wide black rings under my eyes

today, after so many years,
the stale quinapril got me sick
though it did not bloom my quaver

in this wasteland,
hallucinations
keep my abyss together,

my vision
in abeyance

a baggie of,
a packet of,
an ounce of,


a sip of - I've become one of
these madwomen
who hear messages on untuned radios
and lick their arid lips until
they get to adore their disease
above all.


Text: ®Victoria Bardot, 2014
Image: portrait of English model Karen Elson

NUEVOS EVENTOS / UPCOMING EVENTS

Este mes, participaré en dos eventos literarios en Oviedo los que recitaré mis nuevos poemas junto con los de otros autores jóvenes.

This month I'll be participating in two literary events in Oviedo. I'll be reading my new poems with other young authors.

· Recital poético 'De las palabras bonitas' en la SEGUNDA PLANTA DEL EDIFICIO DE ADMINISTRACIÓN DEL CAMPUS EL MILÁN (FACULTAD DE FILOSOFÍA Y LETRAS), el 25 DE MARZO DE 2014 a las 12.00H de la mañana.

En el acto, que se enmarca dentro de la Semana cultural de la Facultad de Filosofía y Letras, nueve autores jóvenes recitaremos nuestros poemas. El evento ha sido organizado conjuntamente por el blog 'De las palabras bonitas' y la Facultad de Filosofía y Letras de la Universidad de Oviedo. La entrada es libre, ¡os esperamos!

En un ambiente distinto, el SÁBADO, 29 DE MARZO DE 2014 estaré recitando mis poemas en la II TIMBA LITERARIA DE OVIEDO, organizada por EL ÚLTIMO PISO y que se celebrará, exactamente en el último piso del EDIFICIO DEL COLEGIO DE LOS DOMINICOS DE OVIEDO, situado en la PLAZA SANTO DOMINGO S/N de Oviedo. La entrada es libre. Poesía clandestina.

three is the number

Everything seems to be built on dualities, just like ourselves.
Good/bad right/wrong are parameters we apply to define our everyday experiences and still the lines between them are blurred to the point that being what is commonly considered 'sane' is not.

What do we do in a world where life resembles literature so much? When I was five years old I could clearly see the borderline between Literature and Life, thick and golden like the line that crosses Greenwich,
but now it has been bleared.



One has to adapt to that.

Rely on definitions no longer:
One who knows what he or she wants does not need them anyway.
You pay a price for everything you do, but if your soul is rich enough, you will know what is best.

Everything seems to be built on dualities but three is the number.
There is always an element which breaks our boundaries.
The world and us, we are two.

And then three, the unknown.

©VICTORIA BARDOT, 2014 all rights reserved
                             Image: unknown source

do, do not, maybe

Do not put your words into golden frames but make them golden.

Always identify who is boss and change it.

stand by yourself, wear your laurel crown and be slightly nice to death, it is not her fault sometimes.

pretend that a grenade and a pomegranate are just the same thing.

resist  / utterly fall for it

skeleton in the closet? dance with it, appreciate the bones.

be aware you are breathing be aware you can choke just be aware in a general way.

think only when strictly required which should be always but we all know it is harmful. /
be merciful (depending on the situation).

say you do not know it but make sure you know, and that you know better.



just because you cannot be in two places at the same time does not mean you should not be, do not hide yourself under poorly elaborated excuses.

Try three places after that and so on.

you were born naked and you felt cold and you were scared and your first reaction was a yell you can only enter this world through a woman she is the only door.

focus on lungs.

how many times a day do you look above, if the answer is none go change it.

respect and endless admiration to the petting maniacs in the park who do not have a better place to love each other.

suck your blood when you get injured and keep the metal flavour between your teeth.




say you do not know it but make sure you know, and that you know better.


Some old notes. ©VICTORIA BARDOT, 2014 all rights reserved
                             Image: unknown source

on losing

If you enter that place
you can close the door as you go
so the wailing winds behind it
won't slap my skin
and crowd it
with early wrinkles.

I'm not attracted whatsoever
to the snowy peaks
to the hazy mornings
to forgetting my name
when the ruthless night approaches
but if you keep crossing the line
I'll forget yours
at least when it is done bleeding my heart,
at least when it is done attacking the dreams of the poor living dead I'll become
if you go.





I've turned myself into a seer.
I see the darkness,
I smell the candles,
faraway.

Let it stay that way.

If you don't cross that filthy doorway,
look up, for there will be no roof.

If you choose that, I will stay.

Forever.

I will help you up.

© Text: VICTORIA BARDOT 2013, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
    Image: Egon Schiele

swindle

            Extracts I and III from "Swindle", by Victoria Bardot

                 I.

wash away the poisons,
for your lips are stained:
my fingertips got bluish
while blending all my meds

and I mourned for all those who thought
their pain had a meaning but didn't

                        III.

Maybe we prayed to the wrong gods
we prayed to Rimbaud and to his hash pipe
we prayed to Thompson and to his bullets
we prayed to Burroughs and to his needles
we prayed until our knees got sore and weary,
and the warm winds brought nothing but flu
and the heaven above would not open for us.



© Text: VICTORIA BARDOT 2013, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
    Image: from "The Basketball Diaries" (1995)

above the influence

I hear you reminiscing about
your sweaty lovers in the 80s
and how you were a skinny chain smoker,
a street girl with a lice tiara.
One of them used to
push your head down,
and you enjoyed it and thought
you were betraying mum and dad,
you were betraying that smiling old lady who gave you a crucifix
you were betraying the suffraggetes,
you were betraying your 8-year-old self.

·

Boys in their summer clothes.
Aw, you observe them.

You know this part by heart:
one of them will approach you,
and reach for your lips.
His breath will be smoky and hazy,
like a warm and damp jungle,
and his mouth carousel will get you dizzy, but still
you're betraying somebody, some day
that nice lil old lady who told you nice words and now's dead,
some day and some where
betraying the ribbons in your toddler hair,
but you keep kissing him.
You're dizzy.

©Text: VICTORIA BARDOT, 2013, all rights reserved.
©Picture: Paz de la Huerta