Thursday, December 26, 2013
Wednesday, December 25, 2013
Aquí esta el enlace para uno de mis poemas en YouTube, Razones en el Invierno
Here is the link to one of my poems in YouTube, Reasons in the Winter.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iBAfv-Zg9tY
Here is the link to one of my poems in YouTube, Reasons in the Winter.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iBAfv-Zg9tY
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Luz de Todos Los Tiempos / Light of All Times now available!!
My new collection of poetry is now available. Please support my work and the work of Cowfeather Press, a small amazing publisher in Madison, Wisconsin. You can purchase Luz de Todos los Tiempos from the Cowfeather Press website or contact me directly at moisesvillavicencio (at) gmail (dot) com.
Advance Praise
I have known this marvelous poet, Moisés Villavicencio Barras, for many years. It is a pleasure to finally see his work published in a bi-lingual edition. His poety reflects devotion to Mexico, to his native Oaxaca, and to his family. The histories here, and the mysteries, come from the hand of a poet who should be read, whomust be heard. One finds here a mind focused on the beauty of language and the deep song of loveliness and love.—Neeli Cherkovski, author of Leaning Against Time
Read Moisés Villavicencio Barras's poems in Light of All Times and enter a dark, familiar theater of heartfelt longing. A theater skillfully built of forceful words and raw beauty. Do not trust the coyote at the crossing; trust the power of the eye, the ear, and the heart of this poet. —Bruce Dethlefsen, Wisconsin Poet Laureate 2011-2012
Moisés Villavicencio Barras's second
collection of poetry offers us in lush, sensual language his childhood
in Oaxaca and his Mazatec ancestors, his family life both there and in
the U. S., and the experience of belonging to both far and near. In
these poems, his
self-reflective vision of living at once in the North and South
awakens us to what is near, just outside the window, and to
what is far, the jaguar in the ravine. He is a poet of such imaginative
grace that, even after I've closed the book, I want to listen and be
vulnerable enough to hear a voice speak this way again. In this bravely
envisioned collection of poems, we read and feel transformed in its
light, having grown closer to one another and to the earth, the source
of song and beauty. —Roberta Hill, University of Wisconsin-Madison
Saturday, March 2, 2013
ESTA ES MI VERSION DE LO QUE PASA CON LAS BICICLETAS ABANDONADAS/THIS IS MY VERSION ABOUT THE BICYCLES THAT WERE ABANDONED
ROLANDO’S BICYCLE
By Moises Villavicencio Barras
The bicycle waited there, underneath
the oak tree, hoping. Throughout the summer saw other bicycles, and sometimes,
the bicycle counted the other bicycles to forget the long hours under the sun
and her absent owner. She listened, pleased, to the commentaries of passers-by.
-That is not an ugly bicycle!
-Classic!
-A little heavy!
-Perfect tires for the winter!
-What a shame!
Rain and dust did their work: her chain
yellowed, yellow like one of the leaves between her spokes. The bicycle
recognized each dog that approached. Unknown hands took to her horn and rear
view mirror.
- I like her color! Blue, like my
earrings.
-The seat is leather!
Although the wind tried to pedal her,
it was not sufficient. The oxide little by little began to grow in the teeth of
her chain and all over her body.
-Is it the bicycle of Rolando? –
-Yes! Yes it has his name scratched
into the handlebar.
-Have you seen Rolando?
-It has been several months since I
have seen him. You know, since the fight in the bar when he got kicked out.
The snow began to fall, in great
flakes. Two children appeared next to the bicycle, one of them took off the
seat, the other the front rim. A crow settled in what was left of her, after
the children went away. The snow continued falling, but the crow remained,
immovable there on the handlebar. The children returned with screwdrivers and
clamps. Whenever the children tried to approach, the crow pecked and squawked
loudly. As it was parking, a small truck struck the bicycle mortally. It
doubled the bike in on herself, bringing the front rim to the back wheel.
…Weather forecast from the crashed
truck radio… Snow will continue until to fall until tomorrow. The
temperature will drop below zero, a snow fall between 15 and 20 inches is
expected. It is advised to not travel by highway, and stay indoors unless
necessary.
Scared by the impact, the crow jumped
to the highest branches of the oak. The children continued to try and
disassemble the bicycle. Once again the crow return to the handlebar. The thin voice
of the children’s mother called to them:
-Miguel and Ricardo, time to come in!
The snow and the night slowly covered
the rest of the bicycle, and the crow, paralyzed on her handlebar. Before
falling asleep, and after their Mother read three stories to them, the children
saw from their bedroom’s window the crow and the bicycle disappear into the
sky.
LA BICICLETA DE ROLANDO
La bicicleta estuvo ahí, debajo del roble esperando. Durante todo el
verano vio pasar a otras bicicletas. Algunas veces las contó para olvidarse de
las largas horas bajo el sol y la ausencia de su dueño. Ella escuchaba complacida
los comentarios de los transeúntes.
--¡No es una bicleta fea!
--¡Clásica!
--¡ Un poco pesada!
--¡ Llantas perfectas para el invierno!
--¡ Que lástima!
La lluvia y el polvo hicieron su trabajo, la cadena estaba amarilla, un
amarillo como el de las hojas entre sus rayos. La bicicleta reconocía a cada
perro que se acercaba. Unas manos
desconocidas se llevaron su corneta y el espejo retrovisor.
--¡Me gusta su color! Azul, como mis aretes.
--El asiento, ¡es de cuero!
Aunque el viento trató de pedalearla, no fue suficiente, el óxido poco a
poco empezó a crecer en los dientes de
su cadena y en todo su cuerpo.
--¿Es está la bicicleta de Rolando?
--Sí, sí, tiene su nombre grabado en el manubrio.
--¿Lo has visto?,
-- Tiene varios meses que no lo he visto desde el zafarrancho en la
cantina donde lo sacaron a patadas.
La nieve empezó a caer, eran copos grandes. Dos niños pasaron junto a la
bicicleta, uno de ellos le desprendió el asiento, el otro la llanta delantera.
Un cuervo vino a posarse en lo que quedaba de ella después de que los niños se
fueron. La nieve siguió cayendo, pero el cuervo siguió ahí, inmóvil sobre el
manubrio. Los niños regresaron con desarmadores y pinzas. Cada vez que los
niños trataron de acercarse, el cuervo lanzó picotazos y fuertes graznidos. Al
estacionarse, una camioneta golpeó
mortalmente a la bicicleta. Le dobló el cuadro y la llanta trasera.
Pronóstico del tiempo: la nevada continuará hasta el día de mañana, la
temperatura descenderá a 20 bajo cero, se espera una capa de nieve entre 15 y
20 pulgadas. Se aconseja no viajar por
carretera, no salir si no se está bien abrigado...
Asustado por el impacto, el cuervo subió a las ramas más altas del
roble. Los niños trataron de seguir desarmando la bicicleta. Una vez más el
cuervo regreso al manubrio. La voz delgada de la mamá llamó a los niños: ¡
Miguel y Ricardo,es hora de entrar a la casa!
La nieve y la noche cubrieron lentamente los restos de la bicicleta y el
cuervo paralizado sobre el manubrio. Antes de dormirse, y después de que su
Mamá les leyó tres cuentos, los niños
vieron desde su ventana al cuervo y a la bicicleta desaparecer en el cielo.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, October 19, 2012
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Sunday, October 7, 2012
This poem is part of my new book Light of All Times,son to be publish by http://cowfeatherpress.org/index.htmlEste poema forma parte de mi nuevo libro de poesía, Luz de Todos los Tiempos.
-->
HUELLAS
DEL PAN
El
sol conversa conmigo
Todos
los días es el mismo
En mi
casa tengo los adobes perfectos
y las
tejas de musgo en su camino
los
geranios, las abejas
las
manos de María
cuando
los platos cumplen su oficio
En mi
casa tengo el árbol de granadas
que
maduran en silencio
Los
científicos han escrito
en
los periódicos del mundo
que
un día el sol se hará pedazos
como
una granada contra el piso
Mientras
esperamos
miles
de hormigas en el tamarindo
marchan
tras las huellas del húmedo pan
que el perico carcome
BREAD TRACKS
The sun talks to me
he is always the same
In my house I have the perfect adobe
and tiles of moss for his path
In my house I have bees, geraniums,
and Maria’s hands
when plates do their work
In my house I have pomegranates
that ripen in silence
The scientists have written
in the world’s newspapers
that one day the sun will break into pieces
like a pomegranate against the floor
While we wait
thousands of ants on the tamarind tree
march after the bread tracks
that the parakeet gnaws
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Saturday, July 14, 2012
FÁBRICA DE SOLEDADES
Para Michael Renanten
De niño
me orinaba en la hierba,
y después de varios años,
esa misma hierba
me enseñó los cantos
y oraciones
de las abuelas
que siembran solas
ternura por la tierra
que vibra
cuando corro.
De niño
maté canciones y culebras.
Ignoraba el dolor del universo.
De niño
mientras jugabamos,
mi hermano
se cortó
la vena más pura de su cuerpo.
Yo le aconsejé que se callara
por el bien de todos,
pero su sangre hizo
un escándalo tremendo,
y el dios que era mi padre
se enfureció
como nosotros
a cada momento
en esta fábrica de soledades
He querido contarles
sobre estó,
pero estamos ocupados,
haciendo cosas
que huelen a sangre
muerta.
He querido decirles
que nos detengamos
para que nuestra sangre
corra por nuestro cuerpo
como ese niño
que mi hermano era, jugando
entre el agua y las piedras.
FACTORY OF SOLITUDES
For
Michael Renanten
As a child,
I peed in the grass.
After many years
it was this same grass
that taught me the songs
and prayers of grandmothers
who alone sowed tenderness
around the earth
that shakes when I run.
As a child
I killed songs and snakes.
I ignored the pain of the universe.
As a child
while we played
my brother cut
the purest vein of his body.
I told him ‘Be quiet
for the good of everyone’,
but his blood made
a tremendous scandal,
and the god that was my father
became as furious as you are
in this factory of solitudes.
I have wanted to tell you
about this,
but we are busy
doing things
that reek of dead blood.
I have wanted to tell you
that we should stop ourselves
so our blood
runs through our bodies
like that child
that my brother was, playing
between water and stones.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)