Enlarged Spleen How Does It Feel

Poems Boris Calderon

Boris Calderón nace en San Bernardo el 12 de septiembre de 1934. Casi toda su vida se desarrolla en la comuna de Buin. Este poeta siempre estuvo preocupado por las clases most neglected of society, which is why it belongs in the early years of Communist Youth. It was a great friend of Paul and his family Rokha. Published "summer in the matter" (1954), "The Book of parting" (1956) and "Song for a girl named Frances" (1959). Dies at the age of 28 years, May 1, 1962, due to a brain tumor. He was buried in the cemetery of Buin.

Boris Calderon is certainly an author to discover, alien to anthologies or purchase and is often admired only by those who dive into the lyrics without prejudice.

Work.

"The light is broken under my skin"

In the shadow of the stars,

leprosariums under the big winter

I've waited forever

Since you cross of ebony.

exorbitant ghosts, mad,

Vago glass tunnels to the cliffs,

I seek to dissolve in you like the music of

vice

want to find moaning

Before the morning rush in the hollow of my mouth ;

Doubts still be a flower of the abyss?

I think it will still ebony

convulsive As when God yelled: Let there be light!

You ignore the fact that the horizon

There is a catastrophe of columns and planets crazed

And that is still far nelumbios jungle.

Ay! beloved, Anemones Island, Jewel of Horror!

Throw your songs on the ocean of gold!

tore my heart in the twilight!

Touch your eyes with black wings sulfur my

And you'll roll the tragedy of opium.

There , desperate face of eternity,

Solos against amethyst seas,

When the sunset sinking like a ship of terror.

Pale and silent, bury beauty.

NO SOUND PHANTOM RAVE

Where fled, snatching the meat?

Beset by darkness. Pursued.

Where? Gray angel.

The following Beyond the cry of the hyenas,

With a gold rush in his hands fleshless

God shakes and opens forever

The eternity of our coffins.

How I love you!

Fly Like a feverish tumult

Kindle my delirium!

more, oh! Beautiful female slaves of the night,

Why have you decorated my forehead lacerated

With garlands of snake?

Why, damn?

The night she has green perched

And I bite your color without limitation,

color me crazy fallen

Its green devoured death.

Meanwhile, far away, everything changes, everything dies,

Your tiara rattlesnakes,

Your crystals muddy and your tears.

All is dead, leafless, green everything

And fallen forever in the sound.

* From "The Song of the Dead Bocas, 1955 - Suicide Exaltation