Un Simple Poemario, Que De Simple Tiene Algo

I was proud that day. I decided to finish it. It had been 10 years and now I am able to admire the beauty of a complete work. It came with sadness, tears, joy, and a lot of remuneration. I just know it was worth it. How could it not be? It’s my baby. Ten YEARS! Oh, lordie. I really thought I would never make it happen, but I did. One decade of emotions, all of it written down. I figured I could never write such a thing, actually finish it. Yet, I realized it wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t cute. It wasn’t actually going to be read. I honestly wonder what’s happened to our culture, why we frown upon such things. I have a book. Of poetry. *Small giggle*. Take your time. “A collection of poems”, as wordreference.com puts in, because now ‘a days, we look shit up online. And there is no translation for “poemario” according to the internet. It’s funny how we love to say we’re cultured, we love the rioja wine, the manchego cheese, the don quijote act and the Spanish attitude that goes way back. We love to say we read, of course we love La Acera, we fucking love culture, MAN. Right? So why the hell aren’t we reading poetry? I have 70 poems, beautifully arranged, organized by theme, with many images for each one and I haven’t been able to get a response from any of the publishing houses I contacted in Puerto Rico. I am making it my next project and a gift to myself, maybe for my soon-to-be graduation to send it to Canada and get it done for cheap. For 200 copies of 90-100 pages I could end up paying a grand or two. According to “them”, the market is simply not here. I asked, where did it go? I have shit my grandfather wrote. He was a professor of literature, granted but even Shakespeare can be considered poetry and we read it in high school. Although not really, I know for a fact that most of my friends never actually read the works they were assigned in high school. Think a sec, did you? My generation doesn’t really go to Borders that much, let alone buy a book of poetry, check out la Tertulia or even give up a Twilight book for a good poemario. Not even our beloved university would bloody their hands with a failed product. Even they know how bad we have it here. I was in Sevilla this summer. I pause to talk about my summer, as it was spectacular and I love to share a good story. I spent the entire summer in Barcelona. I traveled the north, the east and the south of Spain, and enjoyed three months of the Spanish culture. I found it to be quite similar to our own especially in the south. I had been to Barcelona twice before and once to Madrid, but for short periods. Both times I went to Barcelona where while I was living in Paris in 2005. Once I went with my buddy Anand for few days in March during a two week break we had; the other, a romantic day and a half getaway in May, to see an Ismael Serrano (http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ismael_Serrano) concert with that ex I wrote about before in “Cupid, You’re Fired”. (http://laacera.com/posts/juan-bobo/2010/02/dear-cupid-youre-fired). And I went to Sevilla… I went to visit a family friend, real old fella’ with the knowledge of an elephant (yea, look it up, elephants have the best memory) and I realized how much we’re missing. He had SO many books, old, new, from everywhere! I try to read a lot, because I like to learn from others. And I talked to him about it. He told me not to give up, to spread the word, to use the internet! He encouraged me to keep writing (so I’ve just been using up my free time blogging here). I have talked with many people about this don’t get me wrong; they just don’t want to hear it. Poetry doesn’t sell. Maybe this will be my wake up call. Maybe there will be an angel that reads this and decides to follow up by going to http://cartadejan.blogspot.com and forwarding this to a publisher. Wouldn’t THAT be great? Not better than Barcelona, or manchego cheese, for that matter. Or Pamplona, San Sebastian, Bilbao, Valencia, or even Cordoba. And definitely not better than my favorite city there, Granada. But it would be mad cool to get my shit published. Let’s see what we have in the Poetry folder… Most of my work is in Spanish, I guess I just started blogging in English, but either way, I hope you can read ‘em. Ok, so I wrote this one when I was clearly in love. Maybe this was it! Maybe I needed to think about the culture that is the writing society in our island and the weakness of its consumer base and to publish my dilemma right here in La Acera. Sólo… podría Sólo las rocas gaseosas de un mar lejano o la amistad con un demente que escapa contacto humano, podría cambiar lo que hoy por ti en mi corazón tengo algo que nadie explica, ni un filósofo, ni un medico, ni un experto. Sólo la ansiedad tranquila que busca la paz junto al mar o un musulmán católico casado a una budista, podría explicarte con detalle lo que en mi cabeza sucede una mente que ya no siente, solo murmulla algo indecente. Sólo una playa escondida sin palmeras, cocos, ni herbáceos vivos o un vaso de agua sin los átomos de hidrógeno, podría venir a mi y darme esperanza de continuar y respirar verbos que mi diccionario borró cuando tu puerta cerró. Sólo las caricias de un lobo hambriento esperando movimiento o un equipo deportivo sin dirigente, ni jugadores, perdiendo, podrían indagar en lo que hoy escribo que de ti nada olvido lo que junto a la luna, a las estrellas digo. Sólo un dinosaurio carnívoro que es por decisión vegetariano o un juez en corte juzgando el criminal que robó rosas para ti, podría juzgar la intensidad de esta locura que de mi cabeza se nutre que igual sigue su paso andante sin pensar lo que hace. Sólo un peatón volador en una calle vacía de gente o un humano ignorante perdido en la ciencia sin creer en Darwin, podría explicarme de tu fantasía, o como vivir sin ti cada día ni que sentir cuando faltas, ni como andar si a mi lado no andas. Sólo una camisa sin tela o un mar salado sin sodio o un bolígrafo que habla sin saber el placer de escribir, podría orientarme sobre tus pupilas, que ya no ofrecen calor o las mías, ciegas, perdidas en el horizonte estremecido por tu ausencia. Sólo un militante guerrillero que sigue el 5to mandamiento o un espejuelo sin aumento que ve todo perfecto, podría escribirme una nota sobre como olvidarte ya que lo más añoro eres tu, preciosa, mi tesoro Sólo un verano con nieve o un sol congelado o una luna azul llena de humanos habitantes, podrían curar este dolor que hoy siento y la infelicidad futura que con certeza presiento. Sólo tú, querida, con tu eterno ser y tu constante estar no otra mujer ni presente ni futuro, por más Venus de más Milo podría inspirar mis agallas o ganar mis batallas ni darme la luz ni la vida como lo haces tú, querida.

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