Between half-closed eyelids this book dwells, inviting us to ask: what breath crosses the boundary of the intimate and brings us closer to others? In what way can a text blend the precision of realism with the sensitivity and freshness of what is alive in a present that never fades?
What follows are five poems included in Staircase 4 (Bajamar), by Mar Carrillo.
*****
THE MARKET
A song wanders through the market
of fruits and socks,
it crosses the seasons
the snow and the flowers.
A music of coconut and guava
a scent of papaya, pineapple, mango,
sunlit blossoms of lemon trees.
The memory slipped quickly
like snowflakes
with a sketch of flight.
*
OSCILLATE
I look at your face and say
anemones
that today
have opened fully.
They shine up high
like a thread of voice
the motionless sea of the night.
I want it to be with you
in the transition
between two energy levels
infinitesimal
of a cesium atom
one hundred thirty-three.
Immersed
in a second.
*
THE SOUTH
Imagine
how the sun’s light spreads
across the glass
in the sailor neighborhood.
The sun opens its fingers
gently moves the hand
the lights settle here and there by chance
on one crystal and on another.
I walk along the promenade, my gaze
advancing with the morning.
It is the quietest hour.
The rhythmic sound of the shore
sinks at this moment to yield
to other senses: the yellow
of the sun as soon as it appears.
Imagine the flashes
the discovery
a crystal that shines today and changes.
I abandon them when my steps
turn east, toward a sun
too obvious already,
toward some thought.
*
ONE YEAR LATER
The air smells of eucalyptus and dampness.
My hand stretches out like a cable
toward a small seed capsule.
It lands in the palm of my hand
weightless.
I study its grooves, ink,
star. From that proximity
it returns.
One second and it falls away
toward my pocket.
I will forget it soon
in the bottom
of the raincoat.
*
STAIRCASE 4
The northeast wind is blowing today with force, fighting against the walkers on the shore. In the sand a crumpled sheet of paper flies. The wind rips a word from it, scattering its letters.
A woman with a cane crouches, picks up an e and then a torn s, keeps them in her hand in case at home she can do something with them: a complete phrase, or paper earrings.
A man in short sleeves discovers a C, thinks: what a funny shape. He pockets it along with his handkerchief and a nut he found the other day. The morning goes on, a five-year-old boy steps away from his mother, mistakes the paper for an ice cream. He looks closely at the small piece with a deleted L and a clean E. He says: E. He thinks: ice cream.
I have always liked eating what people eat, doing the same sports. I search with my gaze for a fragment. I want to obtain an ending, to become part of the walkers. I find nothing, not even a piece of paper like confetti. So I go down to the still-smooth beach, the tide low, and I write in the sand erre a, thus, not very large.
Right as the waves erase them, families appear on the beach with their children, umbrellas, towels, snacks and a spare swimsuit.
The sun warms the steps, dries the sand, and rises to the top.
—————————————
Author: Mar Carrillo de Albornoz. Title: Staircase 4. Publisher: Bajamar. Sales: publisher’s website.