Best Chilean Poems
Born in Ireland in eighteen seventy four
He was a remarkably brave explorer
Three times to Antartica he did go
To that barren wilderness of ice and snow.
Once with Captain Scott and twice on his own
And it was on his third visit that his bravery became known
The expedition was to reach the southern pole
For all the great explorers, it was the ultimate goal.
The Weddell sea was freezing and tightened its grip
And crushed the Endurance, the expedition ship
The crew saved all the equipment and food stores too
They were stranded on an ice floe there was nothing they could do.
But the floe breaks up and on the sea it floats
So the order was given to launch the life boats
They set sail for Elephant island in the southern ocean
And with worsening conditions approached it with caution.
It was a temporary move, they knew they couldn't stay
Shackleton had to get help, there was no other way
Except for five crewmen all the rest did remain
On the island for four months with its inhospitable terrain.
South Georgia was the place that they needed to get to
From there they would be able to launch a rescue
Eight hundred nautical miles they had to row and sail
Through gigantic waves with snow, ice and hail.
Stromness whale station, it was their goal
But on their boat the harsh conditions had taken their toll
South of the island they had to land on a beach
Thirty six hours north was help, they needed to reach.
Three of the crew were taken ill, no more could they take
So Shackleton and two others, a long trek they did make
They trekked in conditions that could have caused harm
But they reached the whale station and raised the alarm.
The three sick crewman were rescued, thankfully still alive
And the twenty two on Elephant island were struggling to survive
Penguin and seal meat was what they had to eat
But they kept their hopes up not admitting defeat.
On August the thirtieth in nineteen sixteen
A Chilean navy ship on the horizon was seen
It was Shackletons fourth attempt to rescue his crew
Their ordeal was now over, but hell they'd been through.
Written 9th January 2018
honey of fire trees
South American
monstrous fluffy gingerbeast ~
buzz of flying mice
5/23/2019
Writing Challenge 3, May 2019, Nature Haiku Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Dear Heart
*this bee as described by British scientist Dave Goulson
**honey - sweetness of, sweetheart of
***one plant the giant bombus dahlbomii bees are attracted to are Chilean fire trees
****this bee has also been described as being similar to flying mice
**honey of fire trees***
South American
*monstrous fluffy gingerbeast ~
****buzz of flying mice
Let it be that - we are simply disconnected
And all of it that was before is now neglected.
Just as in an international call
And I'll stop knowing what you whisper all
Over her right ear,
Petting her mere
Hair. Listening to the cheerful imps
Of your disturbing thoughts. A glimpse.
And recognizing every rustle
Around you. A twitching muscle.
Here's the sound of keys jingling,
Here are her fingers mingling
With your fringe, here's the wind strangled in the curtains,
The load of memories it burdens...
Sms beep, the block is off,
The parquetry squeaks yet the steps are easy,
Flick of a lighter and that's it - the tone. How cheesy...
And I'll stay a bit in the telephone booth
Reciting poems of my youth.
Awaiting for the firing of invisible squadrons in my temples to cease.
Oh would I ever feel the ease?
Of simple being, I'm happy as old colonel Frehley
Who died with a reciever in his hand.
Let it be that as if it's five years past.
And we are all steady here at last.
We're not as booming with the decibels,
But we're worth a 1000 for a ticket.
There might as well be time for cricket.
We are working like real men,
Making money as easy as trimming a bush. We stem.
We're not giving our minds any downtime.
What's mine is mine.
And I am aware of what I am worth.
It doesn't matter that nobody is willing to pay the price.
We run in circles just like mice.
We meet and knock back three
Glasses of Chilean semi dry and you look at me.
And then you say "I am pround of you, Polozkova!"
But no - nothing breaks inside me.
That August we were still drinking outside
And you were wearing
My jacket - we are joking, singing and smoking...
Probably you never knew that from that night on you
Become the protagonist of my hysterics and mimes. All anew.
One day we'll recall this -
And wouldn't be able to believe it ourselves...
Let it be that my vim and naughtiness
Are back; My slouch and flabbiness
Are gone; And nothing's beating me inside
No pain within me would reside.
And there's no need to write
My poems. How can I ignite?
Let it be that I don't sob hoarsely with every chorus
Just like a dyed-haired singer with little morals.
How nice that you're sitting
In front of the screen and thinking
That you're reading
Of somebody else.
Form:
List one: climb up to Machu Picchu,
ride the Orient Express,
see the Terracotta Warriors,
find a monster in Loch Ness,
brave the winds of Patagonia,
hike along an Everest ridge,
visit Paul Gaugin’s Tahiti,
stand on Sydney Harbour Bridge,
stroll round Angkor Wat, Cambodia,
cross the Alps in a balloon,
gaze in awe at Easter Island,
catch a rocket to the moon.
List two: sit in the garden scribbling,
eat a wedge of Stilton cheese,
drink a glass of Chilean Merlot,
watch the sunset through the trees,
play the bass just one more time
in the pub with my rock band,
look both ways then cross the street
holding my granddaughter’s hand,
see my grandson run towards me
smiling, waving, full of life,
meet my son and talk and listen,
phone my daughter, kiss my wife.
Yes. Two lists. There is a reason.
Once I heard a wise man say
Dream as if you’ll live forever;
live as if you’ll die today.
Ask not for whom the bell tolls
Said little fairy bell sitting in the meadow
Among the Prim Roses reflecting, the sun’s glow
The Cow Slips in the rain
The Lady Smock trips on her train
Ask not for whom the bell tolls
The Snap Dragon bites, the Willow Weeps
The Baby’s tear’s, it often weeps
So ask not for whom the bell tolls
The fox has new gloves
The mother in law a tongue, the lily is for peace,
So ask not for whom the bell tolls
The Blue bell, Cow bell the Canterbury bell
The White bell Pink and Oconee bell
Please ask not for whom the bell tolls
The Bell flower the Chilean bell
The Chinese bell and all
So when asked for whom the bells tolls
I say it tolls on all bells in the fall.
© Mandy Tams 3/08/2015
Local names for bell shape flowers .
No doubt there are some folks who will scoff at the concept I propose,
But I think God chose courageous leaders when times of adversity arose.
He's done a pretty good job of selecting people who acted with determination,
To bring triumph out of chaos leading others to their ultimate salvation!
He selected Moses to lead His people out of bondage to the Promised Land.
Through many trials and tribulations they reached freedom under his command!
He chose a Babe to lead His Kingdom here on earth for the redemption of man.
Though He was rejected and was to die on The Cross, He rose to rule again!
Washington was named to break the bonds of tyranny that bound this nation.
He faced formidable obstacles - lesser men would have given up in frustration!
God wisely chose Lincoln who led a broken nation with wisdom and resolve.
Though facing untold challenges he persevered that a united nation might evolve!
That mighty oak, Roosevelt, led the nation to victory during World War Two.
God named him the leader and gave him the strength to see the battle through!
Surely God chose Martin Luther King to deliver his message of reconciliation,
To strive for the integration of all races and religions of this great nation!
Senor Luis Urzua, the hero of the Chilean mine disaster and highly respected boss,
With superb leadership reunited 33 miners with their families without a single loss!
To list all great leaders who by God's grace have emerged down through the ages,
Is certainly beyond my meager abilities but would fill tomes and tomes of pages!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Toconao, Oase im Sand
Wunder in der Atacama
Wo das klare Wasser fließt
Dort am Rande der Düne
Verschlingt schon die Quebrada
Allmählich der heiße Sand
Noch wandere ich langsam
Dort im einsamen Traume
Wo ruhig in den Gärten
Noch leise Wasser plätschert
Im kleinen steinernen Kanal
Mein einziger Begleiter ein Hund
Toconao, oasis in the sand
Miracle in the Atacama
Where the clear water flows
There at the edge of the dune
Swallows already the Quebrada
Gradually the hot sand
Yet I walk slowly
There in a lonesome dream
Where quietly in the gardens
Still purling gently water
In the small stone canal
My single companion a dog
Toconao, oasis en la arena
Milagro en el Atacama
Donde el agua claro fluye
Allí al borde de la duna
Cubre ya la Quebrada
Gradualmente la arena caliente
Aún ando despacio
Allá en un señero sueño
Donde tranquilo en los jardines
Aún chapotea silencioso agua
En el pequeño canal de piedra
Mi único compañero un perro
Note: Tocona is a small Indio village in the Chilean Atacama Desert. This oasis village
is located 24 mi south of the town of San Pedro de Atacama at an altitude of 8,153 ft
above sea level. The most notable building is the church. The bell tower is separated from
the main church structure and dates from 1750. The main source of its 546 inhabitants is
based on agriculture and artisan activities. The word "Toconao" comes from the cunzo
"toco" that means "stone". Toconao is also known for its alleys of the orchards in the
"Quebrada" (= gorge).
Polynesian Island
In the Pacific south east
Starved of trees
For a transporting feast
Stone idols
Moai, they are called
Some unfinished
Standing tall
This island of the extinct
Three volcanoes in all
Terevaka, Poike and Rano Kau
As years passed
Statues were toppled
Civil war and disease
This island buckled
In this modern world
With Chilean Citizenship
Over 3000 remain
No longer past hardship
This volcanic island
Called Rapa Nui
Is Easter Island
To you and me
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/history.php
Proyecto de tren instantaneo entre Santiago y Puerto Montt by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T. Wignesan
Soliloquio del Individuo by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T Wignesan
(Homage to Nicanor PARRA, 1914-2018, the Chilean ANTI-POET, winner of the "Cervantes Prize" (the highest literary honour for writers in Spanish), four times nominated for the Nobel Prize, studied Physics (Brown University), Cosmology (Oxford University) and taught maths and physics for some 40 years, but styles himself as the Poet who writes "Anti-Poems" - a fresh
chastising wind to debunk self-styled poets hardly born to the métier but drunk with their own effete and ephemeral voices. T. Wignesan, Paris, 2016.)
The Anatomy of the Instantaneous Train (plying) between Santiago and Puerto Montt
The engine of the instantaneous train
occupies the place of the destination (Pto Montt)
while the last coach
straddles the station of departure (Stgo)
This type of train affords the passenger
the advantage of arriving instantaneously at Puerto Montt
at the very moment he boards the last coach
in Santiago
The rub is in order to continue voyaging
the traveller has to keep moving with his luggage
through the train
until he gains the first coach
Once the passage has been realized
the passenger may proceed to exit
the instantaneous train
which has remained stationary
during the entire voyage.
• Observation: This type of (direct) train serves only the uni-directional journey.
Source: Poem read by Nicanor Parra as invitee to the International Poetry Festival in the Netherands in 1989 (?)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
Power of Journeys
New horizons speak in hope and pull me to Pablo Neruda’s country
‘Twenty poems of love’ inspired by Santiago Robinson Crusoe Island
Serene landscapes volcanoes Andean mountains are outspokenly funky
I seek the space vibes vastness Chilean seduction loudly and silent
Few books opened my voice more than ‘The Gulag Archipelago’ scripted
by Alesandr Solzhenitsyn and thus my eyes have to explore the Siberian Plain
Despite all that ice a melting pot of souls minds and cultures encrypted
I need to welcome silence once more and Lake Baikal into my inner terrain
‘The Paradise of the Blind’ with heart blooded ink by Duong Thu Huong
wants exploration quiet reflection uncontaminated comprehension
Nature wrapped in philosophy the Mekong Delta is where I belong
Peace solitude reclusion at times require my full travelling attention
On this voyage Pinochet Stalin and Ho Chi Min can stay in their grave
Blending and mixing with beauty wise words Mother Earth is what I crave
Remind me of the sea that kisses the coast of Algiers
Where the tides are soft and the winds all but fierce
In that country past the strait of Gibraltar
Where the trip to Casablanca didn’t halt her
Taking a plane past the eye of the Mediterranean Sea
To the cheek of the Atlas Mountains in Jbel Ayachi
Tell me again, what you called the world’s left brow,
I believe it was either Kiev, or the city of Moscow
You journeyed on to the scarred eye of the Aral Sea
Where only sand was left to remind you of former glory.
Greeted eastward by the buildings of Ashgabat.
Which had a shade of white quite akin to that of Masqat.
There in Florence, where we visited the Sistine
Telling me you would soon be leaving for Argentine
Abruptly you went from the Chilean hills of Santiago
To concrete spires of New York and Chicago
Was it there that you heard an oriental song?
A melody you chased all the way to Hong Kong?
Though I might’ve confused myself with Singapore.
I’m quite certain it was either that, or Kuala Lumpur.
Fondly I think of our first kiss in the vineyards of Roubaix
Reminiscing me how strongly I miss your warm embrace
Making me hope that you’ll snap free of your peregrine
For I will patiently wait for you at gates of Berlin.
I spend time with a friend
well, a pseudo-friend
an acquaintance of sorts
no, I guess he'd be a friend,
****, who knows
one of those types you never really share your heart
that authentic trembling you
I guess
he's more like a radio station
on a long lonely road trip in the night
or late night cable when the kids have left
a thousand channels
bright flickering nothing
we meet after hours in the deepest of dives
I just sit, listen,
curl myself into that hunching shape
looking like someone piled old laundry on a stool
and act as chaperone
an escort of sorts, you know, like those fresh faced kids in college
earning some bucks walking lifesize cartoons around for pictures
and with a bar top slap, I know he's got one, he's revved up
a steampunk machine running on old rye and spasms
"know this! I have faith in our sacred family values, our brave military and our cellular plans!"
(it's hard to not chuckle a bit, enjoy the aerating effect a good laugh does to spirits and your pallet, just avoid aspirating too much or you bellow and cough like an amateur drinker, good god don't show weakness in a place like this or the crows will circle and I swear the shadows lengthen under the bar)
most times, as I sit next to him, removed from his sphere
detached observer that I always find myself
I notice he talks to that small sliver of himself seen between the dirty glasses
piled up against the old mirror with faded silvering
and the blackened spots frame his face
like an old time picture
representing a vast loneliness of a nation
this goddamn solitude we find in crowded rooms
"My opponent here is working with Chilean miners, violent video game makers and angry chefs, goddammit"
once curse words are added, we'll be on our way soon
the barkeep's tips weren't that big
and the mutterings from the corners are beginning
as his outbursts begin to chisel into the hazy bubbles of regulars
I pull him out into the night
away from cheap wine and leaded glass
red faced, blustering,
cool air confusing him for a moment
and, lightswitched, he walks with a purpose,
back to the maindrag and streetlights,
calling it a night with a wave and one last holler:
"I want an America where Somali pirates and Rupert Murdoch yes-men cannot corrupt our precious environment!"
I just stand and wave back.
Ricardo wrote poetry with much flair
the literati later,were to declare
'Twenty Love Poems & A song of Despair'
And his 'Residence on Earth'
a Nobel prize to reflect their worth.
Inspired by Raul's photo contest
Pablo Neruda(Nefttali Ricardo Reyes y Basulato) diplomat/poet of the Chilean left
Bernardo O’Higgins Riquelme
was born in Chillan in central Chile.
The bastard son of Ambrosio, Marquis de Orsorno,
his Irish-born father hailed from County Sligo.
Bernardo’s mother was Isabel Riquelme.
She was from a prominent South American family.
Bernardo was supported financially
after the father became a Peruvian viceroy.
Bernardo was sent to London while a young boy
where he was able to acquire a formal education.
He soon learned to despise Spanish domination.
Bernardo sought to fight for independence from Spain.
His homeland should not be a colonial domain.
He would share the same ideas as Francisco de Miranda.
This man hailed from the north in Venezuela.
Both men espoused the prospective idea
of a free and independent South America.
O’Higgins joined the Logia Lautaro in 1810.
He was helped by Argentine Jose de San Martin.
In 1814, the rebels suffered a costly defeat.
Into the Andes Mountains, the rebels had to retreat.
This loss came at the Chilean city of Rancagua
It started the period known as the “Reconquista”
In 1817, the rebels won a great victory.
The Battle of Chacabuco ended Spanish sovereignty.
Chile and Argentina were both declared independent.
Bernardo O’Higgins became Chile’s first president.
Thanks to wikipedia.org online encyclopedia for pertinent information I obtained to
write this presentation.
Nobel Prize Winner
Poet of integrity ...
Pablo Neruda.