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The following poems/songs also merited special mention:
1. Rayando de cielo
Marijo Alba
Hay nombres nacidos de humo
a los que hay que quitar las chinas
que les molestanen los zapatos,
el polvo sobre sus ropas,
con agujerosnegros en sus cráneos
y en las gargantas nudos de gusanos.
Asesinados por la noche
el viento con zurda mano
golpeo las capas, los rostros
y muy lejos, lejos de aquí
llora el rey de Harlem.
La cal y el tiempo
visten la misma túnica
manchada de muerte y coñac.
Peligroso desgranar el espacio
de un papel en blanco bajo la escarcha.
¿Quiénrecogerá las palabras
de las sombrassin registro,
sin refugio?
Se despide el sueño.
Sobre los vértices del raso cielo
el laberinto de la duda.
2. Pierrot tocant la guitarra 1925
Anna Perkins
Summertime sends sea light seeping,
Leaking, into dreams
Where shadows lengthen, deepening
In silent violet places I have never been
On lilac afternoons in late September.
City-sick, of archways dark
And fountains dry, and plazas parched
With longing
I have a wish to dive
With shoals of flashing fish that glint and slip
Through shipwrecks
Sky reflecting in their scales
Drowned sailors’ dreams
Of lightning.
I go down to the street outside; to the Paseo
Which burns in green and gold at afternoon
(The palaces, the patios, the petals of the moon)
Or I go to the Reina Sofía.
In the hot night air — so still
I ache, and I seek, and I take
My unquiet heart for a walk.
I long for a boat to carry me
Beyond these scorched, suspended planes: these rooftops and museums
On cardboard waves, with stiffly laundered sheets for sails
Blowing bone-dry, baking in the breeze
Thirsting for something that’s always been
Just out of sight
Around the corner, past the courtyard:
Twilight the colour of mauve, cerulean seas
Glimpsed through an open window
Submerged in a sliver of sky; in the silver of dreams.
3. O Tierra Mia
Grupo Tejiendo
Si amas la naturaleza encontrarás
Belleza por todas partes
O tierra mía por estas tristes será porque nuestra maldad persiste
Cada día te veo peor y no estás como
Te hizo el creador
El humano hirió tu corazón
Con acciones que no tienen perdón
Corto el oxígeno al talar el árbol
aquel pulmón de energía junto al sol
Tus océanos llenos de islas
puros plásticos que aíslan
Mataron tus animales
Con acciones brutales
Te robaron tus recursos
Engañando con puros discursos
Te lloro y te pido perdón
Por dañarte y no tener corazón
O tierra mía
This poem was sent in by Tony Luna, on behalf of the group in El Salvador. His message said: I am the coordinator of Music for Hope in the UK as well as a member of a rural community in El Salvador. Our music organisation has been working in the rural communities of El Bajo Lempa, El Salvador, helping children and adults learn to play musical instruments and express themselves through music since 1995.
Please see:
The children of Grupe Tejiendo reciting their poem, O Tierra Mia
4. El Sueño que nos sueña
Matthew Hilborn
Somos humo de otro fuego,
hijos de un nombre
que nadie pronuncia.
Alguien nos talla en sus pupilas
y despierta, gritando,
en su propia carne de sombra.
¿Qué espejo devuelve
lo que nunca fuimos?
El tiempo tiene pasillos
donde alguien ríe:
cada huella inventa su camino,
cada sombra siembra su sol.
No se repite el ayer,
pero seguimos alargando los brazos
hacia esa luz que tiembla,
hacia el instante
que se derrite en los labios
como nieve robada.
Rompen el cuadro:
nos enseñan el hilo dorado,
la tijera, la herida.
¿Es esto verdad o teatro?
El que se mira en el abismo
—elegante, sórdido—
es solo otro disfraz
buscando su rostro.
Mientras, la nieve cae, indiferente,
revuelve sueños con polvo,
hasta que todo es blanco,
hasta que todo es nada.
¿Vivimos o nos viven?
¿Es la máscara o el hueso?
El texto sangra,
gime entre sus propias grietas.
Nos clava los ojos
y pregunta,
con voz de tormenta:
¿Qué harás ahora
que sabes que estás despierto?
5. Port Meadow (song)
Galdrick de la Torre Avalos
La ves llegar
como un sueño en la ciudad
de las agujas de ensueño.
Es una luz
sobre un cielo de cristal
con una luna de fuego.
Toma esta flor
y sígueme.
En el país
de los días que vendrán
el agua fluye a lo lejos.
Y es que, quizá,
era esto y nada más:
un río sigue corriendo,
y es el camino
la verdad.
María está
sonriendo y sin hablar
te mira desde su sueño.
Y en el rumor
de Port Meadow y el calor
la noche cae como un velo.
¿Oyes mi voz?
6. Segundo Sueño
Louise Evans
A reimagining of Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz’s ‘Primero sueño’
He wakes in fitful starts
Beads of sweat
Sat patiently on his brow
Candle burnt down
Robes damp, beige turned to brown
The sun has not yet deigned to rise
Easy to surmise
That night still creeps
And he must keep
Within his monastery chambers
The human clock misaligning
With that marvellous manufacturer
Of life -- of strife
The father of flaming light
A shiver as sweat evaporates
Breathing grows less shallow as he ponders
the dream that woke him from his slumber
a spirited prelude, less tender
than his usual visions
perhaps this mission is bothering his senses
the soul’s quest remains untested.
But in his dream
God was a she, bearer of the Sun
Ship of the soul
Enchantress, commandress
Burdened with man
With the Mind’s weakness as a whole
The sphere of Earth, its fabric
Rich but oppressive
Unknown to male minds but to Hers, impressive
His prudent rumination on the
Dissent of the Sisters
Was misguided, says his Dream
Should encompass the Misters
In his head, a call to arms sounds
Trumpeters blare their brass
We’ve placed the wrong people in power
He whispers, that what they have
We may lack. What was once opaque
Becomes luminous in his eye
As ruin and rebellion are observed
Man’s most futile fight
She smiles in her omniscience
‘I told you so’ falling from her tongue to his
Colours’ vibrancy is restored
Knowledge is protected and war efforts are moored
It was her Dream all along
It is her power understood.
7. That Girl by the Stage
Amanda Huggins*
On our wrecking nights,
horns locked in combat,
neither of us acknowledge the pale
blush of dawn,
neither of us feel her gentle hand
waving us through
the blockades
Every quarrel pecks at the edge
of our world, chips away
until there is nothing solid underfoot.
We are no longer level,
but slip-sliding through sand,
holding on to the lip of reality
with cracked fingertips
It was all a dream, you say—
Us. Now. This.
No one can ever outrun reality.
Perhaps you are right.
We should have left it there
in the smudged edgelands
of three a.m., in la madrugada,
the place where
words are weightless
I’ve held on tight
to that girl by the stage,
our elbows nudging,
music beating inside me,
the undertow in her eyes
tugging me out to sea,
observing in puzzled silence
as I burn
boats and bridges
for a single kiss
But now I can see
there was fear, even then,
the dread of holding a perfect dream
up to the light,
of finding the ending lying in wait,
coiled fast around the start.
* Amanda worked with Consuelo at Victorina Press, and wrote her obituary for the Guardian newspaper. See link here:
