Alvaro Mata Guille [Costa Rica / Mexico]

 

On the fragment
 
What begins,
            what ends,
 
we transit from one night to the other,
to another nightfall,
another fog,
knowing that each instant touching us is the last
 
that we aren’t eternal
that time isn’t ours
only its indifference
 
that we emerge from hollowness,
from silence
from the absent
 
It is said
that one cycle ends and another begins,
a something that closes,
a something different that appears. But,
if there is a new phase, which we suppose is true
and it approaches as a radiance in the half-light,
what would the difference be from that other detachment of the environment?
what makes rain stop being rain or wind from it no longer being wind and that their caress is now different?
what should be glimpsed upon so that it provokes another yell,
another countenance
another fog?
The orphanage we endure as we discover ourselves in transit towards death,
is evidence of the other’s need:
companion, disaffection,
distance, pursuit,
encounter and loss of encounter adhered to desire,
to the epidermis,
the strangeness,
we are encountering with the absent,
looking at the gloom in the exile,
in the dessert
 
in the sun-dilute horizon submerging in the hill,
attracted by the shadow
 
there
in the place off the beginning where the bird lies hidden in the cloud,
behind the tree,
behind the sunken eco in the valley
 
from there,
hidden in the umbrage,
reflecting in the exaltation o the stone vault,
in the absolute longing,
in the not-knowing with its thirst of questioning that gives meaning to the permanence,
to the meaning that we are:
solitude that chases in the insides of language,
a transit from one night to the other that returns into a dream that doesn’t awaken,
like the leaves as they glide in the beam of the shadow,
they evaporate
 
It is said
a cycle ends
a something that closes,
a distinct something that appears,
but the terms dilute in the absent
and no other place
but the half-light
 
 
Mathias
 
Today,
a day like any other,
a day from another day from another,
from a night,
from an afternoon,
from a Monday or a Tuesday,
what does it matter,
 
I was looking to write something:
 
a this, a that,
a something hidden in the penumbra,
but,
the words would stop in the flower’s blue petals on the tree,
on the blackened body of Mathias,
balancing with his opaque collar,
between walls,
the room,
and the sun that barely appeared in the shadows,
howling with the wind,
the books,
the clothing,

 
the dust
 
 
They appeared with the shadows
 
The butterflies
would peek with the shadows,
like a scintillation between the dropping clouds,
like spectrums. We wished to go with them,
but lightning,
that would light the stems of the moon,
the hooting of the owls and the dragging of chains,
stopped us. There was nowhere to go,
the sun would not run, nor the water,
the fog would not arrive yet. We sat,
under the tree of ears, 
to wait,
rummaging the bones from the books,
their voices. The eyes,
taken by the slobber,
skinned the dream and the shadow,
the hands clinging to the spikes,
the black sockets and dark circles,
the teeth thrown in the pits, as Jorge would tell
saying that our angers came from afar,
from a time without time,
from somewhere else,
from Arvo’s monologue in the mirror, 
from the brilliance in the cellar,
in the desert,
in the adobe,
in the other shore,
of a place without place
 
Back then,
it would be seen without looking,
neither the wind,
nor the fear,
just what is indifferent. It was
a before from before the umbrageous arrived,
before the leaves shielded themselves in the shadows,
and the butterflies
 
 
 
Author’s Bionote:
 
*Álvaro Mata Guillé: San José, Costa Rica, living currently in Mexico City. Poet. Frequently invited to literary festivals or book fairs, in countries like Mexico, Guatemala, Honduras, Costa Rica, Panama, Colombia, Venezuela, Ecuador, Argentina, Spain, Portugal, France, Grecia., Taiwan, among others.  anwhere he has carried literary workshops, talks, recitals, and conferences. Columnist of the review, “Libros y letras”, from Bogota, Colombia and from the magazine “Tres Mil” (Honduras). Director of the project: “Poesía en tránsito-Corredor cultural”, which brings together festivals of Mexico and Spain. He coordinates the summits in Mexico and Spain. Director of the “Festival Internacional de poesía En el lugar de los Escudos” (Mexico), looking to renew the social ties and awareness from literature. Co-director of the Castilla y León-Poesía en tránsito. Festival Internacional. Some published books: Una serpiente sin alas (El arco y la flecha editores, México); “Debajo del viento” (e-book, Al Fondo a la derecha editors, Argentina); “Ósip”, Galería Estampa, Madrid; “Un libro sin nombre”, anthology, La Chifurnia, El Salvador; “Un país sin nombre”; Ponciano Arriaga, Mexico (2018); “Más allá de la bruma,” Editorial Abismos, Mexico City (2017); “La niebla y lo ausente”, anthology, Colectivo Editor Latinoamericano, Argentina (2015); “Intemperies”, Editorial Aldus, Mexico City. (2005). Director of over ten theater plays with his group Baco teatro danza, and he has also participated as actor for short films. 
 
(Photo by José Pablo Porras)