Daniel de Culla – Five Poems
A Horse-Chestnut Tattooed
Crossing Columbus Square, in Burgos
I see in front of me a nice girl
As Eden’s fruit.
Smiling, she stops me, asking:
-Where do you go, Darling, so early?
I stop smiling and look at her eyes
Her eyes full of Sky
Although she’ll say to me later
she gives drops on her lacrimal.
-Come. Sit on this wood bench
Of the Espolon avenue
If you have time, of course;
We have to talk.
-Yes, naturally. I want it.
We sit. Talk. She, first:
-I remember always what well we enjoyed
The last feast of Villarcayo
I was the sweetheart of a King
Or a Head of Government.
I was hesitant
without her given account, answering:
-Oh, Yes, Yes, Oh, no, no, go pretty girl
Follow, follow, my Love.
-Well made my love, Love
-It’s the truth, Rachel, I said to her, lying
And trying to get out of my memories.
-It had to be in the convent of the Mount of the Abbess
I said to her.
-Thus, she replied
On Earth we see ourselves before in Heaven.
The two smile.
– We have to love ourselves, she suggested me
Smiling again and again.
-It’s ok, I replied; asking to her:
-Now, what do you do?
-Now I’m working in a dental clinic
Very close to here.
-Nice, I replied to her
It has to be interesting to go to your surgery.
-What a fool you are, she said.
Paused a moment, and laughing, continued:
-I have to show You one thing that You gave to me
Because you’ve been the leading man who adored
But you did not show up, until today, greenhorn!
-Oh, Yes, Yes, Oh, no, no, I replied to her
Being my color doubtful.
-Yes, cute, she replied.
You gave me a horse chestnut
Of the two in which You drew an Eros
Front of me
And in the convent of the Mount of the Abbess
Do You Remember? Loving ourselves.
An Eros tattoo with indelible ink
Saying to me: -this for you, my Love
That this one I’ll send
To the Museum of Miniatures from Mijas, in Malaga.
-Oh, Yes, Yes, Oh, no, no, I replied to her, smiling
-Get up, Rachel, my White Pigeon
And walk by the Arlanzon River
Walking a day by Almeria’s desert
Where are shot Western films
And other variegated games
Suddenly I put my right foot
In the mouth of Aladdin’s lamp
And, in a flash, I heard a voice saying:
-Shocking mistake! While I was sleeping
On a bed with two mattresses
One step on my “so long!”, to me
That was dreaming with a black cat
Falling in love with a greyish she cat
Near the door of a convent
And the rabid black cat
Leaping from his beloved greyness her cat
Scratched the friar’s tail
The friar, who, now, cry and cry:
-Mamma mia from the Sky
That the cat scratched my clapper¡
I saying to Aladdin
Asking to him thousand forgivenesses:
Do You know to play guitar?
He answering me singing:
-Ouch, squid, squid
Your mother bad and you queer
You put your apron on
You love looking at the North, at midday
And Your father is called “Slice Melons”
Woolly dog, dog without teeth
Don’t ask to me Your three wishes
Because I’m giving these to You just now:
To Your father, the peach
To Your mother, the pear
And to You, the pepper
And know that now and forever
The hare runs by the sea
The sardines by the hill
The fishes by the stubbles
And the shares are made with peel of bacon.
-As You, I said to him
At the top of one’s voice
Taking out the foot from the lamp
And with a kick, putting it
Below his chin.
My Mother’s Seducer
In a village from Madrid, in a little & nice hamlet
There’s a tiny child, that seven years arrives.
His father picked him a day, saying like this:
-Say to me who from home goes out
Who to home goes in.
-Father, in home Faust, the parish priest, goes in
Hemming my mother in bedroom
Kissing and embracing her as if you were himself
Giving to me no coins, so that I went to school crying.
May, May is welcome
And by these roads, these lanes
Young people come to home
To sing to my sisters.
How pretty they are
With their golden hair
And coloured lassos
And my mother combing them
To disentangle it.
Those are their faces
faces so bright!
Their lips, what loveliness!
Painted with lipstick
Where the same Cupid
A Kiss plants.
Their eyes, how pretty and lovely¡
As stars lighting the same Sky.
Their snub noses
(I wish I could to have them¡)
Silver twists are
That no jeweler
Knows how to draw
Only mother Daniela
As their ivory teeth
And their two little busts
Behind their white blouses
As two early lemons
With a dress of virgin
With brads in its shorts
Straight to the point
Axle of dancing and music
Moving their nice legs
And their agile feet.
And Me, now, an injured angel
With all my features as seraph
Imploring to our mother
That she plays a May with me
Dressing me as my sisters
With Rosemary flowers
With leguminous flowers
Placing in my hand
A palm of Sun and Moon
As my lovely sisters
Because I want to dress as a little girl
And don’t want to be more
The Little man of the home
In the Lucky May.
Water The Moon
A boy and a girl, good lovers
From the fountain of Love
Get out water.
-Say to me if do you want me, John
Drink this water. If you don’t want it
It will be because you love another.
John leaves her without saying nothing
And, at the moment, she knows
That she has lost his loves.
Speaking ill of him, She says to Moon:
When he goes to Adela’s home
She will be in bed.
An embittered branch of blossom
Squeezes with death
John, crying at the top of one’s voice
And coming out from her house
Is agreed with mournful women.
-Turn John with the other
Leave the dead
Adela’s remains appertain to Earth.
Author’s Statement on Beauty
As a beholder in Land and Life, I’m pursuing Beauty stumbling pleasures, climbing Green hillsides, transparent, unthinkable for to want just talking from experience. Tracing the thread of my eyes into a web and so mysterious, as an explosión of creative energy which gives life, opens new spaces to others, speaking a language of our own.
Beauty as a Wo/Man Ecology, is for knowing that Nature never dies, ever changes. But the individual in this environment of beauty suffers a loss in his/her perfection of Nature based on biological criteria of an analysis of Domesticated and Wild Areas.
Pictures, Poetry and Mythos have a nice collective sense to it. We take as much of the whole as possible. There may be “out” and “into” for us, there may not. We do what we do and we acknowledge the mystery. The mysteries, secrets, demons, gods encountered and felt. Wo/Man Intuition: pursuing Beauty. Wo/Man Mystery: Our complete Joy and sadness.
I am and we are called to do Beauty, Beauty, to Go On.
Daniel de Culla (1955) is a writer, poet, and photographer. He is also a member of the Spanish Writers Association, Earthly Writers International Caucus, Poets of the World, and others. Director of Gallo Tricolor Review, and Robespierre Review. He has participated in Festivals of Poetry, and Theater in Madrid, Burgos, Berlin, Minden, Hannover and Genève.