Here are several poems by the international poet, Dennis Siluk, and a few thoughts on how he feels a poet should be available for the public to look at and into his poems and come out with a better view of the poet himself, and his thoughts. Rosa Penaloza
To write Poetry or to be a poet, one must allow others to know you (so I feel), that is, the poet does not hide part of his life in the corners for people to search for, it is in his Poetry, or should be; like a painter, or musician. The poet need not be difficult to read, some try to be on purpose, I find it should just come out automatically and if need be, smooth it out later. One may find compassion, rowdiness, even savagery in Poetry, be it a style or an emotion being displayed, in mine, it has its horns and tails likewise. I find instincts should be clear and forward: see the road you want to take with intensity to its end. These poems of mine are mostly fresh from my pen. I thought you might like a few thoughts to go along with them I have on Poetry before I deliver it. Sincerely, Dennis
1)
Gras y Mala Hierba
En la fortaleza de sueos
Hombres viejos con planes maliciosos
Pusieron sus nombres,
Interminablemente,
Incuestionable
En la atractiva cubierta de libros,
Lo imprimieron, para tener
Resonancia;
Hombres viejos con barbas largas,
Hombres jvenes con pieles tan claras
Las sirenas de nuestros tiempos
Crmenes culturales
El gras y la mala hierba
(Entonces, el soador debera saber)
Todos crecen juntos bastante lento
(Y terminan como este poema).
Grass and Weeds [English Version
In the Parthian of dreams
Old men with evil schemes
Have placed their names,
Endlessly,
Indisputable
In the attractive binding of books,
Ink on paper, for reverberating
Echoes;
Old men with long beards
Young men with skin so fair
The mermaids of our times
Cultural crimes
The grass and the weeds
(So, the dreamer should know)
All grow togetherquite slow
(And end like this poem).
#473 [2/4/2005
2)
El Demonio de Medianoche
Al demonio, no le encanta hablar
l prefiere caminar en silencio;
y mientras extiende sus manos por perdidos
l fija sus ojos en la presa.
Saltando se aleja, alrededor de la curva
donde nadie, nunca ha estado;
all, en el campo, l cavar
una tumba para enterar su cerdo nocturno.
El cava y cava, como un idiota
cruelmente, tcito.
Entonces, con grava en su escogido,
el arranca el corazn a travs de sus costillas.
Tonto humano el murmura despacio
y se sacude en su humano enemigo;
cuando en el campo [ahora oscuro y desolado,
l canta a losvientos macabros!
El salta y baila adelante y atrs,
Como beneficio de esta alma
Oh! Cun inteligente uno debe ser,
Para evitar este demonio de medianoche (?)
The Midnight Ghoul [English Version
The ghoul, he does not love to talk
hed rather keep a silent walk;
and as he reaches out for strays
he locks his eyes on the prey.
Away he leaps, around the bend
where no one else, has ever been;
there, in th e field he will dig
a grave to bury his midnight pig.
He digs and digs, like a fool,
heartlessly, unspoken to.
Then, with gravel on his pick,
he plucks out the heart from his ribs.
Silly human he murmurs low
and tosses in his human foe;
when in the field [now dark and grim,
he chants to theeldritch winds!
He leaps and dances to and fro,
as if to profit from this soul.
O! how much wiser must one be,
to avoid these ghouls at midnight[?
#478 [2/10/05 Inspired by George Sterling; the sketch of the Ghoul, was considered by many the best in this little book.
3)
Spanish Version
Aqu en el Caf
Hoy muchos amigos se detuvieron para saludarme,
Aqu en el caf; y hoy, mi tarde en esta vida
Tuvo una cara incansable.
Hoy todos morimos un poco,
Un da menos en nuestras vidas para vivir.
Cuntas tardes ms tenemos para vivir?
Esta tarde una procesin de personas
Me pidieron un momento de mi tiempo.
Maana, talvez nadie vendr;
talvez ni siquiera m.
Here at the Caf [English Version
Today many friends stopped by to greet me,
here at the caf; and today, my afternoon in this life
had a tireless face.
Today we have all died a little bit,
one day less in our lives to live.
How many afternoons do we have left?
This afternoon a procession of people
asked for a moment of my time.
Tomorrow, maybe no one will come;
perhapsnot even me.
#480 [2/12/2005 Inspired by Cesar Vallejo; written at the Caf B&N bookstore, Roseville, Minnesota, Har Mar Mal. Selected by the Caf staff as the best of four of Mr. Siluks poems; to be put into a competition at the store Feb thru April, 2005.
4)
El Pobre de Per
Slo hay una maldicin, peor
que ser pobre,
y sta es muerte
cuando escuchas al pobre llorando
muerte esta cerca,
ninguna cosa, calmar esto
slo llenando el crter
con agua fresca
lo enfriar, y aminorar la lava correr.
The Poor of Peru [English Version
There is only one curse, worse
than being poor,
and that is death
when you hear the poor crying
death is close behind,
no daggers will quench it
only filling the crater
with fresh water
will cool, and slow the lava flow.
#482 [2/15/05
5)
Spanish Version
Nudillos Mordidos
Sudor, orines y lgrimas
limpian el cuerpo de venenosos:
lstima, pesar y desesperacin.
Knuckle Biting [English Version
Sweat, urine and tears
cleans the body of poisonous:
pity, grief and despair.
#497 [2/15/2005
6)
Lados Comnes
Juventud tiene su edad
Y edad es orgullo;
Uno piensa que l sabe
El otro se pregunta por qu;
Pero Juventud y edad
Con ataduras separadas
Tienen partes comunes:
Vida, muerte, y plan,
Y una esperanza en el pecho
Que nunca descansa
Common Sides [English Version
Youth has its age
And age its pride;
One thinks he knows
The other thinks why;
But youth and age
With separate ties
Have common sides:
Life, death, and quest,
And a hope chest
That never rests.
Note: this poem was found by the author after 25-years being misplaced [not so new off his pen; written May, l981, and reviewed by Poetry North Review, Anchorage, Alaska by Dale A. Stirling, Editor/Publisher l980-86, Poetry North Review, his comments: very smooth and convey real feeling. Author is unaware if i t was published by any previous anthologies, but feels up to this writing it has not been published; consequently, the first time published in this set of poems. #82
7)
Kasbah de Tanger [Viento Negro
Camin entre los entusiastas y abandonados; rabes y homosexuales y muchachos espaoles; Comerciantes y extranjeros; esto fue una larga odisea, con un viento negro cernindose por lo alto, largo y helado toque todo encima de mi. Vientos negros encima de mi cabezafiltrndose, filtrndose en todos sitios, dentro, adentro de Kasbah: un laberinto sin final; el espritu de locura contenido por; adictos inconscientes por todos sitios; unos pocos -slo unos pocos hombres corteses, rindose aqu y all ste fue un incesable da caluroso. Primero me sent como, un torero; despus, como un toro; despus, al final del da, me sent vaco como la plaza de torosdespus que el toro ha sido sacado y matado!...pero qu tal aventura!
English Versin
Tangers Kasbah ((Casaba)) [Black win d
I walked among the eager and neglected; Arabs and queers and Spanish boys; Merchants and foreigners; it was a long odyssey, with a hovering black wind overhead, long and icy finger all over me. Black wind above my headseeping, seeping everywhere, within, inside the Kasbah: a maze with no end; the spirit of madness contained byunconsciousaddicts everywhere; a few,just a few gracious men, laughing here and thereit was a hot unceasing day. I felt at first, akin to a bullfighter; then later on, like the bull; then, at the end of the day, I felt empty like the bullring after the bull has been dragged out and butchered!...but what an adventure!
Note: in l997 the author visited Tanger, Morocco, and got into a bit of a jam; found his way back to Spain in safely. [#490 2/19/2005
Dennis L. Siluk is not a poet to a small extent genuine, but completely genuine in his creative images and feelings within his Poetry; and in particular, within these poems. You can visit his website at: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com or a number of other internet book dealers.
Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetry
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