelga de los párpados
Que se cuela bien adentro
Y la respiro
Y me invade ese pesar
Y yo te juro: te voy a rescatar
Pero es la niebla, ya ves
Que me frena y no me deja avanzar
Cuando levante esta niebla
Te volveré a amar

lunes, 11 de enero de 2016

Impulso

Fue todo un impulso

Como nos conocimos

Lo que nos dijimos

Asi es como fue



Fue todo un impulso

La mirada en tus ojos

Estrellas en la noche mas oscura

Una caricia en la mente



Tus manos sobre las mias

El cuidadoso toque

Y ese primer beso

Cuando tu mundo colapsó



Fue todo un impulso



Mi Abuelo

Las mejillas de mi abuelo eran como

Las escolleras de Mar del Plata

Irregulares, rasposas



La voz de mi abuelo era como

El aroma a dulce de leche en

Las facturas calientes del domingo



El pelo de mi abuelo siempre fue blanco como

Las nubes que volaban sobre Playa Grande en

Inviernos que pasaron y se fueron



Los ojos de mi abuelo eran como

El café con leche de la mañana sobre

La mesa azul de fórmica



El no figura en ningún libro de historia pero

¡Caramba!



¡Como lo admiraba!

Primero y último

Asi como hubo una primera comida

Habrá una última

Aquella supo a calostro

Agridulce como cerdo chino

Como sabrá la última?



Asi como hubieron unas primeras lágrimas

Habrán últimas

Aquellas brotaron primitivamente

Humedas y saladas sobre los labios

Por qué brotarán las últimas?



Asi como hubo una primera risa

Habrá una última

Aquella se sintió como cosquillas en la panza

Suave y comezona como pasto recién cortado

Cómo se sentirá la última?



Asi como hubo un primer beso

Habrá un último

Aquel supo a menta y aparatos

Fresco y metálico como una mañana de invierno

Como sabrá el último?



Así como hubo una primera redención

Habrá una última

Aquella se sintió honesta y verdadera

Sincera como lagrimas de bebé

Como se sentirá la última?



Asi como hubo un primer adiós

Habrá un último

Aquel fue triste y melancólico

Como una tarde de domingo



Como será el último?

Me he reconciliado


Me he reconciliado con mi locura

Lo has hecho?

Me he reconciliado con mi locura

No digas!

Me he reconciliado con mi locura

En serio?

Me he reconciliado con mi locura

No jodas!

Me he reconciliado con mi locura

Yo no contaría con eso...

Me he reconciliado con mi locura

Si, seguí creyendolo

Me he reconciliado con mi locura

Me hacés reir!

Me he reconciliado con mi locura

Sos patético

Me he reconciliado con mi locura

Contate otra...

Me he reconciliado con mi locura

No, no es así

Me he reconciliado con mi locura



Qué locura?

Tratado de Agronomía en Editorial Dunken

http://www.dunken.org/WEB2014/index.php?opt=2&id_titulo=14780

Tratado de Agronomía en Google Books

https://books.google.com.ar/books?id=5nk0CwAAQBAJ&pg=PA5&lpg=PA5&dq=tratado+de+agronomia&source=bl&ots=xco84T80Xb&sig=4Z6ggJmOpLVUTzECIDXqhasgeQM&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjVnbi24KLKAhWIf5AKHTaiABcQ6AEIJjAC#v=onepage&q&f=false

Tratado de Agronomía en Facebook

https://www.facebook.com/tratadodeagronomia/

jueves, 6 de marzo de 2014

Mantendré la compostura

Mantendré la compostura
Derrotado
Puesto de rodillas
Con el viento en contra

Mantendré la compostura
Resignado
Ante el atropello
Cuando no sirvan las palabras

Mantendré la compostura
Doblegado
Sin fuerzas ni valor
Mientras continúan batiéndome

Acabado
Sin lugar donde volver
Puesto a enfrentar la situación
y en el silencio final


Mantendré la compostura

viernes, 31 de enero de 2014

Piloto de Tormentas

Cuando el tiempo está calmo
Mis manos transpiran
Mi cabeza gira
No encuentro lugar ni armonía

En la quietud del descanso
O en la tarde del séptimo día
Mi angustia se yergue
Domina en la cima

Pero cuando el viento arria las hojas
Y las aves se alejan inquietas
Mis ojos se abren
Mis sentidos todos alerta

En medio del vendaval furioso
Que árboles arranca y arrecia
Me encontrarás erguido y firme
Soy piloto de tormentas

lunes, 2 de diciembre de 2013

I've come to terms

I’ve come to terms with my madness

Have you?

I’ve come to terms with my madness

Don’t say!

I’ve come to terms with my madness

Really?

I’ve come to terms with my madness

You’re joking!

I’ve come to terms with my madness

I wouldn’t count on it

I’ve come to terms with my madness

Yeah, keep on believing that

I’ve come to terms with my madness

You make me laugh!

I’ve come to terms with my madness

You’re pathetic

I’ve come to terms with my madness

Tell me another story…

I’ve come to terms with my madness

No, you haven´t

I’ve come to terms with my madness


What madness?

viernes, 9 de agosto de 2013

domingo, 19 de mayo de 2013

You won't remember when I'm gone

The way I sorted the books
On the library
The trivial objects
At the bottom
Of my backpack's pocket
You won't remember
When I'm gone

The smell of deodorant
On my t-shirts
The noise of my breathing
When I'm sleeping
You won't remember
When I'm gone

The heap of papers
On my desk
My collection of useless
Out-of-ink pens
You won't remember
When I'm gone

The shoes jammed
Under the bed
You always complained about
You won't remember
When I'm gone

But that kiss...

domingo, 12 de mayo de 2013

My Grandfather

My grandfather's cheeks were like
The stony jetties off Mar del Plata's coast
My grandfather's voice had
The sound of Dulce de Leche on hot Sunday's pastry
His hair had always been white
As the clouds that flew over Playa Grande in Winters past and gone
His eyes were like
Morning Café con Leche on the blue Formica table
By historical standards
He'd been no hero, but god! How I looked up to him

When I stand on that jetty I think
How touched we are by the people who loved us.

viernes, 26 de abril de 2013

On an impulse

It was all on an impulse
The way we met
The things we said
That's the way they were

It was all on an impulse
The look in your eyes
Stars on the darkest night
A caress on the mind

Your hands on mine
The careful touch
And that very first kiss
When your world collapsed

On an in-pulse
Your voice is home to me

jueves, 22 de noviembre de 2012

First and Last II

As there were first tears
There will be last ones
                                    
Those ones sprang primitively
Wet and savory on the lips

Why will the last ones spring?


As there was a first laugh
There will be a last one

That one felt as tickles in the tummy
Soft and itchy like fresh mown grass

How will the last one feel?


As there was a first kiss
There will be a last one

That one tasted of spearmint and braces
Fresh and metalic like a winter morning

How will the last one taste?


As there was a first redemption
There will be a last one

That one felt honest and truthful
Sincere as baby's tears

How will the last one feel?


As there was a first goodbye
There will be a last one

That one was sad and melancholic
As a Sunday evening

How will the last one be?


Copyright Guillermo Mathé Leguizamón 2012

lunes, 29 de octubre de 2012

First and Last 1

As there was a first meal
There will be a last one

That one tasted of colostrum
Sweet and sour as Chinese pork

How will the last one taste?

Copyright Guillermo Mathé Leguizamón 2012


The Japanese Doll

I met a girl once
She was Okinawan

We went to the park
Contemplated the cherry trees

In the evenings we walked
She, never talked

First time I kissed her
Her tongue felt funny

It shrank continuedly
Tasted like wood

Next time I beheld her
She was a Japanese doll

She was so little
I could hold her in one hand

I didn't know what to do
I wanted her back too

I took her to many places
They looked at her with weird faces

We went out
But it was not the same

There was a knock at the door once
A Japanese guy came in

He said he knew about the doll
He said how I should bring her back

He told me to kiss her
So I did

He told me that was not the way
I should try to break in with my tongue

I pushed with the tip of it
A small hole appeared

On the engraved face
Small sharpened teeth

Slowly but constantly
The little doll grew

In a couple of seconds
She became the girl I knew

But not quite
She ran away with that Japanese guy

Copyright Guillermo Mathé Leguizamón 2012

miércoles, 17 de octubre de 2012

The Labyrinth



It could be said that every city is a labyrinth for a foreign visitor. But what is peculiar about Buenos Aires is that there is a Labyrinth within it: The neighbourhood of "Parque Chas".
Out of the humming bustle of its avenues and streets, there is a place in this city where not even the most daring taxi driver would care to enter. Not because it is dangerous, I can assure you it is not, but because once you enter you may not be able to exit again, at least for a while.
Like a protuberance out of some ill born animal, it grows out of a surrounding avenue. Like the remains of some forgotten river bank far far away, you are left there and oh no! “the horror, the horror” you are lost! But do not despair, if you are European, the familiarity of its street names will give you a breath of fresh air. The names fall one after the other: Cadiz, Marseille, London, Treveris are just but some of them. And among them all Gandara which flows like a river in between them or stands like a mountain blocking your way.
But beware avid consumers, because there are no fairs within, nor art galleries or posh designer shops. In fact there will be nothing you can buy with money except perhaps some refreshment and that if you are lucky enough to find an open Chinese supermarket of the three that there are there. On week days, jealous drivers would overflow the place with their cars, so close it lies to the last underground station. At the weekend, the smell of burning grills making the local favourite “asado” will fill your nostrils while you listen to the distant laughter and the clashing of happy glasses. 
And all the while you are walking the streets in endless circles; you find that the same street crosses another for the second time. Far ahead you notice a man, sitting on a bench in a square just next to a humble football club “el Trébol”, the shamrock, he smiles at you and says “are you lost my friend?” and you, astonished that this man speaks your language, nod shyly and sit next to him. He would ask you for a cigarette, which you won’t have because you are modern and do not smoke and he would say “Never, ever take the capital city streets. They would turn you round and round in circles. They will drive you mad!” And then a little girl in a bicycle would stop in front of you and would laugh to see a person sitting in a bench staring at nothing. However, you would put yourself together and start walking following the old man advice, avoiding the capital city streets. In some twenty minutes you are out, but this time on a different avenue. You stop a bystander and, drying the sweat from your forehead, ask: “Can you tell me the way to the underground station?” and the person will reply “yes, go back and cross Parque Chas until you reach Triunvirato Avenue” but that was exactly the path you have just ended, would you dare take it again???

Copyright Guillermo Mathé Leguizamón 2012
____________________________________
This story was shortlisted for the Sketches by Boz program but not selected. 

sábado, 13 de octubre de 2012

De Arena y de piedra


De arena y de piedra
Y de agua salada
Al sur de mi tierra
Las playas soñadas

Mi infancia acuñó
Una y mil noches
Lejanos recuerdos
De piedra, de agua

Dejaron mis huellas
De pies tan pequeños
Pala y balde en mano
Sobre un dulce sueño

Mi tata, mi nona
Mi vieja, el recuerdo
El viento barrió
Y no cesó el tiempo

Y ahora te añoro
Mi infancia, que sueño!
Mas en mi corazón
Mi playa, te quiero.

Copyright Guillermo Mathé Leguizamón 2012

viernes, 12 de octubre de 2012

For Billy and Cora


For Billy and Cora
The heart, the soul
The successes
The great-grandchildren

For Billy
The holidays on the beach
The walk by the hand
The ice-cream cones

For Cora
The smell of coffee
The spoons loaded with
Shepherd’s pie

For Billy and Cora
The weekends together
The birthday parties
Christmas by the balcony

For Billy
The football Matches
The Saturday films
The Sunday TV show

For Cora
The toast with butter and jam
The chocolate cake
The apple pie

For Billy and Cora
The taking care of
The protection
The providing

For Billy
The after work conversations
The sleep well before bed
The good morning chap

For Cora
The see me coming out of the window
The small change to go out
The smiles

For Billy and Cora
The generosity
The pampering
The support

For Billy
The hugs of love
The words of encouragement
The feeling of fatherness

For Cora
The kisses of love
The words of kindness
The feeling of motherness

For Billy and Cora

Copyright Guillermo Mathé Leguizamón 2012

The Swimming Lesson


The Swimming Lesson

Do you think it was an easy lesson?
It always started at the same time
Ten o´clock in the morning
After breakfast

Do you think it was an easy lesson?
The previous night you would tell me
“tomorrow is your swimming lesson,
We start at ten o´clock as usual”

Do you think it was an easy lesson?
I would spend the night sweating
Having nightmares, visions of despair
Hour after hour without sleep

Do you think it was an easy lesson?
The following morning
Breakfast would choke in my throat
My legs would fail me

Do you think it was an easy lesson?
I would stare at the hands
Slowly going up with effort
Minute after minute
 
Do you think it was an easy lesson?
Five minutes to ten the unavoidable
Anguish would seize me
Cries for help wouldn’t reach my tongue

Do you think it was an easy lesson?
My Via Dolorosa to the pool
Before you called me
Fear of retaliation

Do you think it was an easy lesson?
My body shrunk in your presence
Trembled from top to bottom
A lamb to the slaughter

Do you think it was an easy lesson?
I would feel your oily hands seize me
Throw me into the filthy pool
Green everywhere

Do you think it was an easy lesson?
Slimy down my throat
The liquid of life
And death

Do you think it was an easy lesson?
Darkness and light
Darkness and light
Darkness and light

Do you think it was an easy lesson?
The touch of mosaic
Only a second of relief
Out of the pool

Do you think it was an easy lesson?
The Calvary again, again, again
You seemed to enjoy it
You surely did

Every day from those
I’m still struggling to float
Away from you
Do you think it was an easy lesson?

Copyright Guillermo Mathé Leguizamón 2012