Although José María Velázquez-Gaztelu He is known as a tireless popularizer, especially valued for his series Rite and geography of cante (TVE) but also for his more recent contributions, he is also a more than remarkable poet, not always recognized as such among the flamencos. Here we share with the readers of ExpoFlamenco three poems chosen by himself from his most recent book, Just one step away, published by Cordelia Kingdom.
NARCISSUS BEFORE THE ABYSS
Neither your expression nor your shadow shines in the mirror,
It does not accept the call of beings
who seek salvation in reflections,
It absorbs neither the heat nor the tremor of the tangible,
He does not scrutinize the ash or the wings.
The mirror, which does not recognize you, refuses to perceive you.
the life proclaimed by lovers,
the bodies that declare their splendor,
demands in the polished sea
answers that will never come,
the mirror doesn't reflect your gaze,
Blind to yourself, you have ceased to exist,
The faint scar on your cheek is not visible,
Your eyes wander, they are filled with emptiness,
You can't find your reflection, it's absent from the mirror.
only, in front of your face,
the final abyss of the great night.
BEFORE DAWN
To Luis Eduardo Aute, in memoriam
On the immense white wall
we see the glimmers of time,
Here words are written and memory endures,
The witness is hiding here.
of the voices they collect
echoes of other centuries.
The world flows stealthily and leaves its rhythm open,
the land of destinies, taut canvas of the south,
the lovers' profiles melting into that white
where the fingerprint is imprinted
of defeat and glory, of illuminated passion
by a fleeting reflection. They fell on that wall
blindfolded faces, their vestiges slipping away
of a color that neither anthems nor the ages could erase,
Night cast darkness upon that whitewashed wall,
transparent psalms cross the festivals of illusion,
They are like bursts of light, fireflies of the eclipse
with gazes that pierce through scenes of beggars
in dawn songs, the hands that trace signs,
the endless white wall silently watches pass by
the carnival without borders where life hides.
JRJ'S ROSE
Colorless mornings gather
when we see the light that surrounds a face go out.
An upstart hand is preparing to darken
the warmth of his presence,
the patina of time.
The will that tries to change is misguided.
that which life has built,
like a trill or a dazzling lightning bolt,
in the manner of the sea at night
he retires from the world
or it bursts forth in a torrent onto the rock.
The stars set the unchanging rhythm
and the attempt to invest
the natural song of a clear gesture,
This one turns into a mask.
The passage of age has shaped
skin lines with beauty
which nobly indicates the sign of what has been experienced.
It is the trace of the rain,
It is the wound exposed,
They are the brands
that were never erased,
that which does not fade from memory,
the trail that oozes from a gaze
who refused to stop with ours
when it was most needed.
It is the sign it has left
the act of preventing freedom of speech
which had to be said at that moment
and who now remains hidden in silence,
or the fleeting trace of beautiful music
which we then despised and never returned.
This is how the reflection of the fog is born in your memory,
the ditches on the forehead from the blow
of the winds that brought clarity amidst the shadows,
that's how it spreads
the crease that accentuates closed eyelids,
the luminous traces they left on your body
the bodies you have loved.
This is what the naked flower looks like. Don't try to alter its transparency.
