I'll be reading some of my poems in this event, which will be held at La Manzorga. Espaciu Cultural (Gijón, Spain) on Saturday, October 18th at 20.00h. Live poetry and music. You're all invited! x
Este es el cartel promocional:
Kate Moss by Tim Walker for LOVE magazine nº 9
jueves, 26 de septiembre de 2013
Timba poética en Gijón / Poetry reading in Gijón
El sábado 19 de octubre a las 20.00h se celebrará en La Manzorga, Espaciu Cultural (Gijón, Asturias) una timba poética de autores jóvenes. También habrá música en directo. ¡Yo seré una de las participantes! Os animo a todos a asistir :)
I'll be reading some of my poems in this event, which will be held at La Manzorga. Espaciu Cultural (Gijón, Spain) on Saturday, October 18th at 20.00h. Live poetry and music. You're all invited! x
Este es el cartel promocional:
I'll be reading some of my poems in this event, which will be held at La Manzorga. Espaciu Cultural (Gijón, Spain) on Saturday, October 18th at 20.00h. Live poetry and music. You're all invited! x
Este es el cartel promocional:
jueves, 12 de septiembre de 2013
Blackpool Lacrimosa
Blackpool Lacrimosa
(Text written in Blackpool, Northern England. About a wanderer I observed on the beach).
At the colorful pier,
the rotten big wheel still clanks
like it did fifty years ago.
Those teenage sticky kisses
oh, they still find their way
through the rusty screws.
Young wandering hands are in no-man's land
rolling over the gloomy sea,
and they come and go like the British wayward tides,
soft and rosy as the cheeks of a saint
the waves go,
and so they go teenage trembling hearts
sailing in the dawnlight.
It looks like the candy floss sellers
are announcing your death tonight.
The sick lights and it all
takes you back
to the old maid's song of old-fashioned weddings.
The moanings of your first girl
are your anthem.
And you quietly hum it while you sew your ulcers
on the cobalt blue shadow.
41 years old and you still think about her,
and about how you and the sun teamed up
to clumsily kiss her shy tights,
to awkwardly love her fussy ways.
Your life - an unforgivable mistake! just like a tattoo at 4 a. m.,
it is bathed on alcohol and early regrets.
Your life:
- sour-milk mornings,
- mourning nights.
An easy ride across the green mile.
You are a sad memory,
as sorrowful as flowers tied up to a guardrail.
Somber like that tiny lace ribbon
tied up to her twelve-year-old ankle
that still makes you choke everynight.
© Text: Victoria Bardot
Image: Abduction of Ganymede
(Text written in Blackpool, Northern England. About a wanderer I observed on the beach).
At the colorful pier,
the rotten big wheel still clanks
like it did fifty years ago.
Those teenage sticky kisses
oh, they still find their way
through the rusty screws.
Young wandering hands are in no-man's land
rolling over the gloomy sea,
and they come and go like the British wayward tides,
soft and rosy as the cheeks of a saint
the waves go,
and so they go teenage trembling hearts
sailing in the dawnlight.
It looks like the candy floss sellers
are announcing your death tonight.
The sick lights and it all
takes you back
to the old maid's song of old-fashioned weddings.
The moanings of your first girl
are your anthem.
And you quietly hum it while you sew your ulcers
on the cobalt blue shadow.
41 years old and you still think about her,
and about how you and the sun teamed up
to clumsily kiss her shy tights,
to awkwardly love her fussy ways.
Your life - an unforgivable mistake! just like a tattoo at 4 a. m.,
it is bathed on alcohol and early regrets.
Your life:
- sour-milk mornings,
- mourning nights.
An easy ride across the green mile.
You are a sad memory,
as sorrowful as flowers tied up to a guardrail.
Somber like that tiny lace ribbon
tied up to her twelve-year-old ankle
that still makes you choke everynight.
© Text: Victoria Bardot
Image: Abduction of Ganymede