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Silbato o Silaba

4/20/2017

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Susurramos antes que cantamos.
 
Lejos de la costa, el mensaje sencillo
del cuervo, la tierna subida.
 
Tal vez, no hay otra vida,
pero si hay otra manera de vivir.
 
La soledad puede ser una maestra
severa y sin misericordia
pero no puedo ver más allá
de los círculos de mi “si” y “cuando”
disolviéndose en el viento.
 
Por cantar, defendemos
de lo que somos: ni cuervo,
 
ni subida, ni canción, aunque llame
a lo que escucha con el tono agudo
de un pájaro y el responde
como el eco del mar.
 
Me refiero a trazar
las extremidades por un silbato
o una silaba, desde del centro
hermético, donde sonido
tiene su propia vida con
forma, oida o inaudita.
 
Silbato o silaba
 
 
We whisper before singing.

Far from the coast, the simple message
Of the crow, the tender rise.

Perhaps, there is no other life,
But there is another way of living.

Solitude can be a teacher
severe and merciless,
but I cannot see beyond
the circles of my "if" and "when"
dissolving in the wind.

To sing, we defend ourselves
from what we are: not crow,

not swell, nor the singing, although it calls
to who listens, with the sharp tone
of a bird and responds
as the echo of the sea.

I refer to tracing
the extremities by a whistle
or a syllable, from the tight
center, where sound
has its own life with a
form, heard or unheard of.

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     I'm a poet, writer, & teacher living along the river in West County, raising a family, and doing my thing. 
    This is a blog for my third round of NaPoWriMo,  with brand new, unedited poems & images daily, or as close to that as I can muster.. Leave a comment or two (but be gentle. These babies are newborn.)

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