jueves, 15 de marzo de 2012
Adolfo Jose Beteta Garcia was born in Managua in 1977, but left Nicaragua in 1985 and moved to Worcester, Massachusetts, where he awakened his poetic gene. When he was 22, he returned to Nicaragua and started working at the Red Cross before moving on to teach American and British Literature in St. Teresa’s Academy. He has written unpublished books of poems: “Autumn Whispers”, “Isis in Bloom” and “Divine Consequences”.
There was a blue calm that evening,
As if manifested by berry fields inMaine
Where the sudden stirring of leaves is all you hear
And know that with each unsaid whisper
Your life harshly slips away –
And there is nothing you can do to save it
Because your conviction is unshared;
Nothing you can say
Because redemption is deaf tonight;
Nothing you can think because reason’s out of order;
It was all your fault,
Now you’re stuck between your desire and your next step,
Uncertain as it might seem,
Not as certain as it had been;
All you can do is intensely feel despite the corporal numbness.
I had to arrest my breath in order to forget you,
So I can finally unlearn my thoughts
And re-learn the necessary steps
To absolve me from the spell of your existence.
Absence does not make the heart grow fonder;
In this particular case,
It becomes the healing factor to your memory.
• A Saturday Morning Stroll Through Memory Lane
Sauntering on recent pathways I decided to choose one,
The one with the Oak tree, Evergreens, and wild Orchids
Blowing freely in the blissful airstrip of a Summer gentle breeze.
The first three miles felt heavy,
Unusual and strange,
From dark to light is drastic height
A universe of range.
The next three miles were different
I adapted to the air.
Should I trek on and see the end?
Or should I go, divert my path and make my journey fair?
I decided to keep going,
Determined if you will,
For a better life,
A seed of love,
A shining hope,
A moonlit dove,
To write a word or maybe two and fill my heart with thrill.
The next three miles were perfect,
Divinely spent and felt,
I reached the moon saw Isis bloom
And went beyond to constellation ground;
Stole the essence of Time itself,
An experience profound.
The Orchids sang with passion,
The Evergreens gave scents,
The Oak tree stood so wise and gay as butterflies descend
From clouds of joy on to my path the scenery's so bright
As blind I walk on down the road basking in delight.
The next three miles were scary,
The sunny day became
A rapid somber painting impossible to tame.
The sky transformed to sadness, a cloudy tent of pain,
It hung above with no remorse laughing then it said,
"Stupid man! Blinded fool! Your emotions conquered reason
And now you hang your sentence said your felony is treason!"
Wrath announced its presence with a thunderstorm of cold,
Freezing, wet, piercing raindrops fell above me and they told,
"We are here to invite you, come with us and you’ll see,
Close your eyes and enter agony and you'll never end up free.
You have seen the other coin, life's not always what it seems,
Your reality's distorted and polluted all the stream."
Crouched under a Willow
Like a child scared of the dark
Shaking, sobbing spasm tears race down my cheek.
The road was muddy, puddles laid inches apart,
I'm scared to move, I've fallen down
My self-esteem has split the ground.
The Orchids withered,
The Oak has died,
"I wonder why?" is not the question,
The Evergreens have lost sensation.
Some time had passed before I awoke
To a fresh reality I know nothing of.
This alien destiny has provoked
Detachment from my inner-self
And all around there's isolation
From things I know
My whole formation.
I'm scared to walk the next three miles
Not knowing where they'll lead.
I walk a road and not some aisles
Limping slowly from my wounds.
I feel them healing,
Closing tightly from the pain,
But the memory is present from the scars that still remain.
• Analysis on Society
What kind of strange intimate thoughts breed inside the mind
Of the lovely couple that walk hand in hand
Ignoring all the critics?
Are they any different than the rest of us?
Join us in the ancient ritual of lies and hypocrisy…
From cavemen to presidents and in between are the empires…
Infinity sleeps where the checkered dolphins swim.
The rest are just industrialized holograms that appear
Before our eyes preventing access to the light.
Do you feel like a paper-ball wrinkled?
Do not discard the faceless bicycle man that waves to us
As he calmly strolls by the ocean shore,
Hypnotizing society with the kaleidoscope wheels
That laugh at the world.
Can you hear the mystical chant of the ancients?
Dive in the whirlpool of thoughts
And awake from the mist of mortality.
It seems that we are lost in the mirror labyrinth of our dreams.
And what exactly is it that critics so passionately refute?
Is it the thoughts that attempt to escape their tower of oppression
Or can it simply be the overwhelming silence of the lake?
De Claudia Romero Paiz en Portal al Mundo de la Poesia
To know what lies beneath a leaf all you have to do is lift it…
But to know what lies beneath your eyes is
An impossibility only possible for you,
Like your ability to hear Autumn Whispers
In the middle of May and say that you are used
To witnessing such phenomenon
Like the simplicity of a light-filled day.
It is within this uncanny ability
Where I desperately desire to drown
And intoxicate my existence with the uncertain attempt
At trying to decipher the enigma that magnetically pulls me –
Tortures me –
But somehow paradoxically fulfills me,
Like poetic born words silently packing themselves
On a lonely, empty page in math class.
And somewhere in my struggle,
In my chaotic universe
Where multitudes clash like cymbals in a funeral parade,
My only certainty is what lies beneath your eyes
And that the deeper I sink inside this vertigo
The closer I come to hearing those mysterious Autumn Whispers,
Praying I don’t confuse them with the mix-messages
Of an Indian Summer projecting off a silver-screen
That lingers atop a cherry blossom…
But why should I?
After all, I have never been that lucky.
De Claudia Romero Paiz en Portal al Mundo de la Poesia
What you give away is your true legacy.
Stop chasing false horizons
And other means of self-destruction –
You have yourself and the strands of time that compose you.
You are a universe within many.
You are past, present and future –
You are a perfectly designed machine who moves in a perfect world.
There is nothing imperfect except human laws,
But you know this and move accordingly within the light
Still trying to salvage those who surround you,
But never imposing your seeds,
Because you understand that you cannot save those who wish to live in darkness.
I was elated to hear about the time
You were walking to the sea and stumbled upon
The phantasms that had haunted you one too many times,
Of how you dispelled them with the strength of a million Primates;
These shadow agents that disturb your state of being must go,
And according to our last conversation it seems they are afraid
Of the precise ticking calendar you follow,
Similar to your heartbeat,
That washes away all negative obstacles –
It feels great to be.
No fears. No worries. No cobwebs.
And everything will crystallize as it did
That night you forgot to live because you chose death –
A wise choice from a sagacious being.
I humbly bow to you,
The extension of myself,
The all singularity of existence.
jueves, 26 de enero de 2012
Being out of the classroom is one of the worst things that can happen to a teacher, surpassable only by death. In a country where teachers are not valued, where they are underpaid and mistreated, it is often a tempation, in order to keep body and soul together in one piece, to succumb and be drawn by the siren chant from institutions that convert us into parrots and at the end, the kick is duly bound. If you read Homer, you will remember that Circe and her club were the downfall for many a good sailor. Same thing happens to teachers.If education is a religion, our classroom is the cathedral, the holiest place where we can be. Don`t ever let society, or the dollar sign, or a lazy husband trick you into anything, do not allow yourself to be bullied by the family.We have been given by our own endeavors and kismet the authority to transmit whatever knowledge we have learned in any possible way. That is the sacred duty towards ourselves and towards society.