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Winner and Finalists of the Autumn Edition of the #PoetryContest

The winner of the new autumn edition of the #poetrycontest, organized by Zenda and sponsored by Iberdrola, is Agostina Laura Sulpizii, awarded €1,000. The two finalists of the competition, in which more than three thousand poems were submitted, are Fernando Mora Bongera and Jorge Juan Codina Ripoll, who will receive €500 each. The jury valued the literary quality and originality of the submitted texts.

The jury has been formed by
Antonio Lucas, Ana Merino, Juan Gómez-Jurado, Espido Freire and Leandro Pérez
.

A continuación reproducimos los tres poemas premiados. En este enlace puedes consultar las bases del premio. Gracias a todos por participar.

WINNER

Agostina Laura Sulpizii

I built a table:
wood upon wood
carved with my hands, girls
of a newborn beast
Who could see the flash?

I anointed my tools with sweet perfumes,
sacred:
incense, myrrh, clove
nard, violets, passionflower
sandalwood, elder, lemon verbena.
One by one I named them
I gave them a place and a destiny
an echo of possibilities where to begin.

In the middle of the desert
I gave birth to a strange oasis:
what I saw was the shadow
of the shadow
of the shadow.
What is reflected is from the dream
and my hands are no longer here.

FINALISTS

Fernando Mora Bongera

Open House

This house has no walls
nor a drop of mercury.
It is all open windows.
Water is called water
and only the wind is called wind.
When snow is spoken there is only snow
and if bird is spoken everything is a bird.
No one suffers if pain is spoken
and nothing dies even if death is spoken.

Jorge Juan Codina Ripoll

Architect

the light is a fractured bone against the glass.
the sap flees toward the marrow,
a white relapse.
for weeks the living room has been chewing its own shadow.
the wood coughs,
as if swallowing wasp dust.
this rust does not descend from the sky:
it is born beneath the femur,
unravels the corners of touch.
we pile dark wool
not to seal off the frost,
but to give weight to your absence.
the geometry of the room yields
to such meticulous wear.
I rehearse my death without making a sound.


2.3/5

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