Estudio de agua
por Esteban Acosta
Eliminado el sentido
en silencio lo sensorial
bucea agudo sin pretender
la esencia de la mirada.
Ondulantes y elásticas
las comisuras del agua
no se aquietan ante el rostro
que ya no asoma con inclinada
curiosidad al borde de la ilusión;
más bien en su ganada presencia
de humano y la vibración que implica
su rostro de barro en la superficie muta
en la vida muda
una sola en su avance idéntico
sin experiencias ni formas de pensar
sin parafernalia aparente
proclamando importancia o verdad.
Entonces el agua se aquieta
y de la mirada hasta tus ojos
te ha revelado una lograda presencia
criatura de avance idéntico
por las comisuras de tus silencios
en cada ínfimo detalle
paso a paso
ya sin el pensamiento.
Si la percepción se atora
en alguna de las escamas
imbricadas, inextricables
no es posible actuar
intención alguna.
Es necesario ondular
por la corriente propia del ser
donde a lo sumo
las externas escamas
servirían de espejos
para rebotar de nuevo
una y otra vez hacia adentro
acentuarse así el ser en consistir
en el despliegue único de su gesto.
El silencio peina
esta soledad fundamental
cualquier sonido nace con sentido
se realiza y muere al sentido,
cuidado de cada burbuja
aire en el agua de tiempo en tiempo.
Mas cortada[s] por escamas
abiertas y afiladas
va[n] herida[s] la[s] percepción[es]
erráticas “intenciones”
apariencias
creen usurpar el ser
a lo sumo reales
en el imaginario
del frío “pensar” allí afuera
que va y acentúa
interroga y desdibuja
en gestos sucesivos
un algo que no se sabría qué es
o por dónde tendría que salir
(en el mejor de los casos),
o mejor dicho, mientras tanto
que es como decir
la existencia intermedia que habitamos.
¡Cuánta fascinación por estas heridas!
de la ignorancia hecha apariencia
que llamamos “realidad”
que gritamos “razón”
que especulamos “verdad”.
Imaginarios nos devoran
se complacen en nuestra agonía
en nuestro sufrimiento
en nuestra destrucción
(y no eres tú ni soy yo).
Para romper esas cadenas
y realizar el ser
solo basta el ondular
liso de la serpiente
solo y silencioso
destino de agua.
English translation by Tony Oats
Water Study
Sense eliminated
The sensory in silence
Diving deeply without pretense
The essence of the glance.
Undulating and elastic
the edges of the water
don’t know calm before the face
the face that no longer appears
curiosity at the border of illusion;
so much better in your well-earned presence
of humanity and the vibration that implies
its muddy clay face in the mutating surface
in the silence of life
alone in its self-identical advance
without experience nor forms of thought
without visible paraphernalia
proclaiming importance or perhaps the truth.
Then the water becomes quiet
and it looks into your eyes
revealing to you a genuine presence
and the creature comes forward
through the edges of your silence
in every minute detail
step by step
no longer a thought.
If perception is occluded
by some of the scales
imbricated, inextricable
it is just not possible to act
on any intention.
It is necessary to ripple
through the current characteristic of being
where at most
external scales
would serve as mirrors
to reflect again
one and then another time inside
accentuate itself like being and consist
in the unique display of its gesture.
The silence combs
this fundamental solitude
any sound born with meaning
the meaning comes to be and then dies,
caring for every bubble
air in water of time in time.
But cut [s] by scales
open and tapered
perception [s] become wounded
erratic “intentions”
appearances
believing they usurp being
at most realities
in the imaginary
of the cold “thought” there outside
that goes and accentuates
interrogates and blurs
in successive gestures
something that one didn’t know
or through which it would need to leave
or to put it better, meanwhile
that is to say
the intermediate existence that we inhabit.
How fascinating these wounds are!
that from ignorance made an appearance
that we call “reality”
that we shout “reason”
that we speculate “truth”.
Imaginary things devour us
become complacent in our agony
in our suffering
in our destruction
(and it’s not you nor me).
To defeat these chains
and realize being
simply let it ripple
smooth like a snake
alone and silent
water’s destination.
Esteban Acosta is the son of a rhythm or perhaps a walking dream, born from Pachamama and set forth into the world by drums. He’s received his teachings from Tibetan, Lakota, Maya and Andean ancestors, and also from shipwrecked stars, mainly some poets and philosophers. Washed ashore with them, he believes he’s a Writer, a Musician and a Teacher, with projects such as Dreaming Hummingbird, The Journey of meaning in Poetry, The spine of America, and Parche de Poetas Paisas (PPP), the latter an aftershock of Hysterical Surrealism and Tony Oats.”
Tony Oats commutes between Medellin, Colombia, and Bushwick, New York, with their cats Salvador Beachnut Sizzzz and Tangerine Cream. They write poetry about the philosophy of time and they edited the prosetry collection Hysterical Realism (reviewed here: https://creatrixmag.com//gods-birds-shit-and-plastic-bins-richard-marshall-reviews-hysterical-surrealism/).
Contact, FB: https://www.facebook.com/tony.oats.773
Featured artwork Gustav Klimt, Water Serpents II
