OSVALDO ROCHA


Osvaldo Rocha is a Mexican poet and translator. After working as a full-time
business translator he moved to Iceland, where he earned an MA in Old Norse,
and now lives in Guadalajara, Mexico, where he works as a language lecturer.
His work has appeared in publications from Mexico, Chile, Colombia, Venezuela,
the United States, Canada, Spain, France and the Netherlands. He has written
both prose and poetry in several languages and has translated German and
Scandinavian poets into Spanish.






The Song of the Lost Bird

sadly staring at black horned doves
under the sky a flower says 'murder'
and thus starts the song of the lost birds
a tune without end
a lay of freedom and death
statues of yearning on silent islands
rituals and kisses anonymously stricken
under the umbrellas of Cherbourg
for the sake of wolves' peace
knives and scarves on pages unknown
the napkin and the farewell note
written by the army of the newborn
first blessing stroke of hate
bitter breast milk drop
forever come - forever gone






Fram Og Aftur

from a solitary bench
the movement of the waves
resembles the names of silence
an earthly wagon hand-loaded
with black volcanic peanuts
and seagulls that grizzle
in a frantic sway

from a solitary fence
the seas talk to the rocks
damp cairns all over the bay
benevolent destructive calm
the fuzzy movement of cobalt
blindly striking back and fort
as time falls onto my hand
destination port: forlorn






Waterwind

all we ever had
everything
we ever wished
all rain and faith
and water as hope
all may vanish today
in the wind's mutter

all bridges and beaches
wiped away by the noise
as we finally weak up
from our golden thorns
and all we ever loved
orphan and stray
swiftly consumes
in the scraped hands
of blankness






One Fine Day

one fine day
mankind will be
a stone in my memory
a dead hurricane
above the wheat fields
where my hunger shall growl
away from all
pulchritude or wisdom

every part of my body
embedded into the night
flowing relentlessunruly
every part of my soul
hiking towards the star
of the everlasting fallen leaves

one great day
the lake will break its bottom
and the universe engulfed
and the milkiest torn apart
will crumble down with its gods
while you kiss my worm lips
o worshipful gentle ash



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