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Writings and poems from "Iron String"

@MMXXI SERGIO CALDERÓN, All Rights Reserved





Germany Year Zero


Germany Year Zero
Berlin week zero
Green lights in the industrial gray sky

Sliding ourselves

In Germany Year Zero
We couldn't see the present or imagine the future,
We used past tense

Germany Year Zero
An eternity soundtracked by the traffic

We talked about taxes
We had nightmares of filling forms in foreign languages

In Germany Year Zero
We missed our pillows

I had the need to come here, to be closer to the edge
On arrival, I no longer knew how to continue

I looked at the window aimlessly
My black coffee morphed into peppermint tea
The German grammar book resting on top of your suitcase while reading your messages
Not in a rush to begin to speak from zero in Berlin
In Mitte the couch became too comfortable
But I couldn’t stand to be inside the room
The records on the shelves weren’t really records
They weren’t there for listening
But as a decoration, standing by the wall
I fetched Bob Dylan’s Biograph
But the stylus didn’t work
I skimmed through the booklet instead
Dylan’s lifetime pictures reminded me of your photo album
The one from our London days
The days before Germany
Before Berlin

On a day of freezing cold I stood still in front of the black building
The one you could see from our window, in Weinbergspark
That morning the rain iced the floor and my stomach regurgitated with fear from the perspective of seeing you fall.

I tried to find the Berlin of Lou Reed,
but that was before, much before
in London

I chose to get lost and save the little battery left on the phone
To text you, to tell you I’ll pick you up

I did trivial things
A cleaner caught me doing Tai-Chi
I used a page I stole from La Reconquista Hotel to put our names in the mailbox
I thought of writing a poem, I wondered instead
In the news, I searched for controversy and nonsense
I stopped to embrace poetry
Instead, I embraced anger
‘I’m glad I don’t speak German’
I told myself in front of the newstand

Germany Year Zero
Even the gunman is off on Sundays

In Germany Year Zero
We ended up in the same places we tried to escape
The polluted view was expensive
The smiles were saved for later
The tips were used as weapons

Germany Year Zero
Deserted train stations
Old couples riding the local trains
A non-civilian dressed as civilian checking our tickets

Germany Year Zero
Double espressos at the museum
Empty art galleries
But not a free table at the cafés

At dusk
During the last few hours
Alone
I became dizzy
The words were on strike without you
I dressed more comfortable
But I didn’t feel the comfort

Germany Year Zero
A balloon crossed the Berlin sky
I was relieved to see you finding happiness with some ASMAT artifacts

I discovered the pleasure of reading in German
Without understanding German
I learnt to be happy with the light
Coming from the window, forming a rainbow
With your semicircular smile


A car barking downstairs
A car barking at high speed
In the rain
Downstairs
In November
Already March
In Berlin


Berlin, Winter, 2018




Curtains


The lame curtains that let in the morning light, the light of having time, and now the light of reading

The curtains no longer let me see the images, only their silhouettes, their contours, their shapes (learn to see with curtains - and, with the curtains, the shapes appeared)

The eternal plural of ‘the curtains’

The curtains, like a dimmer of light (right on time the refrigerator hammering with provocation)

And when am I outside? You have to become the curtains, your eyes must learn to 'grow' curtains

The curtains cushion the images, and I turn them into shapes and now I can see that light


London, 18 February 2020




Lost Summer


Sirens wouldn't call
The sun didn’t darken my skin
The smell of salt is just a memory
I didn't pack my towel
The sunscreen didn't mix with the sand on my shoes
I miss the redness on my foot on summer evenings
The hours spent in blankness
Just listening the clock ticking in the living room,
The sea waves
The drunks downstairs at night
The hours of waiting
Waiting for something to happen
Then waiting again
Waiting for waiting
Always in a sleepy alertness
The sirens wouldn't call
They would be immune to your images
You lost your power to charm them
They wouldn't lose a second craving for you
You are invisible now
Just as your images are
Leave the sirens alone
They wouldn't sing for you anymore
Go and crash your boat elsewhere!


London, 27 August 2018




The Bench


We were walking in broken glass
Your breasts, or was the neck?
An overture of impossible numbers
It was a terrible heat, and smog
'You are an optimistic', you said
The weight of your printed words coming from you
Silence was impossible

Confused, my back was bruised
The tide was strong
Trampled to death
The seashore,
Early spring, not a soul
(Failure covered my scars)

Your legs sang songs long forgotten
There was a movie playing in your vinyl skirt
Your distance
The smell of your tears
Towards your sorrow
A melody of static presence

You told me, 'a foil covers your bruises'
Summer wasn't your season


London, Winter 2017




Somewhat Farther Down


I.

We hid in the little house
By the beach
In winter, wine and electric fire



II.

Horizons are illusions
Clouds of breath
Half an eternity, already


London, 5 December 2017




A Tridimensional Entrance to Silence


Entrance (an entrance)
A box (an entrance)
(As if)
The important thing would be entering
No matter how
No matter where

But this entrance only allows you to go outside. To leave. To enter an unknown open space


London, 1 January 2019


© MMXXI, SERGIO CALDERÓN, All Rights Reserved