4 Poems by Francisco Muñoz Soler
FRANCISCO MUÑOZ SOLER Spanish poet with and extensive work published in countries like Spain, Mexico, United States, India, Peru, El Salvador and Venezuela. It has been translated into English, French, Russian, Italian, German, Romanian, Arabic, Assamese and Bengali. His poetry is intimate, full of fine sensitivity, impressive that invites reflection, his lyrical self offers us testimony of existing, shows us an ethical commitment to the existence of otherness in his poems of social criticism, in the search for expression There is your greatest achievement. A universal poetry that embraces the thirst for justice, peace and flies the flag of love. His work is also included in Anthologies and in more than a hundred literary magazines. He is the organizer of the Plenilunio Poetic Cycle of Malaga.
AN ORPHAN IN THE CITY OF PARADISE
How difficult, how difficult
to come back home
from the heart of paradise,
tonight we honor Aleixandre
by the seaside
at the beautiful Palmeral de las Sorpresas
the palm grove
located where once there was a silo
when the poet enjoyed.
makes me fragile
and to return along he path of beauty
just with my answers,
amplifies the opposed voices
and imprints of kiss and caresses
installed in my mind
makes my feel more orphan
as more beautiful is the night.
And tonight the zenith
is radiating more bright, Aleixandre
with his palette of verses
covers the sea, the air and the people
of the city of paradise.
POEMS IN CONFINEMENT
Translation: Jason Williamson, Department of Spanish and Portuguese Miami University, Oxford-Ohio
SUDDENLY THE WHITE OBSCURITY ARRIVED AS SNOW
"Damm the wrath that speaks with hate’s tongue" MARIA WINE
Suddenly the white obscurity arrived as snow, in a broken wasteland, in crevices that get to
the deepest, most intimate points. A cataclysm that confronts evil with its destruction and
most generous benevolence,
a crossroads, without time to comtemplate the evens, because the leaf that bloom with a frantic
pace, doesn’t give a choice, to act before the roar or be diluted by its own unnamed acids.
And from my confinement. I wait for the response.
I have always known that the elite take control by whichever method they desire and drive
themseleves with experience in the chaos that is provoked with wrath, with hate’s tongue.
Now it’s possible that they try to sway the tree so that nothing changes, in order to protect their
positions, in a dehumanized world with continued aggression towards nature.
but this catastrophe isn’t a close circle, and the residents of the wasteland in spite of being blinded
by the ice’s radiance and deafened by the bellowing of their months, should rebel against the mark
of the branding iron.
write a song, that squirts prehistoric water, of the origin the new life, a sign of hope in the abyss
where they walk, that is a hymn the future, with an unequivocal motto:
“Never more will the exposure be our sky”
SNOW HITS THE WINDOWS, IT HAS REACHED US
"But on the other side the window lies the wasteland, paralyzed with ace… even the solid white sky doesn’t shine" ANNE CARSON
Snow hits the window, it has reached us. On the other side lies the wasteland, extending
itself far away, with a white mantle, in it a great depression draws near that announces bad
weather the fear is that,
wind strikes with force, with voices that distort, that afirm that its the fruit of sin, What is sin?
don’t blame yourself for the blizzard, tell the facts, its characteristics,
because its not empty time, its the moment, from me immobileness from inside, if you know
to listen you will hear the sounds that give us hope for the real test:
How do yo want to be free?
fin yourself on the path, when the blizzard eases up.
IN THIS WORLD SO STARVED OF KINDNESS AND TENDERNESS
In this world so starved of kindness and terderness, a meteorite in the form of a virus has
extended into all spaces of our lives, provoking a strange pain that runs over us,
abruptly it has infiltrated itself into the cracks caused by the impact, installing itself in tears
and fear, a desolation of rubble, that obligates us to appreciate the exuberance of our intimate
values, and keeps us supportive in order to find solutions.
How do we restart our societies? Designed for the pillaging by greed, will it be a more human
transformation? Changing the constructed inertia of millennials, now that a word of technological
advances foretell all that is possible.
Will the necessary change so that nothing changes? And will it start an aseptic world, of the
geo-localization of people, identifications by facial features, of machines that will know more
about you than yourself, of entertainment and restricted knowledge.
In this confined being, the desire to fload comes over me, allows me to flow on the humidity of the
sea until its shore, to feel the saltiness hit my face and break the walls of my senses, so that they
form a symphony of vibrations that will be the stream of hope.
In this era so struck by pain and desperation, what is really necessary is
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