Poetry

Poems from ‘The Hidden One’ by Ernesto Pérez Zúñiga

The Hidden One is the new poetry collection by Ernesto Pérez Zúñiga: a work of love and contemporary mysticism that listens to what throbs beneath the surface of the real. Letters, sutras, psalms, and poetic prose that celebrate unity, silence, and light, in the wake of Saint John of the Cross.

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From “Nine Doors,” the poetics with which the book opens.

4. Poetry is the knowledge of fog. It is intuition put into language. It is clarity amid uncertainty and a definitive act. Poetry is an eagle. A knowing that flies, catching the word from the ground. Light that takes shape in blood. Eye and claw. A heart in the teeth. The moment that pronounces what it consumes.

Whether it comes as a flood or a trickle, poetry springs from what is hidden. The hidden that pleads for its liberation.

Poetry frees what is unknown and becomes knowledge. Knowledge of fog. Knowledge of the eagle.

*

A poem from the first part: “Letters to the Barefoot Woman”

Letter of the Talisman

I send you a talisman made from a lung.

I send you

my flesh

in the winter wind,

my flesh

that knows

how to fly,

my mouth

like dried leaves

that fall

into your lap,

into your sewing hand,

stitched

to you the talisman,

my being,

stitched

breath

to you,

my essence.

 

I send you the coins of my being

one by one,

I accompany you in your treasure,

in the chest

of the days

that seek to tilt toward sorrow

like cypress trees

in the winter city.

 

I split myself into fragments

flat,

navigable,

that fit easily beneath your door,

that roll smoothly along roads

and slip into the folds of the clouds.

 

Discreet

under your pillow

the coins

of my being.

 

Intimate

with your breathing.

 

There, in the simple movement of your chest,

while you sleep

they gleam,

they accompany you,

they know themselves as divine

and, offered to you,

they pass the night.

 

I send you a talisman made from a lung.

*

A poem from the second part: “Sutras of the One Who Cannot Return”

Sutra II

Do not allow the Arezzo devils

to seize control of the magical silence.

And respect the gifts received.

 

Honor the lust of the spirit.

Delve on the path into the basements of alchemy

and transform yourself in the transit.

 

The masculine and the feminine principles joined

together hold the key to the realm.

 

The bad dream is to perceive you

as separated

from the union

of opposites.

 

If you cultivate love

God is the world.

 

In the beginning,

the flesh was made, every flesh

for living

in the minimal.

 

How comforting it is

to find the opposite flesh

to fuse with it

and become again

oneself.

 

Only in this way does the clumsiness

prideful

of the solitary path end.

 

Only thus begins

a greater task.

*

A poem from the third part: “Ethio­picas”

Etiopica V

The sun seeks you in the crowd.

Eye of the sun.

Eye of the sun that blinks.

 

Rain has always been silence.

It is something all dictionaries know, all printed pages.

 

The sun is born from the eye of the origin.

 

There lie the letters of your name and the letters of my name.

They spin in the iris of the original sun.

 

In the fire of the eye, the words are forged.

I see you when you speak.

*

A poem from the fourth part: “Hidden Psalms”

 Psalms VII

If I can meditate with a cloud in my hand

and a city in the other

what do History and death have to wound me?

 

If I can meditate with one foot on Earth and the other on Venus,

with the heart in the Sun, how can illness or pain defeat me, how can I cease to be moved

before the history of Jacob Obrecht, who ended his days in

Ferrara by the plague, after composing the

most beautiful music of his time.

 

If I can meditate spanning the width of the stellar infinite,

lying in the oval of the known universe, among spaces

of fire and void, what can time and its harvests disturb in me.

 

If I can meditate stretched across the seven dimensions, as long as I am, the seven dimensions that cradle the

material and invisible worlds, what currents alienated from my world would shatter me.

 

Only in you I am. Only in you I love. Only in love

in you I contain what is important and what is useless. In your love, the universe

fuses and distills.

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Author: Ernesto Pérez Zúñiga. Title: The Hidden One. Publisher: Sonámbulo Ediciones. Sale: publisher’s website.  






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