My publisher Cowfeather says this about my forcoming collection of poetry, Luz de Todos los Tiempos/Ligth of All Times, and to celebrate I am posting a new poem, Nieva también ceniza

Moisés Villavicencio Barras, who hails originally from Mexico, teaches in the Madison Public
Schools. While widely known in Mexico as a poet and translator, and with a previous
book to his credit, he is still relatively unknown in the United States. “We’re excited to
help his work gain an audience,” said Busse. And Dethlefsen, as senior Cowfeather
author, adds that Villavicencio Barras makes poems “skillfully built of forceful words
and raw beauty.” The poems in Luz de Todos los Tiempos/Light of All Times, which
appear in Spanish and English together on the page, alternate between Madison and
Mexico, between family and the natural world, between grief and celebration. “It’s
appropriate that we’re announcing this collection just as we begin to celebrate Dia de los
Muertos, the Day of the Dead,” adds Busse. “Villavicencio Barras memorializes his
family, with tenderness and joy, but he does not flinch from honesty in these poems.” Luz
de Todos los Tiempos/Light of All Times will come out early summer 2013.

NIEVA TAMBIÉN CENIZA

Nieva también ceniza

desde las manos

de los que se cansaron

de esperarnos.

Como mi casa antigua

nieva cuando recuerda.

Nieva desde tus ojos sangre y piedras.

Nieva dolores la tarde.

Nieva con ganas de decir basta

a las cosas de los hombres.

Nieva en el cuarto de las manecillas

en las aulas oscuras

en los pasillos

donde se prohibe la vida.

Desde el punto

más alto y profundo

de la materia sola, nieva.

Nieva con los puños,

cabeza y codos.  

A todos nos cae

esta mezcla de ceniza

con la violencia y la ternura

de la nieve real y húmeda.

IT ALSO SNOWS ASHES

It is snowing ashes

from the hands

of those who got tired

of waiting.

Like my ancient house

it is snowing memories.

From your eyes

it is snowing blood and stones.

The evening snows pain.

It is snowing with the desire

to say ‘no more’ to man’s things.

It is snowing in the clock room.

It is snowing in dark classrooms,

in hallways

where life is prohibited.

From the highest and deepest

point of lonely matter it is snowing ,

like when we fight

with our heads, fist and elbows.

Everybody is covered

with this wet and real blend

of violence and tenderness.