Led home into oblivion
the sociable talk of
our slow eyes.
Led home, syllable after syllable, shared
out among the dayblind dice, for which
the playing hand reaches out, large,
And the too much of my speaking:
heaped up round the little
crystal dressed in the style of your silence.
Paul Celan’s work confront us with difficulty and paradox.
Paul Celan spent his formative years in a Jewish community in the frontier of the Austrian Empire.
In the summer of 1942 his parent were deported to an internment camp in Transnistria, where his father died of typhus and his mother was murdered later by a shot in the neck.
After his marriage in 1952 to Gisele Lestrange, Paris remained his home until his suicide by drowning in the Seine in April 1970.
Although father and son,
we are so different.
At the core of our souls
he is one, and I the other one.
We speak the same languages.
I have no ambitions,
but the intense desire to write.
He seldom reads my poems.
He is my beloved one.
We do not pray together.
We sit on opposite
ends of the garden.
In a every day acceptance
with tolerance in time
we perceive the same differently.
We are united by love
Hector Ahumada 2003, USA
kingdom as wisdom’s words in wind’s rustling
heart beating rhythm she utters as the water’s roar
everywhere song of life the earth quakes of it
ineffable song in peace as the crackling fire
to which birds call or curling smoke
morning sun how they worry with of incense
as dusk brings devil hunger
crickets to sing penetrating intellects chimes of morning bells
with cold intent mutters of evening prayer
moonlight’s chorus getting a grip or silently, in a manger
behind the pines on the sweetest means in stillness
alone in a watchtower of a slow death on a mountain top
King Solomon writes against an empty
of wisdom crying blood runs thick with sky
in the opening of sugar in the veins
the gates lost heart’s connection In the valley
and love of spirit heaven waits to be seen
celilo eyes like glass on the mountain
in the canyons roar drunk and wanting it takes me up
song of life in smoke
on each rock praying for comforts
a tear drop in the valley Gentle is the grass
each blade of grass all creatures stirring which grows and twirls
drop of life there is no rest in folds between my toes
pregnant nor time of day damp on my cheek
nor to waste she feels like
down in the valley on the home
the nations shutter at living
sound of rain while along rock’s faces
electing ghost kings standing at the beginning she dances in peace
they pledge to idols the mindful even the rocks
spelling rejection hearing utterances of the kingdom
of G-d; Make revelation tongue are singing
endless war in mystery
on their it’s secrets
Drowning in tears treading the salted sea
Numbness flares opposite pain in me
Missed a curve and derailed in Spain
Head on later in Switzerland
Safe until something goes wrong
No visitors not preacher, priest, bishop or witness
Not a saint, sinner or whore
Two out of three dogs befriend me
Taco Tuesday pigging out
Regular price Wednesday go without
20th Anniversary celebrating 10 years alone
Mother’s Day cash returned
You put on the official face
And visit my mom and sis
Train shop at Warm Springs
No vendor to be seen
On to Mestizo mocha coffee and cola
Keeps the heart on track
A life derailed a loco is cut for scrap
MARCH 1OTH 2017 7:30 PM
1064 EAST 2100 SOUTH SUGARHOUSE
STUDIO # 6
McIntyre, Dependent Rational Animal
Uttering syntactically impeccable sentences at regular intervals is not exhibiting a capacity to use language…the use of language is always embedded in forms of social practice and to understand adequately what is said on particular occasions in a given language one must have some at least of the abilities of a participant in the relevant form of social practice.
Words can have powerful social implications.
“We have learnt that in all things a man should act after the supernal model and perform the right thing, and that if he alters it he draws upon himself something which he would better have avoided…”
Her name was Sarah.
She was thirteen years old.
A missile exploded in her room.
What traditional pattern should I use to write this poem?
What poetic expressions should I use
to give coherence and continuity to this event?
The girl’s dead body was trapped
under cement and brick fragments.
While her home was consumed by fire.
The poets of the modern world have sung against:
Nazism, Communism, Capitalism, and dehumanization.
Their authentic and sincere voices have not ignore:
Injustice,genocide, and occupation.
The body of the girl was just a mass of burned flesh and bones.
Perhaps is the time to create new poetic expressions
to denounce the ideologies of the creators of wars.
Her name was Sarah, she was thirteen years old,
and I found no Poetry for her.
Hector Ahumada 10/18/2016. USA.
EVENT AT THE SALT LAKE COMMUNITY COLLEGE.
REGISTRATION OPENS AT 9 AM
CONFERENCE FROM 10 AM TO 2 PM
Power to the People of USA.
The Balance of Powers.
The Executive Power.
Proceeds from the event to be share with:
The Legacy Project –
Equality Utah –
Planned Parenthood –
“a future period during which the pace of technological change will be so rapid, its impact so deep, that human life will be irreversible transformed. Although neither utopian nor dystopian, this epoch will transform the concepts that we rely on to give meaning to our lives, from business models to the cycle of human life, including death itself.”