HIPÓLITO ALVARADO (Guayaquil, 1929)
Around her eyes
today I saw some eyes again
since never always seen
from three corners of spin time
unwinding back its own spiral
in other smaller eyes
that they peek from inside
the afternoon of children and birds
playing the balls in the portal oo oo
eyes rolled up in the air
from the bottom of the sky down
her head hair
black waterfalls on the shoulders
and in the pool of water at the bottom of the stairs
my head on his shoulders
reflected against the floor
endless snail from your feet down
from my feet up
your eyes meet excuse me
oh not mine is the fault i was in heaven
contemplating some eyes
she turned off her smile
hid his eyes
and their black waterfalls were long
stagnant in the back
and the stands are over for me
I even forgot where I was going
I just felt like I was going slowly down a tunnel
to the other time below
she was waiting for me from the bleachers
we looked at each other a spark of light
another spark of more light
and returned the eyes to her friends
speak turn and look
and I wait for your look in suspense
I discover in silence the fine flight of the message of his eyes
of your hands and your fingers
of his ring
since then they have flown
many afternoons of lowered suns
many nights of worn moons
how many things have happened since then
until rain and lightning
clueless of winter
sometimes I saw her at the bar
or just walking
on the sidewalk of the air traffic park
very of her husband hanging by the arm
hiding in the folds of the blouse
his three months from spike in
ever in the centennial park
very mommy inaugurating the stroller
look at him, he has her little eyes
green flakes on marine silver background
restless and today I have seen her again
from a shivering cold summer night
sun hidden behind your eyes
in front of the dark glass
glaring at me
while talking on the phone
I am behind that mass with the figure of a man
sitting in front of my eyes
wrong number sir
you know I love you from the stairs back then
wrong number sir
oh god the lines are crossed
I love you from the corner portal
you standing in the stands watching me
what does it say
that I love you from the corner of always
impossible I am married
What do I fucking care about?
I only know that I love you and that's enough
CARLOS EDUARDO JARAMILLO (Loja, 1932)
Goodbye Clockwork Orange
The revolution of the sexy lamb / prophets
beatniks you were right /
conjugated fables modes historical time
gave and found the wave in which the Son of Man
or his spirit is again
the masses Godspel Jesus Christ Super-star
or any other
with electronic sound percussion
folk - this is important
on this rock I will raise my church-
and above all do not lose faith
do not fall into sin
/ the entire prophecy was not valid either
Rotten Ginsberg /
marijuana yes heroin no
the very personal communion of mushrooms
acid or peyotl
the polarization of sex
it is being done with the new customs The Scripture
Farewell to the old wise men: Jesus the child
puts in check again the doctors of the law
goodbye Clockwork Orange ultraviolence
freedom will no longer have that atavistic tail
goodbye eagles vultures goodbye warrior heroes
generations of warfare will go to the dustbin of history.
FERNANDO CAZÓN VERA (Quito, 1935)
A year goes by soon
but one day
stays for many years.
it goes away like a sigh.
When it rains
I remember you naked.
RODRIGO PESÁNTEZ RODAS (Azogues, 1937)
History and geography lesson
The earth is round,
if it weren't for those
at the poles.
In such a way
can kick him
and without remedy.
That's why it was
that Christopher Columbus discovered
than sowing pumpkin seeds
in the one hemisphere
good military dictatorships could be obtained
in the other one.
JOSÉ LUIS VILLACRECES (Riobamba, 1940)
It was a spring of crystal clear and fresh water,
she was the owner of a honeycomb with excesses of sweetness.
It was the worker bee that in her eagerness to talk,
with its flowers accomplices in essences of tenderness.
Giving and teaching was always his warm destiny
that's why she did her last job invalid,
united his children as it was written in heaven,
blessing one by one ... at the last supper.
One Good Friday she spoke with the Lord shaken,
He begged for his children, the poor, the unredeemed,
and for the old companion reason for his life:
tomorrow you will be with me, Nazareno told him.
And the Creator fulfilled what he had promised,
for her the RESURRECTION was that day,
He caressed her face and kissed her forehead,
He put on a diadem the same as Maria's.
CARLOS ROJAS (Guayaquil, 1943)
Possibilities of pleasure
Back to the routine of pleasure
days are coming
Life goes by gigantic
and I undaunted
riding (perhaps) silently after them.
Perhaps the use of the word is the most pleasant
and we only find out by doing it
or maybe never.
and maybe love
that cloudy warmth in exercise
and vice versa
And all in less than an instant.
ROSA AMELIA ALVARADO (Guayaquil, 1944)
Navigate my body of water
nauta foam dress
hoist your sails
sink your bow
in the blazing tempest
of my flesh
let me wet your wood
bathe your boat with burned skin
loose your moorings
come dance in my dance
come run aground your
ship in my port
come to placate me
the fury of all the winds
SONIA MANZANO (Guayaquil, 1948)
I mark one, zero, four:
I ask if I am,
yes I am,
if my name is,
if in March they change my phone,
if I relate to any number,
if I have paid my bill and to what name.
They hang up.
I hang up.
Any other possibility sounds busy.
I can not anymore,
there is no more:
I reinvent myself.
HERNÁN ZÚÑIGA ALBÁN (Ambato, 1948)
Vatars of the vate
It is built miserable with its estrus
and he knows that this wealth is not of this world.
Meet your tearing hybrid
vinegar and syrup senses
of poetic acolytes with the team
always on the verge of aborting the metaphor.
He consecrates himself
with the prize of living
and is crowned with its almond branch
on the ashes of temples.
He makes a lamp before his neighbor
screaming at him:
What are you crazy or are you the devil?
who was born here tired
with its huge sedative slime
lustfully soaks the bony torsos
of the minstrel prophets of the concrete.
Her threadbare jean stands on its own
before the apocalyptic glow
from acid rain.
IBSEN MANZANO (Guayaquil, 1951)
they play poker
on the chest
of a dying old woman,
defy the gods
changing the dictated orbits,
We raise crows and other birds of prey;
but the truth
is that there is no way
let us agree.
EDUARDO MORÁN NÚÑEZ (Guayaquil, 1957)
The day will fall apart if I remedy
in the caliginous ravine,
stop holding it uselessly with your ebony staff.
The air is a moo
loaded with strange smells.
I'm going out.
Find me the overcoat
of absurd words.
Put me on the neck
the scarf you sewed
with threads of frost.
Outside the moon sneezes
just like a constipated dog.
Open the balcony and let her in.
you give the shoes a shine
Like the splendor of the morning
And when I'm gone
go down to the dining room,
someone will have set the table
and a certain freshness of leaves,
Today we will not eat the apostolic snack.
But don't take the car out.
I'm going to walk.
Call the downpour on the phone.
And don't go uselessly waiting for me all night.
Go to sleep, old ghost.
That I will only cross a suburb
and a degenerate dunghill.
MARITZA CINO ALVEAR (Guayaquil, 1957)
The word was terror
of my ancestors.
the tyranny of a dialect
to the disproportion of fear.
I'm the only one
unfaithful to reason.
GALO GUERRERO JIMÉNEZ (Catamayo, 1959)
Waiting for someone
From the deep void of time
your honey nights consume me
in every season of life.
DANIEL CALERO SOLÍS (Guayaquil, 1962)
I always dream
with scalpels burying
in my brain
and the verses scatter
between stunned fingers.
I always fear
mutilations of thoughts
I'm afraid to forget
all my secrets.
this small place
peppered with accusations
break the aliferous time.
On my cracked skull
the whip will fall in silence
then there will be a maze
where there was so much mystery.
RAMIRO CAIZA (Machachi, 1963)
constant drowning in the forehead
corrode ungraspable farewell
raises gray dust
that surround the taciturn eyes
the clamor of an abandoned cage
a shackle that explodes in the
darkness sparks beat desperate
his self-absorbed wings
here lies the challenge made into word
the song with its black circles under the eyes
at the edge of irremediable time
constant but far away
trinkets crossed on the roads
they turn poisonous to show off
fancifully ineffable well-being
poor man on the edge of the bonfire
that is extinguished.
RODOLFO SALAZAR LEDESMA (Guayaquil, 1968)
Cities have many marginalized people, not only in the suburbs.
-In some lots live popular artists, with a gift of people and knowledge of intellectuals-. They are not necessarily those who are in the portals of churches, cathedrals or informal vendors who hit the municipal ones. Pensions, motels, brothels proliferate on the perimeter, that great arm that like an embrace strangles the city.
With a crystal glass, the drink is offered by the song of JJ a sinister character, some teeth empty, frayed but in a suit, the Devil and the outrage are daily news.
But Mother Courage also lives in the place, a sound from Sonora sounds now, the lady resembles an old woman with her joy and grace to a black queen who is getting ready for the dance, carrying a bucket in one hand
and in the other a princess holds her.
They walk on something that looks like asphalt, 100 meters away in a bus an assault, the law of the strongest, a game of dice to which it seems there is no way to object, overcrowded are born, die and every step the pimp, the pimp, the rage, sour face, like a great wound, that one another through effort, joy and sanity sometimes manages to close the suture.
The garbage of others, the hatchets collect with their carts, in loose T-shirts - under which pure skin and ribs.
They travel the city with their children, rolling like a roller coaster, like a centipede on the back of a rat. Its route is already chewed fruit. Eyes, look. They are watching us. We are forgetting them and turning our backs.
The chambero woman also exists, and she is also sad, always wearing trousers, never a dress or skirt and in her ear never a compliment.
Maybe your dreams are a deep red, your heart a little stone,
but still immense.
Good and evil, usury is another rubbish and is not perceived as such,
along with everything that hurries us: luxuries and other spells.