{"id":2652,"date":"2026-10-16T14:08:17","date_gmt":"2026-10-16T18:08:17","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/canasanta.ca\/?p=2652"},"modified":"2026-10-16T15:12:03","modified_gmt":"2026-10-16T19:12:03","slug":"juan-carlos-recio-poesia","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/canasanta.ca\/en\/cultura\/poesia\/juan-carlos-recio-poesia\/","title":{"rendered":"Juan Carlos Recio :: Poes\u00eda"},"content":{"rendered":"<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\" style=\"font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 1.8;\"><em>\u00abNunca es imperceptible la alusi\u00f3n del recuerdo cuando el ser es aislado de su primavera\u00bb. La poes\u00eda de Juan Carlos Recio es activa y doliente y, constantemente, te lleva a saltar por esos pasajes de la memoria, donde la infancia y el crecimiento quedan como una hoja de viento clavada en el pecho.<\/em><\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\" style=\"font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 1.8;\"><em>Compartir un poema es de humanos, como alguien que roba un alma que vuela y la lanza, calladamente, al cielo; guardarla en esos rincones de la memoria es de sabios, para luego, indudablemente, merecerla en soledad.<\/em><\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\" style=\"font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 1.8;\"><em>El recuerdo de los lugares dejados, la existencia de estar lejos&#8230;<\/em><\/p>\r\n<h2>\u00a0<\/h2>\r\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading has-medium-font-size\"><strong>Sin t\u00edtulo<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\" style=\"font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 1.8; white-space: pre-line;\">No sabr\u00eda decir sobre la muerte,\r\nsi alg\u00fan miedo de ella me dispara\r\notro dolor menos de \u00ednsula\r\ny m\u00e1s frialdad de huesos\r\nque al norte de tu ciudad\r\ndonde alumbran los anuncios\r\ny el tiempo se evapora muy parecido\r\na una de esas espinas de madriguera.\r\n\r\nEn la penumbra no sabemos\r\nsi lo real es un artificio casi divino\r\ny al doblegar los pasos \u00abcuenten que aqu\u00ed llevamos\u00bb\r\nson a\u00f1os amontonados con las quemaduras\r\nde todos aquellos episodios\r\nahora idos contra la memoria.\r\n\r\nNo puedo hablar con la muerte\r\no de ella,\r\nsoy m\u00e1s joven que Rimbaud\r\ny tengo la felicidad de no so\u00f1arme para morirme\r\nsino, con la complicidad de esa luz\r\nque me despierta sin reconocer el horizonte;\r\ndentro, hay manantiales m\u00e1s l\u00facidos\r\nque el llanto de un ni\u00f1o solo,\r\nmuy solo en una playa sin faro\r\ncon la ingenuidad de saber\r\nel camino que tomaron los padres.\r\n\r\nno se puede conversar con \u00abla buena muerte\u00bb\r\nla vida, dif\u00edcilmente har\u00eda\r\nde esa pantomima que asusta\r\na los gallos dormidos de nuestra madrugada.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading has-medium-font-size\"><strong>Posando para la foto<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\" style=\"font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.8; text-align: right;\"><em>a la memoria de Octavio Pardo<\/em><\/p>\r\n<p><em>\r\n\r\n<\/em><\/p>\r\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\" style=\"font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.8; text-align: right;\"><em>Para G\u00e9lico<\/em><\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\" style=\"font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 1.8; white-space: pre-line;\">Tambi\u00e9n de este lado nos visitan extranjeros\r\npara fotografiar los rostros\r\nde quienes llegaron al reino.\r\nY saber, si todas esas noticias\r\ny los sue\u00f1os de quienes los invitaron\r\nson ciertos en la felicidad de los menos humildes.\r\n\r\nAunque no sean fotos del hambre\r\no la miseria ramplona de un cuarto con techo de tejas\r\ntampoco de paredes mohosas y calles oscuras\r\ny con charcos que producen arco iris de extra\u00f1os deseos\r\ny d\u00edas donde las personas que pasan\r\nnos miran como a los Dioses,\r\ny ofrecen sus cuerpos para entender\r\nsi los dioses le devuelven el roce con las prendas\r\ncompradas, quiz\u00e1s a plazo, all\u00e1 en el para\u00edso.\r\n\r\nNadie escapa al flash de un turista\r\nsonriente y tratando de adivinar nuestro enfado\r\nsin saber tampoco hasta que las revelen\r\nque algunos muertos de felicidad en este imperio\r\npueden lucir el estrago que deja\r\nla soledad etiquetada y llena de comodidades\r\npor la que la familia del otro lado del mar suspira.\r\n\r\nAqu\u00ed tambi\u00e9n las fotos enga\u00f1an\r\ny no es la ruina del paisaje quien lo denuncia,\r\npor dentro, el fuego de la nostalgia quema\r\ny muchas veces nos salen por la piel\r\ncon la sonrisa y la pose,\r\nbocanadas de humo\r\nde los techos de tejas y la madera seca al aire\r\nfrialdades m\u00e1s blancas que nuestras almas austeras.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading has-medium-font-size\"><strong>Primera foto<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\" style=\"font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.8; text-align: right;\"><em>Para Nivia del Carmen<\/em><\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\" style=\"font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 1.8; white-space: pre-line;\">Hiciste tu primera obra con nacer\r\nno de la costilla de tu madre\r\nsino del bien juntado acople\r\nen las noches en que tu pap\u00e1\r\npint\u00f3 tu rostro sin saberlo en el vientre\r\nde donde saliste al mundo por luz\r\ny hacia la luz que no devora todav\u00eda tu inocencia.\r\nNatividad, de los manantiales de un r\u00edo\r\no de las hierbas en el fondo del patio de tu casa\r\nhasta las piedras que vendr\u00e1n por los caminos;\r\ntodo horizonte, flotar\u00e1 en las aguas de tu coraz\u00f3n\r\nigual a la armon\u00eda con la que esperamos\r\nvuelvas alguna vez para conocer las calles ruinosas\r\ndel pa\u00eds de donde tu padre y yo partimos\r\nheridos o viviosos en el balaceo de las horas perdidas\r\npero a\u00fan mortales, a\u00fan extranjeros, a\u00fan, infinitamente\r\nhijos de la tierra h\u00fameda\r\ntras las espigas de los campos de arroz\r\ncon el rostro inocente por el que ahora\r\nlloro en la pureza y la felicidad\r\nde tu primera foto.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading has-medium-font-size\"><strong>Del silencio y no de la muerte<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\" style=\"font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 1.8; white-space: pre-line;\">Los toros que pastaban delante Y LA HIERBA SECA\r\nla claridad del mediod\u00eda\r\ny el silbido muy lejos de un viento\r\nacerc\u00e1ndose hasta sus orejas;\r\nla soledad de algunas tardes en las que no quer\u00eda\r\nescuchar QUE sus padres o amigos pronunciaran el nombre,\r\nEL de las cosas O EL SUYO.\r\nCuando los ojos lo miraban y ve\u00eda sus lenguas y la SALIVA\r\ncaer lenta y espumosa sobre sus patas delanteras\r\npensaba en la quietud de ese acto, LENTO Y DELICIOSO,\r\ny en la otra quietud, casi un goce de su alma vac\u00eda,\r\nesperando tal vez TRAGARSE\r\nla ternura con la que lo miraban\r\nY \u00c9L RESPOND\u00cdA imaginando esas escenas sin moverse.\r\n\r\nLa baba y los ojos y los tarros de un buey\r\nlo pod\u00edan acompa\u00f1ar mejor\r\nque sus sentimientos a la vida;\r\nsupon\u00eda, y lo crey\u00f3 mientras POR A\u00d1OS\r\nal usar la vara para domar a los bueyes,\r\nsu padre lo miraba con rudeza\r\ny \u00e9l muchas veces adivinaba:\r\nES un buey y no una hoja,\r\nes un rudo animal y no el ala de una MARIPOSA,\r\npero su padre dijo:\r\nO lo pinchas o te ense\u00f1o lo que DUELE.\r\nY aunque est\u00e9 lejos, muy lejos,\r\nhay d\u00edas en los que siente la quietud\r\nde los a\u00f1os en los que bien pudo creerse\r\nera un buey con ojos de mirada profunda\r\ny mientras masticaba el pasto\r\nse pon\u00eda a so\u00f1ar, quiz\u00e1s deliciosamente,\r\nLA SALIVA LLEGANDO a sus PATAS.\r\nY el silbido del aire cruzando el potrero\r\npenetr\u00f3 hasta los espacios vac\u00edos de su alma.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading has-medium-font-size\"><strong>Remedios<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\" style=\"font-family: Georgia, serif; line-height: 1.8; text-align: right;\"><em>Del Libro de los Nombres:<\/em><\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\" style=\"font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 1.8; white-space: pre-line;\">En trenes vistos desde lejos\r\ny en aquella estaci\u00f3n polvorienta\r\ndesde tiempos en los que a diario\r\nse masturbaba\r\npensando en el castigo de Dios\r\ny de su \u00fanica indefensa soledad;\r\ndesde las fiebres y los potreros\r\ndonde pastaban vacas con lunares y olor a hierba seca\r\nhasta estos d\u00edas de la gran ciudad\r\nnunca pens\u00f3 en el valor real de toda su existencia.\r\nDespacio, por una de esas avenidas\r\ndescendiendo hacia el final de una calle\r\nque termina justo donde empiezan esos temores\r\nde la vejez cercana y del abismo all\u00e1 abajo\r\ndonde pasan veloces vidas y autos\r\ny que vistos desde arriba son indescifrables.\r\nVolver, era juntarse con el humo de aquellos retratos\r\namigos muertos, besados\r\nun invento contra la sublime soledad\r\ncrecida como \u00e9l en estos a\u00f1os;\r\na\u00f1os de entrar o salir de calles\r\nque terminan como uno de esos letreros\r\nen pueblos fantasmas\r\n\r\nRemedios, 14 kil\u00f3metros,\r\ny para \u00e9l, distancia numerada\r\npresencia en habitaci\u00f3n B7 con vista\r\na Boulevard que sue\u00f1a alcanzable\r\nla ciudad de largos puentes y de insomnes\r\ndispuestos a beberse m\u00e1s que unas cervezas\r\nla espuma y los besos del olvido.<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Cinco poemas de Juan Carlos Recio sobre la memoria, la distancia y la infancia: \u00abPosando para la foto\u00bb, \u00abPrimera foto\u00bb, \u00abRemedios\u00bb y otros versos del archivo de Ca\u00f1asanta.<\/p>","protected":false},"author":284226809,"featured_media":2649,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_wpcom_ai_launchpad_first_post":false,"_jetpack_hide_featured_image":false,"_jetpack_featured_image_duplicate_dismissed":0,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2},"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[33205619],"tags":[33206903,33205620,33206869],"class_list":["post-2652","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poesia","tag-juan-carlos-recio","tag-poesia","tag-poesia-cubana"],"acf":{"introduccion":"","fuentes_y_referencias":"Del archivo de Ca\u00f1asanta. Selecci\u00f3n de cinco poemas de Juan Carlos Recio, conservada en una copia archivada del 21 de abril de 2006. La fecha exacta de publicaci\u00f3n original no figura en la p\u00e1gina recuperada. Recuperada y revisada para esta republicaci\u00f3n, con su presentaci\u00f3n y dedicatorias originales.\r\n\r\n<a href=\"http:\/\/www.canasanta.com\/juan_carlos_recio_poesia1.html\">P\u00e1gina original<\/a> \u00b7 <a href=\"https:\/\/web.archive.org\/web\/20060421015233\/http:\/\/www.canasanta.com:80\/juan_carlos_recio_poesia1.html\">Copia en Internet Archive<\/a>.","autor":[2648]},"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO Premium plugin v28.1 (Yoast SEO v28.8) - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-premium-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Juan Carlos Recio :: Poes\u00eda - Ca\u00f1asanta<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/canasanta.ca\/en\/culture\/poetry-2\/juan-carlos-recio-poesia\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Juan 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