Bob Dylan - Only a Pawn in Their Game (Live At Newport Folk Festival - 1963)





A bullet from the back of a bush
Took Medgar Evers' blood
A finger fired the trigger to his name
A handle hid out in the dark
A hand set the spark
Two eyes took the aim
Behind a man's brain
But he can't be blamed
He's only a pawn in their game

A South politician preaches to the poor white man
"You got more than the blacks, don't complain
You're better than them, you been born with white skin, " they explain
And the Negro's name
Is used, it is plain
For the politician's gain
As he rises to fame
And the poor white remains
On the caboose of the train
But it ain't him to blame
He's only a pawn in their game

The deputy sheriffs, the soldiers, the governors get paid
And the marshals and cops get the same
But the poor white man's used in the hands of them all like a tool
He's taught in his school
From the start by the rule
That the laws are with him
To protect his white skin
To keep up his hate
So he never thinks straight
'Bout the shape that he's in
But it ain't him to blame
He's only a pawn in their game

From the poverty shacks, he looks from the cracks to the tracks
And the hoofbeats pound in his brain
And he's taught how to walk in a pack
Shoot in the back
With his fist in a clinch
To hang and to lynch
To hide 'neath the hood
To kill with no pain
Like a dog on a chain
He ain't got no name
But it ain't him to blame
He's only a pawn in their game

Today, Medgar Evers was buried from the bullet he caught
They lowered him down as a king
But when the shadowy sun sets on the one
That fired the gun
He'll see by his grave
On the stone that remains
Carved next to his name
His epitaph plain
Only a pawn in their game 







Medgar Wiley Evers (/ˈmɛdɡər/; July 2, 1925 – June 12, 1963) was an American civil rights activist who was the NAACP's first field secretary in Mississippi. A United States Army veteran who served in World War II, he was engaged in efforts to overturn racial segregation at the University of Mississippi, end the segregation of public facilities, and expand opportunities for African Americans, including the enforcement of voting rights prior to his assassination.


To Good Guys Dead - Ernest Hemingway (21/07/1899 - 2/07/1961)

 


They sucked us in;
King and country,
Christ Almighty
And the rest.
Patriotism,
Democracy,
Honor—
Words and phrases,
They either bitched or killed us.








Bukowski (1920 - 1994) about Hemingway (21/07/1899 - 2/07/1961)



“And then along came Hemingway. What a thrill! He knew how to lay down a line. It was a joy. Words weren’t dull, words were things that could make your mind hum. If you read them and let yourself feel the magic, you could live without pain, with hope, no matter what happened to you.”


― Charles Bukowski















El error más grande de un bully / A bully's biggest mistake

 

El error más grande de un bully

es creer que el otro, a quien agrede,

es más idiota que él.

Tan idiota como para no querer 

tomar represalía o revancha 

de algún tipo, en un futuro.


El bully es tan tonto que se cree su propio papel

y cree que lo que hace no tiene consecuencias.


Como si lo que hiciera no tuviese efecto...

O porque se cree superior a las leyes

como si fuese un rey/reina en su mente.


Y todos sabemos que en una República

y en cualquier lugar del Universo

toda acción tiene su efecto, su respuesta. 


Es como el Karma, o como el uso 

de la palabra o de la fuerza.

Más si es sobre otra persona.



The bully's biggest mistake

is to believe that the other, the one who he/she attacks,

is more idiot than himself/herself.

So idiot as to not want

to take any retaliation or revenge

of any type in a future time.


The bully is so silly that he believes his own role

and thinks that what he does has no consequences.


As if what she does had no effect...

Or because she believes she is superior to the Law

as if she were a King or Queen in his/her mind.


And everybody knows that in a Republic

and in any place of the Universe

Every action has its effect, its response.


It's like Karma, or like the use 

of the word or the force.

More if it's over another person.







Qué coreografía le dejaremos a la memoria espacial? - Adrián Quinteros



Qué coreografía le dejaremos
[ a la memoria espacial?
La ostentación, la vanidad,
el pánico?

Fuimos rehenes de una golosina
muy bien dosificada
nos aniñaron
con gimnasios
y membresías
mientras veíamos cómo familias enteras
revolvían nuestra basura
en busca de un abrigo

no hay metáfora
no hay lirismo

Solo un golpe desierto
a nuestro suelo

El rey está desnudo
y llora sin saber porqué

Fuimos advertidos
por quienes encerramos en manicomios

ellxs solo intentaron decirnos
que besarse era fabricar pájaros

pero no nos importó.









Inocencia



La palabra inocencia proviene del latín innocentia, que a su vez deriva de innocens
Este término se compone del prefijo negativo in- y del verbo nocere (dañar o perjudicar). 
Etimológicamente, significa "la cualidad de no hacer daño" o "ausencia de perjuicio".

A partir de su significado original, el concepto evolucionó 
para referirse a la falta de culpa, malicia o maldad.

La Humanidad necesita volver a la inocencia...











I am, O Anxious One - Rainer Maria Rilke (1905)



I am, O Anxious One. Don't you hear my voice
surging forth with all my earthly feelings?
They yearn so high, that they have sprouted wings
and whitely fly in circles round your face.
My soul, dressed in silence, rises up
and stands alone before you: can't you see?
don't you know that my prayer is growing ripe
upon your vision as upon a tree?
If you are the dreamer, I am what you dream. But when you want to wake, I am your wish, and I grow strong with all magnificence and turn myself into a star's vast silence above the strange and distant city, Time.



I am, you anxious one. Do you not hear me 
rush to claim you with each eager sense ?
Now my feelings have found wings, 
and, circling, whitely fly about your countenance.
Here my spirit in its dress of stillness 
stands before you, — oh, do you not see ?
In your glance does not my Maytime prayer 
grow to ripeness as upon a tree ?

Dreamer, it is I who am your dream.
But would you awake, I am your will, 
and master of all splendor, and I grow 
to a sphere, like stars poised high and still, 
with time’s marvellous city stretched below.





Book of Hours (1905)











Poem Of The Land - Mahmoud Darwish



A small evening
A neglected village
Two sleeping eyes
Thirty years
Five wars
I witness that time hides for me
an ear of wheat
The singer sings
Of fire and strangers
Evening was evening
The singer was singing
And they question him
Why do you sing?
He answers them as they seize him
Because I sing
And they have searched him:
In his breast only his heart
In his heart only his people
In his voice only his sorrow
















HOY 18hs se lanza CARDIOGRAMA en café Los Galgos (CABA). Acá los tres libros del sello pajarito - arte y libros.

 
















Y hoy, día loco, le llegó a Adrián Dárgelos (Babasónicos) el libro!!


A quien quiera colaborar con mi tercer libro (o los anteriores), leerlos y/o regalarlos, pueden tomar contacto por pajaritoarteylibros@gmail.com o MD por ig

Y coordinamos envío a cualquier parte del mundo!

Precio / Contribución: $25.000 (pesos arg)

Alias: mbvarteylibros 





Si tú flaqueas, yo flaqueo

 

Si tú flaqueas, yo flaqueo… y esto flaquea. 

Pensaba que era potente, fuerte, pero sin hablar

el domingo me dominaba... 

y la sensación de que el silencio fuera incómodo 

no la entiendo ahora. Ya no pesa el silencio, 

no espero nada. 

 

Domingazo invernal conmigo misma, y ver una película erótica. 

Quedarme conmigo. Si no siento que haya agua, no me voy a tirar 

a la pileta y sentir los golpes. Ya me los di antes como para saber que 

prefiero quedarme al margen, en el borde de la pileta, ver si se llena.


Y sino, irme tranquila, sin espamento, como sin pena ni gloria. 

Como a veces son las cosas, como en las películas de Jim Jarmusch: 

suceden, pasan y se van. 

Y todo bien con cómo son las cosas. 

Andar con lo propio, con lo posible.

Y todo bien con eso también. 


La vida sigue y todo sigue su curso más allá de los amores y frustraciones.

Que crezca lo bueno. Seguir adelante, dar algún giro, lo más inesperado 

va a ser divertido, y más adelante todo tendrá más sentido

La alegría es lo que sostiene, más que el dolor.  

Y sí, claro: lo que da placer, duele. 

Pero ¿será que gozaba de lo que dolía? 

Ese era el dilema.








Best Society - Philip Larkin



When I was a child, I thought,
Casually, that solitude 
Never needed to be sought. 
Something everybody had, 
Like nakedness, it lay at hand, 
Not specially right or specially wrong, 
A plentiful and obvious thing 
Not at all hard to understand. 
 
Then, after twenty, it became 
At once more difficult to get 
And more desired - though all the same 
More undesirable; for what 
You are alone has, to achieve 
The rank of fact, to be expressed 
In terms of others, or it's just 
A compensating make-believe. 
 
Much better stay in company! 
To love you must have someone else, 
Giving requires a legatee, 
Good neighbours need whole parishfuls 
Of folk to do it on - in short, 
Our virtues are all social; if, 
Deprived of solitude, you chafe, 
It's clear you're not the virtuous sort. 

Viciously, then, I lock my door. 
The gas-fire breathes. 
The wind outside 
Ushers in evening rain. 
Once more 
Uncontradicting solitude 
Supports me on its giant palm; 
And like a sea-anemone 
Or simple snail, there cautiously 
Unfolds, emerges, what I am.