Five Mixed Poems, with Notes [now is Spanish and English]

1.

Night in Jamaica
[Peruvianism: 1810]

It was a rainy night they say
When don Simon Bolivar
Slept in the arms of beautiful
-Luisa Crober
(of Jamaica); thus an
Assassin missed his mark
When he stabbed Major Amestoy
Sleeping in the dark
In Bolivar's hammock!...

#719 6/7/05

2.

Sacred Something

Love for love
curse for curse
what you plant
(in the furrow):
is what you
get tomorrow.

6/8/05 #720

3.

Epitaph in El Dorado

Ride high, ride high
The shade replied
Over the mountains
To the valley

There upon a cliff
You'll see
A placed called
El Dorado

His madden brain
Was sick with pain
Beholding to the shadow
But he found the gold
And then was told
You'll never leave
The valley?

And so it was
That he grew old
Sitting there in the Valley
Counting gold
Eating toads?

And
I'm sick of this poem
But it needs an end
So my friend, I must say
This epitaph was is his story.

6/9/05 #725

4.

Epitaph of a Shoeshine Boy
[A Macabre poem]

I cannot sleep, I cannot sleep
In moon struck ebony,
My ghostly hands upon my knees-
The dead are dead you see.

The earth is warm under my feet;
As seasons come and go.
I am, am neither wise nor bold,
But cold, am I you see.

I cannot sleep, I cannot sleep
I look upon a bed
I must still love the living best:
Who hate the ghostly dead?

Whereas, I walk alone again
Wandering, aimlessly
I was a shoeshine boy, you know
But who remembers me (?)

Note: When I was a boy of 11 to 13, I used to go from bar to bar in St. Paul, Minnesota and shoeshine (l958-61). I made money that way, until I was 14-years old, at which time I worked for what is now the "Fitzgerald Theater"; where Garrison Keillor (whom I met twice) has his show, "A Prairie Home companion."

5.

Lyric Rain
[A Minnesota Poem]

Ah! Last night it was a night
A night of lyric rain
The trees were swaying, swaying-
Every which-way?

I so love the wild rain
Un-refrained
Its cool breezes, sharp fangs,
Fangs, and empty-eyed;
Replenishing earths strains
Washing away all the grime-
And secretly, nurturing
This rhyme?

Note: It rained out last night (a storm), in St. Paul, Minnesota, USA; 3:30 AM. My mother used to be frightened by such storms, but I cherished them it seems; odd are we not, so different in what we value. #721 6/8/05

In Spanish

Cinco poemas Mixtos, con apuntes

1.

Noche en Jamaica
[Peruanismo: 1810]

Esta fu? una noche lluviosa ellos dicen
Cuando don Sim?n Bol?var
Dormido en los brazos de la hermosa
- Luisa Crober
( de Jamaica); mas un

asesino fall? su blanco
Cuando apu?al? al Comandante Amestoy
Durmiendo en la oscuridad
?En la hamaca de Bol?var!...

#719 6/7/05

2
Algo Sagrado

Amor por amor
maldici?n por maldici?n
lo que usted planta
( en el surco):
es lo que usted
conseguira ma?ana.

6/8/05 *720

3
Epitafio en El Dorado

Alto al Paseo, alto al paseo
La sombra contestaba
Sobre las monta?as
hacia el valle

All? sobre una roca
Usted ver?
Un lugar llamado
El Dorado

Su cerebro enfurecido
Estaba enfermo con dolor
Contemplando a la sombra
Pero ?l encontr? el oro
Y luego dijeron
Usted nunca se marchar?
del valle ?

Y entonces fu?
Que ?l envejeciera
sentado all? en el Valle
Contando oro
Comiendo sapos ? y

Estoy harto de este poema
Pero esto necesita un final
As? mi amigo, debo decir
Este epitafio era, es su historia.

6/9/05 *725

4
Epitafio de un Limpiabotas
[ Un poema Macabro]

No puedo dormir, no puedo dormir
En locura golpe? el ?bano,
Mis manos fantasmales sobre mis rodillas-
Los muertos est?n muertos usted ve.

La tierra est? caliente bajo mis pies;
Como las estaciones vienen y van.
Soy, soy, ni sabio, ni valiente,
Pero fr?o, soy yo, usted ve.

No puedo dormir, no puedo dormir
busco una cama
Todav?a me debe gustar vivir mejor:
?Qui?n odia la muerte fantasmal?

Mientras que, ando solo otra vez
Vagabundo, sin rumbo
Yo era un limpiabotas, usted sabe.
Pero quien me recuerda (?)

Nota: Cuando yo era un muchacho de 11 a 13, sol?a ir de bar en bar en Saint Paul Minnesota y lustraba botas (l958-61). Gan? dinero de esta manera, hasta que yo tuve 14 a?os, en el cual trabaj? para lo que es ahora el " Teatro Fitzergerald "; donde la Guarnici?n Keillor (con quien me encontr? dos veces) tiene su espect?culo, " A Praire home companion"

5

Lluvia l?rica
(Un Poema de Minnesota]

?Ah! Anoche esto fue una noche
Una noche de lluvia l?rica
Los ?rboles se balanceaban, balanceaban-
por todo lado ?
As? me gusta la lluvia salvaje
inrefrenado
Sus brisas frescas, colmillos agudos,
Colmillos, y mirada -vac?a;
Rellenando tensiones de tierras
lavando toda la mugre-
Y secretamente, nutriendo
Esta rima.

Nota: llovi? afuera anoche (una tormenta), en Saint Paul, Minnesota, EE. UU; a las 3h30. Mi madre sol?a estar asustada por tales tormentas, pero yo los abrigue eso parece; extra?os somos nosotros , tan diferentes en lo que valoramos.

Poet Dennis Siluk http://dennissiluk.tripod.com the book, "Spell of the Andes," is almost ready for the public, got a note today saying it is going to press...this is the best of Dennis' poems on Vietnam and Peru, and Copan, Honduras Rosa

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