Y LOS CUERVOS BAJAN A LA HIERVA (POEMS OF YORK)

 

wilberfox diario poético 1970

27 de noviembre de 2021

Encontré entre mis papeles olvidados tamizados por el tiempo estos poemas de mi estancia en Wilberfoss a unos kilómetros de la ciudad de York. es el diario de u hombre recién casado que busca la libertad en tiempos difíciles, aun cuando llenos de entusiasmo por abrirse paso en la vida. El amor en estos versos se conjuga con el dolor y la perplejidad del descubrimiento de la vida que no era tan fácil como yo creía. pobre de mí. el bungalow estaba a la vera de la autopista que atraviesa el norte de Inglaterra desde Hull a Liverpool. yo quisiera que estos dulces y amargos pensamientos no sean la hoja volandera que esparce el viento y quedan clavados en este álbum de viejas canciones y recuerdos plenos de ruidos, de furia y de dulzura. La vida misma.

1

why do we hate?

Time wears and deletes

And we get tired at the end

We pass around messages of wrath

But we dine together in the Tavern in the town

By the mills of the river Ouse

Evolving the rules of distinction

That ruthless man

Impossible man

Writing stories in Spanish

They lead anywhere

Funny building of words

We Spaniards are not welcome

In Honduras

Keep the distance and smile

Life is hard of nails dear friend

Let us open the Pandora box

Of silence

We are in good terms

Morning brings the morning tea

And we shake hands

Happy new year

Reconciliation and humiliations

As pride lead no anywhere

We have to lead outlives better

Saying good morning

But coming home there is only yo that matter

You are part of me

I gave you ten pound notes

To entertaining strange guests

Who make love in the settee

Strange blokes and strange birds

This the merry go around of England

Supposed to be paradise

2

CHURCH OF WILBERFOSS

I am a collector of words

hanging up for my dreams

and anxieties

we are free from boredom

we live, let us live

and breath the chaste morning

wind

of the new day

refreshing winter

flat lands of the East

the Plain of York

we cross sauntering

the dear river Floss

there are fancy bridges

water smooth run and run

where the river goes?

To the sea or the Good Father Thames

Flowing secret streams underneath

We walk together

My arm over our shoulders

We are two happy lover in the country side

And I notice the baby daughter

In your womb

She will be a flower of May

We reach the cemetery behind the Norman church

Bells spread their sound on the air

Pleasant peace of the dead

We see the the graces under the morning sun

There are names in every tomb

I kiss the Cross sign of resurrection

The church is empty but

We can hear still the echoes

Of the last evening song

Smelling of glory and incense

A crib on the corner near the fountain

The congregation celebrates

The Birth or our Lord

Ion the parish font of blessed

Water shall be christened our son¿Martin? Alcuin? Ethel?

Should be she will be my English rose

Old prayers books

Glittering lights of sunset

I collected humble some woods

From the trees

For our stove

We go back home

Wilberfoss is my hearth

Segovia was

CHISEL ON MY HANDS

tengo que vivir

silbo canciones

apoyado en un semaforo

una pinta de cerveza tres chelines

una trincha que me abriga

montopen mi bici

marcho echando leches

me gustan las mañanas frías leddelo

henchidas de aire

y bufandas volanderas

no cojas un catarro hijo mío

hago austo stop

y siempre me paran camioneros

friendly chaps

¿Adonde vas? ¿A Jerusalén?

Estoy en ella

el campo está verde

los tordos bajan a la hierba

en traje de picos blancos

piropeo a las urracas

y a los gorriones picoteros

escarban en la nueve

del jardin de la ofina

escucho a los dentistas

empastandome las muelas

dedos de lúpulo

y miro el trrasero a las fregonas

going to the pub in Saturday

sufro por los muertos de Vietnam

y sin embargo en la felicidad de esta ciudad santa

que me impregnate

la tengo entre los dedos

no la dejjes escapar

por la misericordia

tengo un cincel para esculpir mis sueños

the deacon of Saint Georges

gives me his benediction

the water ripples on the mill under bridge of the river

with glorious sound

now an angel rings the bell

time is up

so long

hasta mañana

humo de mi hogar

plenitud del deseo

una bruja me espera

mañana es Halloween

battlements and barbicans

wickets o cancelas to go

for secret lovers

when the doors of York

were bolted

heavy irons of the past

houses did n´t have glasses

but ale was cheap

at dawn came charts of mules and horses

loaded with barrels and kegs from Tadcaster

pinky old men and wives

at the gates

the sentries were sleep

york had ten towers and a port