Carlos Poems | Examples

Carlos and Hanna

Carlos and Hanna, husband and wife,
your examples taught me about life,
honoring family, marriage, and friends.
Much is lost with your premature ends, 
and though it's too late to let you know - 
Oh my God, I miss you so.

Carlos Alcaraz

Carlos Alcaraz
plays tennis the way Ol’ Satchmo played jazz;
so creative, so talented, having so much fun, 
and now he’s a two-time Wimbledon champion.

Carlos the Cosmonaut Chimp

Carlos clever carnivore, courageous cosmonaut chimp
Tried twice to turn twisters, for he was an incredible imp.
Twisters tossed him toward Pluto, he went up in the air.
Whether he comes back or not, few of us gave a care.

Carlos- -

Carlos is an English major
And yet he doesn’t speak Spanish
Reading to him so fundamental
Lover of the those fine literary writes
Open is he for a tutor for he doesn't speak Spanish
Someone from his fam’ maybe he can ask his gran’

CARLOS’




2/22/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
Name Poetry Verse Type

Carlos the Chameleon

Carlos the chameleon likes to wave at passersby,
But none of them wave back at him which makes poor Carlos cry.
He stands there by his house and waves as loudly as he can,
They all ignore him, that’s not fair, he doesn’t understand.
It’s not that they don’t like him, yes he’s loved by one and all,
But none of them can see him ‘cos he blends in with the wall.

Mission San Carlos Borromeo De Carmelo

Father Serra's choicest mission.
Late restored to prime condition.
Architecture's Moorish fashion.
Catenary
high roof, tower Spanish vision.
Awesome very.

Santiago Y Juan Carlos

I know rich men who have lived under bridges 
and poor men that have never starved a day in their life. 

Conozco a hombres ricos que han vivido bajo puentes 
y a hombres pobres que nunca han pasado hambre un dia en sus vidas  
 
Necesito que sepas 
I need you to know 
 
Sus suenos no estan destinados a permanecer entre las horas de 11pm a 8am
Your dreams are not meant to remain between the hours of 11pm to 8am 

Creceran si los riegas
They will grow if you water them 

Si se riega usted mismo
if you water yourself

Stealing From William Carlos Williams

so much depends
upon

a book unread
the cracks

of its binding
its word

its phrasing

so much depends
upon

theming of phrases
the meaning
of words

take care, take care

Carlos Danger

Carlos Danger
never met a gal he thought a stranger
sexting all concerned
quite understands how many think him badly burned.

Carlos

My child asked me today,
what a poem was
and I told him.

Perhaps,
in a state of happiness
for his interest
in such an important art form,
I betrayed thousands of years of verse,
and killed so many poets.

So I went searching
and found it all too confusing.
Why, I ask, does the poet
make his verses so impenetrable,
why does he make it so elusive?

I felt sad and small,
that my child waited,
while ignorance wrapped me tight,
like a heavy visible cloak.
And I did what others do
when they don’t know:
I told him of how busy I was.

My child became a teenager:
resilient, smart and unable
to allow a parent
a safe retreat anywhere.


When he met a poet,
he called me at once:
a poem, Carlos told him,
is nothing but a beautiful box,
with life inside.

Biography, Translation of Carlos Bousono's Poem: Biografia

Biography, Translation of Carlos Bousono’s poem : Biografia

(from the collection : Oda en la ceniza, 1967)

Just to say three translations of Carlos Bousono's poems have been spiked. If anyone is interested, please check on ZCommunications.org, PoemHunter.com, PoemsAbout.com or OccupyPoetry.net

Born. 
Went out. 
Prepared (or qualified) himself.
Returned.
Opened the door and closed it.
Looked about.
Went out.
Put on his thinking cap.
Came back.
Switched on
the light which he later put out.
Very carefully took
an apple which he didn’t eat,
and chose
a chair on which he sat.
Didn’t look about himself :
Re-prepared himself.
Went for a walk. Returned.
Breathed out
and disappeared.

© T. Wignesan – Paris,  2013

The Sensation of Nothingness, Translation of Carlos Bousono's Poem: Sensacion De La Nada

The sensation of nothingness, Translation of Carlos Bousono’s poem : Sensacion de la nada

Consider, no matter what, even something agreeable
falls so low : in the pureness 
of metaphysics, in the sublime
brightness of nothingness.
In the cubic emptiness, in the number
of fire. It’s the bonfire
which causes inanity to burn. In the centre
no wind whatsoever blows. It is the fire
pure, pure nothingness. No being inhabited by faith,
there is no extension. The reduction of the world 
to a point, to a number which suffers.
Because it is hideous, a symbolical endurance,
without the uncertain material which enlivens it.
Is it the unwaveringness of suffering
in itself… Like the night
that never
would dawn.

© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013

The Throbbing of His Heart, Translation of Carlos Bousono's Sonnet: Los Golpes De Su Corazon

The throbbing of his heart, Translation of carlos Bousono’s sonnet : Los golpes de su corazon

(According to the anthology editor, Alejandro D. Amusco, this sonnet with a different title first appeared in Bousono’s collection : Invasion de la Realidad, 1962, and this revised sonnet : « In its new form – the sense of the poem varies radically – it stops being a love poem to become (one of) an auto-elegy. » I admit it would be futile to keep to the rhyme scheme : abba, abba, cca, bba.  T. Wignesan)

I know the throbbing in your breast
has become scarce. Heart, slow down
your passionate movement
and make light the painful groans.

for this body where my feelings
concentrate all its love, where I feel
death at each ashen beat
of grave and oppressing repetitions.

Let sleep your heart, cross my casing
of death lowering into this dark soil
and there keep throbbing in all the senses.

Hark the strings ! Heart, slow down
your passionate movement
of your grave and oppressing repetitions.

© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013

The Definition of Beauty, Translation of Carlos Bousono's Poem: Definicion De La Belleza

The Definition of Beauty, Translation of Carlos Bousono’s poem : Definicion de la Belleza

(This poem is the third in the sequence titled : « Disquisicion sobre la belleza visual », taken from Carlos Bousono’s collection : Metafora del desafuero, 1988. I have stuck close to the original’s « controlled and assurance-instilling breathing », I hope. T. Wignesan)

Yes, beauty is eternity, and transcends however
the appearance of its meteor, in that instant
when the snow falls and the wood becomes resplendant
through its dream-like whiteness during a dawn 
most sweet. Transcends the vastness of space :
light sovereign. Again beauty
is moreover the means rather than an end and doesn’t exhaust itself
like an uncomfortable path that we continue exhausted upon
on a dark night,
compelled by a feeling of anxiety, by some inner voice,
by a voice which makes us stutter and which invites us
to an impossible meeting
at a time of a difficult
feat of contemplation. It is impossible to understand
the meaning of the call, to listen with clarity
to the whisperings of obscurity.

© T. Wignesan – Paris,  2013

Somber Psalm, Translation of Carlos Bousono's Poem: Salmo Sombrio

Somber psalm, Translation of Carlos Bousono’s poem : Salmo sombrio

(from Carlos Bousono’s first book of poems, written before he was 22 : Subida al amor (Ascent into love), 1945, and dedicated to the 1977 Nobel laureat, Vicente Aleixandre.) 


Do not pass by me , O ! God ! incognito,
do not cross my path like a sky emptied of its stars,
for my body turns in upon itself in flames,
loving you in silence with such persistent anguish.

Do not cross my path while I keep loving an obscure entity,
while I continue to whimper among cactuses, among stones.
So turn Your face away, Your face that I fear
during such a roaring and wild night !

Keep Your distance from me ! Abandon me in the dark !
so that I may wish to be the source and thirst of this earth
in order to be able to love this twisted
trunk of a body sans light, all alone in this blinding wilderness !

© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013

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