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David Tijero Osorio > Extracts


Poema hautatuak |

Silence is
your gaze before you close your eyes
or the goodbye that needs no words
when we feel we'll soon be together again
silence is
snow flakes thickly falling
on windless, new moon nights
or the flash of a distant storm
in lands dyed with summer yellow
silence is
the most beautiful balance of nature
or the mere whim of chaos
the irrefutable proof
that beauty lies in simplicity.

(From the book Isilaldiak Bermingham, 2005)

Black rains soak me
in the dark, nameless street
the dim light reflects its floating shadow
on the wall posters
on this damp, roofless night
I am another drop,
another among so many
lying on the slippery pavement
the only drop that will not evaporate at dawn
even though I have no wish to stay on the ground
like the rest.

(From Izarrak itsasoan hiltzen dira Ediciones Beta Argitaletxea, 2004)

Faces have been painted on the walls of Central Station. Too many people missing in the dust. No one dares take them down, for it would acknowledge that they are photos of dead people. The silence is even greater here. People do not look at each other, as if one were forbidden to gather solidarity with one's eyes or afraid to recall in everyone else's looks. Thousands of flags are to be seen everywhere, on cars, in the shops of the current generation's immigrants, in children's handsÓ This is not 20th century New York; it has been invaded by United States jingoism. Tourists from the United States will arrive on the weekends. They will carry flags in their hands, on their caps or on their T-shirts when they visit the only spot of the island that has no skyscrapers. We are living in a new era and using this wounded city as an excuse, fresh victims are being created every day on the other side of the world in the name of that rotten word `freedom'. We will not see their faces in the photos, nor do I know whether they will make anyone cry, as I heard a customer say in my parents' shop; at least the dead were only poor people. We cross the bridge that takes us to Brooklyn. The cars below us speed by only to join the queue of traffic on the way into the district a few metres away. Further down the ocean competes with the estuary and above us the sky has never been clearer, broken by the sun, clean and painful. Cyclists and runners pass us by bathed in sweat in the silence of the summer here, which is equally humid and stifling. Sport is just another obsession. Halfway along the bridge a group of youths are drinking alcohol from a bottle disguised by a paper bag. The laughter we hear from them points to the emptiness in their lives. Military personnel await the invisible enemy. Tanned guys with proud looks search us with their gazes to see if they can find signs of terrorists in us under the helicopters that pierce the sky. No one takes much notice of them, as they are there every day, expecting goodness knows what threat. The authorities have educated the citizens in the culture of fear, better to lose your freedom than your life, they say, happily repeating what they hear on television every evening, like good students repeating what the teacher says...

Beldurraren kultura, (the summer of 2002 in New York), 2004.

Soldier's letter

Some time I'll have to return home
as I promised you when I left
some time I'll return to the refuge of your arms
and everything will be easier
some time I'll have to tell you about this horror
and I'll shed tears in front of you
just as I do here alone when I go to bed
I'll have to believe
that all the sorrows will flow out hidden in my tears
because at some point I'll have to start forgetting
my memories of some of the dead
even if they are the only remaining proof
that they ever existed.

(Gernikako Poema Bonbardeaketa, 2004)

Believing that the dream would subdue reality
I didn't want to close the door
but we shared the thousand stars of the African sky
for a brief moment at least
because we were too far away
to have anything more than each other
they were ours and no one else's
because we were the only ones not to fall asleep
while gazing at the beaches on the other side of our old sea
on the spot where the desert's wound dies
I will have to imagine I kissed you
sandstorms surely don't last forever
and despite swearing we will return
to complete everything that has not been fulfilled
I cannot bring myself to say
it won't be together
because reality is a wall I bang my head against
the savage beast I feed with fear is ready to swallow me up at any moment
as it emerges from invisibility
and caresses my heart with sharp claws.

(awarded a prize by the Gerekiz Association)

I will travel one dawn dampened by a south wind
after being on the road all night
last night I found the key to open the last door
no obstacles remained nor excuses to stay on
I overcame the fear that freedom gives
I start running and moving away until the light pales the night
even though I feel I am still too close
all I can do is carry on
and leave my thoughts behind as well
as I claim ownership of this sky that affords me protection
believing I will be considered mad for having no urge to defend.

(Autobusez itzuliko naiz, 2003)

Through a secret code you rendered me invisible
I had you so close to me
that I don't know how you moved away
I don't know how to bring back dreams
I don't know how to commit them to paper
for they are no more than vague signals
I cannot pick you out from among them
even if I am alive among them
I cannot speak
even though I should scream
I cannot move my legs
they chain me to the ground
I would need another night to invent a new reality
to wake up inside the dream butted by a wild bull
and to feel safe inside it.

(Hementxe eta are urrunago, GURYA, 2002)

on white winter days
like the bare trunks that await spring
before the most violent explosion of reviving fire
like a peaceful volcano
inside the trenches of fear
looking for courage to attack
like a soldier on his way to death
like a slave under the master's black shadow
awaiting the day when the chains will break
yearning for the coming of the new Messiah
like this wretched society
which sits in front of a thousand cathode ray tubes
as obliged by the rotten system
which revolution usually destroys
do you want to wake up?...

(Dendako leihotik, Kutxa argitaletxea, 2001).

The blue water turned to foam shows up white
as it batters the black cliffs
blue too your eyes and summer skies
pink the clouds as day breaks
grey when they bring rain
red at the dying of the day
green the coastal lands
yellow those of the deserts
dun the feathers of the bird that visits me every afternoon
and brown the colour of dead leaves
spectra of thousands of colours gathered in the rainbow
though only one is valid for power.

(Bizitza batek pertsonaiak, GURYA, 2001)
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