POEM OF THE DAY

(32) Occupy Day of the Dead

2011-11-07T22:01:00.000-08:00

Today the skeletons occupied the city
they seized thousands of faces
promenading their smiles all over.

I saw my grandmother Elena in the body of a boy
playing the tambourine without stopping,
I saw Maria, my mother,
in the body of a girl dancing with open arms.

(((a snail fell____s_l_o_w_l_y____inside my body)))

Today the bodies have forgotten fear
today the bones are the best weapons
to occupy the skin that enfolds us.

I have seen my grandfathers Carlos Maria and Fernando,
who in life never knew each other ,
they walked the streets embracing half drunk
giving out marigolds to each woman with a face painted as a skull
who they met along their way,
and I saw my Aunt Luz
she was a feathered girl in the fury of the Aztec Dance.

(((now my body falls____s_l_o_w_l_y____inside a snail)))

Today the bodies have forgotten their pains
and the bones have occupied their place in the barrio.

I have seen my Aunt Ilda painting flowers on the faces of children.
Finally I saw my grandmother Maria
she stared at me with her smooth baby face
she held out her hand like this …
and smiled at me while she said something in baby talk
that surely meant “bye bye”

(((now my body at last occupies my body)))

Translation by Nina Serrano
© Adrian Arias 2011
image: "Jamille" by Adrian

(((((((((((((((((((((21)))))))))))))))))))))

2011-05-21T23:11:00.000-07:00

"The end of the world will be today"
advertise bus posters and radio programs
"The End of the World” is a phrase that reminds me of childhood
My grandmother, who was very devout and went to church every Sunday,
once told me that people were a little sick in the head
to think that the world would end in a punishment from God
saying, "it is what people will do that will end the world"
As I was a child I smiled without fully understanding that phrase,
but now I understand.

"The End of the World” is the whistling of bombs
falling slowly over a small town that
just celebrated a birth, a birthday and a wedding.
"The End of the World” is the dark street of panic
is the monster that haunts us
with the experience that we want to forget.

"The End of the World” is the cry of pleasure in love
is the cry of pain in childbirth
the silent cry of the father who lost his daughter
the farmer who lost his crop.
"The End of the World” is the celebration of the gods,
idols, commandments, stones, robes, flags, anthems,
political parties, penance, pistols, loans,
"The End of the World” is the gift of God for having sinned
or our own invention for wanting to be afraid.
"The End of the World” … "The End of the World” …

There are those who say that everything will begin in a remote village
in the mountains of Colombia,
others assert that it will begin at a place full of books
with people listening to a poem about the end of the world.

Confronting the eyes of faith, what can the poet do?
just keep reading while the ground shakes
and if is not shaking would it be a disappointment
after such a tremendous prediction
oh please help me to live at this very moment
"The end of the world”
by raising your right foot and letting it down hard on the floor
then do the same with the left
and repeat this operation eleven times
until you feel the earth tremble, then
Stop instantly and listen
… listen …
… listen the silence …
… the silence that remains after producing
"The end of the world."

First version of "Poema del Fin del Mundo"
Translated by Nina Serrano.
Poem readed @ SF Public Library, the day of "The End of the World", May 21, 5:05pm

MANTRA (a cellular poem)

2011-03-18T03:18:00.000-07:00

Awakening is a color
the silence an aroma
the embrace a song for my soul

Awakening is a color
the silence an aroma
the embrace a song for my soul

Awakening is a color
the silence an aroma
the embrace a song for my soul

2011 English version of Mantra 2008
to be read by CELL-PHONE, as part of Adrian project
"Poemas Celulares/Cellular Poems"
translation by Nina Serrano and Adrian Arias
As part of "OLMECA" @ de Young Museum poetry reading
March 18, Koret Auditorium
...and....
@ The Independent, April 1st
as part of Rupa & The April Fishes concert
Benefit for Voice of Roma

( ( ( ( f o u r ) ) ) )

2011-01-11T01:11:00.000-08:00

four seasons
four elements
four cardinal points
four way road

rail-road-cros-sing

four hands
four arms
four legs
four walls

four
looks like a house without a roof
and so that …

five…
finishes covering the sky, it doesn’t matter
hug me tight
close your eyes
and dream.

© Adrian Arias
Translation by Nina Serrano
Photo & Object by Adrian, as part of "Beautiful Trash"
Art Residency @ de Young Museum 2010

(((three)))

2011-01-03T15:33:00.000-08:00

Snfffffff… you inhale the precise qualifying adjectives
you exhale silence…

Grandmother chews the garlic with a piece of river stone
that is round, black and perfectly polished…

160 years ago an enormous rock fell to Earth that converted dinosaurs
into future gasoline…

A man notes in his notebook that 718 days are left
till the end of the world and lights his cigar…

According to the dictionary “Day” is a time
in which the sun is above the horizon…

You feel the aroma of the rain
is like a recently cut tree branch…

“Silence” is a prison of condemned words to live
without showing its face because of the fault of some fault…

That woman has risen to the heights just to touch the moon
and the moon turns her eyes away with every step…

“Blame” I an insect that causes more bites than any other
and provokes a stinging of unlimited dimensions…

However I don’t know how to explain that
I dream that I wake and don’t remember my dream…

Translated by Nina Serrano
(original version in spanish here)
Adrian, January 3rd, 2011

((two))

2011-01-02T14:22:00.000-08:00

moon-sun
up-down
feet-head
asleep-awake
slap-hug
silence-scream

e-q-u-i-l-i-b-r-i-u-m

eyes-eyes
body-body
fingers fingers fingers fingers

dis-equi-lib-rium

panties-teeth
mouth-belly button
tongue-cloud
lightening-sea shore
abyss-salt
tunnel-sky

e-q-u-i-l-i-b-r-i-u-m

Translated by Nina Serrano
(original version in spanish here)
Adrian, January 2nd, 2011

My personal plastic sounds

2010-12-11T00:11:00.000-08:00

1
I dream in a sea
of Polyethylene sounds
and plastic caress.

2
I wake up and look at the sky
polyester clouds raining nylon threads
over my Melamine face.

3
I play the drum of my skin
to the rhythm of polystaturated carbon
of my celofan soul.

4
If everything is a dream
I want to share the secret sound
of my journey with you.

5
Every morning plastic visits my mouth
in the form of a brush for my teeth
of a cup, of food…

6
Every morning coffee
and its aroma and its music
visit the plastic to dance.

7
My body resists to change
but I am a chameleon
half flesh half PVC.

Haiku-performance by Adrián
as part of "Beautiful Trash" project
@ de Young Museum SF
Friday December 10, 3:33pm
Photos by Danica Conneely
Thanks to Claudia Camille for her help

VITIS VINIFERA

2010-07-11T07:02:00.000-07:00

“VITIS VINIFERA” (Climbing Grapevine)

Wood in the skin
after embrace
Vine of light
whisper in the afternoon
body that leaves its house
in the agony of air
imprisoned without feet but desired
unable to go back to the root
turning into memory
into aroma into river into madness into moon
that helps the lovers to savor the next kiss
and the lonely to sing without fear
this poem.

“VITIS VINIFERA”

Madera en la piel
después abrazo
enredadera de luz
murmullo en la tarde
cuerpo que deja su casa
en la agonía del aire
encarcelado y sin pies pero deseado
sin poder volver a la raíz
se convierte en memoria
en aroma en río en locura en luna
que ayuda a los amantes a saborear el siguiente beso
y a los solitarios a cantar sin miedo
este poema.

Award poem at Struga Poetry Evenings, Macedonia, 2009
Adrian Arias (Peru-US)
English translation by Nina Serrano

(magic corner lovers)

2010-04-05T12:36:00.000-07:00

The skin’s silence is dressed
with the scent of caresses
and the sound of love is fed
with the moving train announcing
they have reached the sun
in the middle of the night.

© Adrian Arias
translation by Nina Serrano

(instructions on how to find silence)

2010-01-30T23:59:00.000-08:00

Look for pen and paper
draw the map of memory
following the dotted line
pause at X marks the spot
look at its sides
recognize that one is alone
that the map brought you silence
and that from there
nothingness finally has a place
and solitude a refuge.

***Translation by Nina Serrano

(Original Spanish version)

(instrucciones para encontrar el silencio)

Buscar la pluma y el papel
dibujar el mapa de memoria
seguir la línea punteada
detenerse en la cruz
mirar a los lados
reconocer que uno está solo
que el mapa fue para encontrar el silencio
y que desde allí
la nada por fin tiene un lugar
y la soledad un refugio.

(escrito el 24 de Enero)
© Imagenes de Adrián Arias

Brief history of pain

2009-11-15T16:44:00.000-08:00

I am a boy playing with dead fish
I hang them from the line where my grandmother
hangs freshly washed clothes
there dry my fish
with tails gripped by the wooden pins
face down dripping the last drops of the sea
that are God's tears
who doesn't exist but it does not matter
because when I am grown
and I wear a uniform
and die in the war
I will have to believe in him
to let the light enter my body
to bear the spilling blood
that will fill my mother's breast with pain.

© photo by Adrian Arias
Translation by Nina Serrano
Nov 2009
part of the unpublished book
“Book looking for where to live”

( en español )

Breve historia del dolor

Soy un niño jugando con peces muertos
los cuelgo del cordel donde mi abuela
cuelga la ropa recién lavada
allí se secan mis peces
con las colas apretadas por los ganchos de madera
boca abajo chorreando las últimas gotas del mar
que son las lágrimas de dios
que no existe pero no importa
porque cuando sea grande
y use el uniforme
y muera en la guerra
tendré que creer en él
para dejar entrar la luz en mi cuerpo
y soportar la sangre derramada
que llenará de dolor el pecho de mi madre.

© Adrian Arias

((( I open a box and...)))

2009-07-29T23:11:00.000-07:00

I open a box and find the dissected wing of a bird…
I don’t remember having put it there …
I open another box and out comes your voice…
but how is it possible to hear your voice after so many years …?
I open another box and find my complete collection of spinning tops...
now I remember that I never had a spinning top collection…
I open another box and there is a sweet perfume
my grandmother’s aroma in the day she died…
I open another box and there is my first tooth…
no, it is my daughter’s first tooth...
I open another box and all the bills I haven’t paid appear…
next to all the money I had lost…
I open another box and a mirror sends back my own face…
It looks at me with curiosity… and i open this box
and found a piece of stone from the cosmos
…
This is the moving of my dreams the moving of my heart
the moving of my milk teeth
the moving of skin of pills of slaps of kisses
the moving that I swallow without chewing
that lives exhausted
and awakens every time I open a box.

Translation by Nina Serrano

2 POEMS - 2 POEMAS

2009-05-08T05:11:00.000-07:00

Precipitations of the skin / Precipitaciones de la piel

2009-05-05T05:05:00.000-07:00

I slide on the precipice of your skin
and find the beginning of life.

...

Resbalo por el precipicio de tu piel
y encuentro el principio de la vida.

What is a body?
an accumulation of organs?
a space of biological dimension?
a brain giving orders to a heart?
a heart disobeying orders?
rivers of blood wanting to stay living within?
an extension of skin forming a person?
a space without remedy?
a place that dies if not caressed?

...

¿Qué es el cuerpo?
¿una acumulación de órganos?
¿un espacio de dimensiones biológicas?
¿un cerebro dando órdenes a un corazón?
¿un corazón desobedeciendo las órdenes?
¿ríos de sangre que se quieren quedar a vivir dentro?
¿una extensión de piel que construye a una persona?
¿un espacio sin remedio?
¿un lugar que se muere si no lo acaricias?

Oh! Body traveling without a ship in space
journeying through the emptiness they have left
the caresses of yesterday
breathing the poluted air
from the bruises of childhood
with the only hope of falling
into the steep mountain path of skin
open your arms and surrender yourself
for now it is already time for a hug.

...

Oh! Cuerpo que viajas sin nave en el espacio
recorriendo el vacío que han dejado
las caricias de ayer
respirando el aire viciado
de los moretones de la infancia
con la única esperanza de caer
en el desfiladero de la piel
abre los brazos y entrégate
que ya es hora de un abrazo.

Your body is the only clock
that makes me arrive on time.

...

Tu cuerpo es el único reloj
que me hace llegar a tiempo.

...Turn off the light and open your eyes / …Apaga la luz y abre los ojos

2008-05-03T04:44:00.000-07:00

(...Turn off the light and open your eyes
enter into the house of your body
and go over it without any rush…)

-for the two Marias, my mother and my grandmother-

I am of flesh and dream
part made of carbon part of light
from fragments of recycled skin of my grandparents
but without the wrinkles that come always on time

Each day I am night and each night
paper where what is written
is unfamiliar (and also the usual)
that I am only bone
and to no one even though now I belong
to the hands of the woman who caresses me

I am only crack and shadow
a bit of yesterday mixed
with a little piece of tomorrow.

(…Apaga la luz y abre los ojos
entra en la habitación de tu cuerpo
y recórrela sin apuro…)

-para las dos Marías, mi madre y mi abuela-

Soy de carne y sueño
parte hecho de carbón parte de luz
de trozos de piel recicladas de los abuelos
pero sin las arrugas que esas llegan solas
siempre a tiempo

cada día soy noche y cada noche
papel donde se escribe
lo que no se acostumbra (y lo otro también)
que soy sólo hueso
y de nadie aunque ahora le pertenezco
a las manos de la mujer que me acaricia

soy sólo grieta y sombra
un trozo de ayer mezclado
con un pedacito de mañana.

POEM OF THE DAY translated by NINA SERRANO

2008-02-11T04:44:00.000-08:00

All poems written day by day in 2007
(click on images to enlarge)
((photos and drawings by adrian))

DAY 8
(in the darkness, while you caress me)

The equilibrium
of the moon up in the sky
is held in your hands
(January 8 dawn)

DAY 29
(for Humberto)

We are Gods enclosed in a grain of sand
our small body is a giant
filled with all we have been
all we are being
all we will be

a fetus in the womb
-a cry and a little blood-
a child learning to speak
-a tooth and a little blood-
a blushing adolescent
-a kiss and a little bit of blood-
a traveler, a reader, a lover
-a poem and a little bit of blood-

We are Gods of blood
enclosed in a small body of sand
trying to think what we should think
when we should be trying to think the incredible
(29 of February, between 5 and 6 in the morning)

DIA 36

Neruda writes a poem looking at the ruins
at the same time that I cut a fresh fish filet
illuminated by the lighthouse that helps travelers
and your mind transports itself to the childhood of Gypsies
traveling against the wind and sand

the seasons mix
now Neruda is a Gypsy who tries my ceviche
in a desert full of lighthouses
and this kitchen faces the ocean of your childhood and I
in the heights of Machu-Picchu see the fish flying
from my next poem.
(Morning of February 5)

DAY 81
What do we do when we are next to the person we love?
(select an option)

- Give yourself over sweetly to the suffering of a caress.
- Listen attentively to the sound produced by kissing her lips
- Let yourself go with the trembling of your skin that seems to burn you in an embrace
- Leave a path of kisses to mark your way back
- Just look at her
- All of the above
(March 22)

DAY 86
What are shoes good for?

- To take us to places that they know better than we do
- To find the footsteps you left when you went
- To cherish the hidden desire to jump for joy
- To eat the steps that others have left forgotten in the corners
- To live at our feet
(March 27)

DAY 91
What is a coincidence?

- Two different watches running fast at the same time but in different pockets
- The shadow of a butterfly that no longer is
- The flower that sleeps inside each stone
- The small stone we gathered along the way years ago and now we find in our pocket
- Your eyes that don’t know that they close just at the moment that I cross in front of you, or maybe not
(April 1)

DAY 216
(for Julia)

From the ocean she returns every night
crossing the border of Moron awakening her with a kiss on her eyes
moistening the edge of her blanket with salt
where she guards the story of an embrace
the story of a dance she learned
that lit the flame
to keep on living
the dance that she gives you on every stage
the pain of your absence is of flesh and bone
of cloud your body of mother
(August 4)

DAY 244

I see you growing and I start looking for
all your childhood photos
as if I could feed time backwards
so that you return to my arms
with this aroma that you hide behind your neck
that saves me each bad day
and makes think about how you will be as a grown up

I see you grow
and I take photos from every angle
not to feed my desire for you to stay as you are
but to play a trick on time
and every once in a while
play with your stuffed dog.
(September 1)

DAY 255

Today I have to confess that the moon
is a hole that I had to cut in the sky
so that you wouldn’t be afraid in the dark of the night
and the sun is a pile of fireflies
that your mother tied by the wings
and put in a crystal ball
the sea is an interminable collection of transparent cloth
that your grandmother helped me sew
the fish are the Polaroid applause of friends
and the islands are wrinkled hats
of elegant gentlemen that stay sleeping beneath the water
the birds and the stars are drawings that grandfather never stops painting
This is the way of the world of my dear
a pile of rare things stuck on top of the other
and others yet to be stuck on
waiting for your hands to grow along with your smile
to make a great collage.
(September 12)

DAY 257

Today your mouth has eaten all
the words of my mouth and in silence
I have loved you
(September 14)

DAY 258

Today the moon
has woven wall to wall
the island where my body
refreshes itself from the day
(September 15)

DAY 284

-Individual performance exercise for rainy days 1-
Close your eyes
raise the hand that we normally write with
pretending we had a pencil between the thumb and the index
press the fingers and begin to draw in the air
small circles rectangular stairs large curves
let your hand keep moving in the air
drawing without a previous road
now much faster now
much s l o w e r now much s l o w e r yet
until you feel your hand floating and your fingers separate
now the drawing is a caress now
raise the other hand
now it’s a cloud now invisible bread
that feeds desire now it is time to open your eyes
now look at the drawing that remained
only you can see it
it last an instant but it lasts
and it’s yours
completely yours and now…
now repeat the whole operation without making it a trick
Close your eyes…
(October 11)

DAY 297

Luminescent and lacerating
omnipresent even as it becomes invisible
it doesn’t leave mark on the wound it causes
opening and closing its impossible scar
(October 24)

DAY 303
-spirit of the black box-

Today I was in the mind of that child
with 97 commercials, 715 personalities and
517, 823 unintelligible words
in 3 hours and 52 minutes of high frequency waves
erasing from its mind the first hug
the first cry
the first tooth
the first flower
telling it all that there is to forget
to be really entertained
only by the light
the divine light of emptiness
(October 30)

DAY 320

The moon dies of sorrow
the cloud of shame
of blue dies the day
and of a breakdown the trees
on learning that there is no cure for forgetting
nor relief for memory
(November 16)

DAY 327

Oh diminutive human body
suspended between heaven and earth
fighting every instant with gravity
swollen with fluids that nourish and weigh you down
with organs that grow and deform
what am I going to do with you
in addition to scratch if you itch me
and cover you if you feel cold
Let me sit on the edge of the bed
to try to understand you
I will undress you a little more in the silence of dawn
And I will travel with you wherever you take me
I trust in the routes of your blood
and the footsteps your shadow leaves on passing
only let me go with you
will you come with me?
(November 23)

DAY 344

The birth of a silence
is written in the agony of a sigh
(December 10)

DAY 345

Silence is the slave of fear
even though we treat fear like a king
(December 11)

DAY 349

We keep our coins in small boxes
that we didn’t use at the proper time
because we wanted to remember a place that we already forgot
stamps that already lost their value
and their beauty is debatable
locks of hair from someone who was very special
and who suddenly we don’t remember any more
secrets that went out to all but we persist in maintaining
they keep on being secrets
(December 15)

DAY 363

The stone knows when to release into nothing
it knows why when and how
the immortal stone makes its death and knows how to hold its breath
just to continue spying on the moment of our death
the stone knows everything
my body doesn’t know anything and every day
goes further from its beginnings
but the stone envies me my numbered days.
(December 30, 2007)

These 20 poems were read at the Red Hills Books in San Francisco CA on February 9, 2008
by Nina Serrano & Adrian Arias