{"id":2738,"date":"2026-10-16T17:07:28","date_gmt":"2026-10-16T21:07:28","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/canasanta.ca\/?p=2738"},"modified":"2026-10-16T17:14:11","modified_gmt":"2026-10-16T21:14:11","slug":"juan-carlos-recio-el-cisne-poesia","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/canasanta.ca\/en\/cultura\/poesia\/juan-carlos-recio-el-cisne-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>\u00abEl poeta, con ese sentimiento que se abre al sentimiento, nos retorna con la voz de lo que poseemos como premio. El fr\u00edo, los seres mitol\u00f3gicos y ap\u00f3crifos, se advienen de forma discreta para calar los torbellinos del esp\u00edritu. Juan Carlos Recio es un poeta que dibuja con palabras, que trasciende con el m\u00e9rito de ubicar el simbolismo como paso, como se\u00f1al para mudar los atuendos del paria.<\/em><\/p>\r\n<p><em>\r\n\r\n<\/em><\/p>\r\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\" style=\"font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 1.8;\"><em>Siempre, el recuerdo es la forma que, indudablemente, \u00e9l descansa para rehacer el hecho y declararlo como verdad objetiva. Es cierto, el existencialismo abunda, la referencia a las vivencias es lo que al lector llega. Los personajes de su poes\u00eda, acuden, vorazmente, apropi\u00e1ndose de las cosas y, Judas, es un ser humano, la fatalidad y el encuentro del propio yo. Es todo, sencillamente, una amenaza que necesita el autor para declararse, para discutir su lamento. El miedo, el dolor, el amor y sus c\u00f3mplices es el juego que planea, constantemente, este bardo.\u00bb<\/em><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>El cisne<\/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;\">canto mejor porque voy a morir<br \/>y adivino si el cisne tambi\u00e9n lo hace;<br \/>hambre y fr\u00edo,<br \/>calumnio la suerte si ha llegado<br \/>la pasi\u00f3n oscura de mi palpitar<br \/>y los presagios de quien siempre estar\u00e1 ausente.<br \/>La ceremonia del cisne no me conmueve,<br \/>ni su terquedad para incendiarse;<br \/>bebe en la cuenca de mi mano<br \/>y me canta, sois del divino Apolo, la maestranza,<br \/>muerte y sofisma, el entender los goces,<br \/>el mudar los atuendos del paria.<br \/>Somos de Apolo, como S\u00f3crates de su estirpe,<br \/>en esa enso\u00f1aci\u00f3n noct\u00e1mbula de copiarlo;<br \/>exacto, la vivencial historia del hombre y su cisne,<br \/>la enarbolada y presunta canci\u00f3n.<br \/>S\u00f3lo canto mejor<br \/>por esa rara costumbre de ir a S\u00f3crates<br \/>y buscar el cisne. Mi salvaci\u00f3n.<br \/>El hambre y el fr\u00edo todav\u00eda no me corrompen;<br \/>el cisne no me canta y temo perder su voz.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>La pasi\u00f3n del ignorante (fragmentos)<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n<p><strong>\r\n\r\n<\/strong><\/p>\r\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>Pasi\u00f3n primera: La partida<\/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;\">I<br \/>Como si fuera a aprisionar al ciervo<br \/>en las corrientes de aire<br \/>y con el pez espada que llevar\u00eda mi bote,<br \/>como Cristian Anderson levantando las vigas del techo<br \/>para que Esquile pase una noche cristiana<br \/>y Dem\u00f3stenes buscara en su ley<br \/>la \u00e9tica primera del discurso,<br \/>Descartes aludido en la severidad:<br \/>(los soberanos tienen el derecho de modificar<br \/>en algo sus costumbres);<br \/>en cambio Proust predicaba en Taine<br \/>las oscuras contrase\u00f1as del ocio<br \/>poniendo su recherche en la oraci\u00f3n.<br \/>Como si el rey Pepino al husmear en mis medias<br \/>encontrara a Pipa bailando con ladrones<br \/>en un pueblo de espejos falsificados;<br \/>como si Charlot fuera el idiota de Fi\u00f3dor,<br \/>el tonto jugador en el Oto\u00f1o del patriarca<br \/>y no tuviese abrigos por los charcos de la vida;<br \/>ag\u00f3nica exclamaci\u00f3n de un ni\u00f1o prodigio.<br \/>Como si el Tambor de hojalata desamparado cohabitara<br \/>y el profesor y Margarita me ignorasen<br \/>porque Los Perros del Para\u00edso lo asustaron;<br \/>Oh, judas, como Mart\u00edn Fierro<br \/>en las tierras perdidas de C\u00f3mala,<br \/>buscando a los \u00e1ngeles errantes,<br \/>llegada la primavera y en el acoso;<br \/>en el Reino de este mundo,<br \/>mientras agonizo viendo el pan dormido,<br \/>como Casal, como Rilke,<br \/>euf\u00f3rico por la tierra de Dios,<br \/>por la piel de Onagro en sus visiones.<br \/>Oh, judas, mi condici\u00f3n humana<br \/>mi pastoril de los d\u00edas<br \/>mis noticias del imperio<br \/>Mi busca luz colgado de las l\u00e1mparas<br \/>mi Viaje a la semilla,<br \/>mi premio flaco;<br \/>mis instintos de conservar la especie,<br \/>mis hermanos Karamazov en el nombre de todas las deudas;<br \/>yo el var\u00f3n rampante, yo el supremo,<br \/>el mejor acertijo. Yo tallo mi diamante<br \/>soy el diamante. El ob\u00fas de niebla,<br \/>un murci\u00e9lago en la corte del rey Arturo,<br \/>sin poder llegar a la monta\u00f1a m\u00e1gica<br \/>ni con todas las Rimas y leyendas<br \/>ni al nombrar las rosas y los cementerios<br \/>con el p\u00e9ndulo de Foucault bajo la tierra;<br \/>para que Saint-John Perse no odiara el barro<br \/>o la lluvia copiosa de los estandartes.<br \/>Para que Natio no viera la serpiente,<br \/>los miserables lagartos que le ro\u00edan el techo.<br \/>Oh, judas, ni Nat King Cole<br \/>ni bola de Nieve, ni los escapularios<br \/>ni la verja del patio donde picaron a mi hija;<br \/>ni en Candonga, ni en el ej\u00e9rcito de Jenofonte,<br \/>como hijo de hombre,<br \/>como juez lego,<br \/>como sordina de luto en los estandartes;<br \/>como si fuera la mejor condici\u00f3n humana<br \/>y escapar alcanzada la definici\u00f3n<br \/>por la ciudad y los perros<br \/>en la peregrinaci\u00f3n de Baoyan;<br \/>en el globo de Mat\u00edas P\u00e9rez,<br \/>en los tres presidentes que ha tenido Cuba<br \/>despu\u00e9s de mil novecientos cincuenta y nueve,<br \/>en el molino de viento de una antigua carroza;<br \/>ante del alba, en el sue\u00f1o de una noche de verano,<br \/>con Patric Suskio, ululante, sin perfume.<br \/>\u00a1Absal\u00f3n, Absal\u00f3n!,<br \/>las frases cortadas en el pasado del cielo;<br \/>la reuni\u00f3n del tabern\u00e1culo<br \/>y Taras Bulba y Los lus\u00edadas<br \/>y los \u00e1ngeles errantes y el \u00e1rbol de la vida,<br \/>con Fina Garc\u00eda Marruz y los son\u00e1mbulos<br \/>en las calles de Praga, Berl\u00edn, y la Avenida del Puerto,<br \/>la Habana Vieja, la casa de Paula;<br \/>la flor de la champaca, Lina de Feria,<br \/>la princesa que duerme encantada en la \u00faltima playa;<br \/>las etapas de odio sin cruzar las favelas,<br \/>sobre mi propio hallazgo con el Peque\u00f1o Pr\u00edncipe;<br \/>los laberintos del vientre de una mujer<br \/>que esta ma\u00f1ana<br \/>bebi\u00f3 en la misma taza que usaba Hemingway,<br \/>sobre un pa\u00eds prohibido hasta la angustia,<br \/>sobre la emperatriz de M\u00e9xico y de Am\u00e9rica<br \/>la misma que cuando era ni\u00f1a ten\u00eda los cabellos casta\u00f1os<br \/>y su cama era un nido blanco alfombrado con nieve;<br \/>Oh, judas, sobre m\u00ed que llevo la ofrenda a que la vistan<br \/>y saludo a los muertos en la nieve,<br \/>sobre m\u00ed que he visto colgar ciertas esfinges<br \/>y amedrentado las llevo en la cabeza<br \/>y desde entonces soy<br \/>Andrea Dogly Implicate,<br \/>o sea, Andr\u00e9s de los Ahorcados.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>Pasi\u00f3n segunda: La cuesta<\/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;\">II<br \/>Oh, Judas, c\u00f3mo podr\u00e9 subir a la tierra del Cananeo<br \/>si esta ignorancia que llevo a todas partes,<br \/>me deja ciego, como Adam Buenos Aires;<br \/>el perseguidor, cien a\u00f1os solo, sin fiestas.<br \/>Como si no fuera justo salvar el mundo en las catedrales del alba.<br \/>Oh, Judas, crucificaos en m\u00ed<br \/>no sin antes amar los unos a los otros;<br \/>porque soy un pobre necio en el descuido<br \/>de quien nunca tuvo un puente para besar a Mariannik<br \/>ni una pata de palo, ni palabras perdidas:<br \/>salvad mi ignorancia cuando ataque los molinos,<br \/>en el robledo de Corp\u00e9s,<br \/>la letra escarlata con la que escrib\u00ed<br \/>en las nieves del Kilimanjaro<br \/>en las carreteras del sur, en el Aloph,<br \/>en la caja de m\u00fasica con la bayamesa<br \/>y en mis distancias;<br \/>Oh, Judas \u00bfc\u00f3mo podr\u00e9 subir al cisne de la fuga?<br \/>\u00bfc\u00f3mo podr\u00e9 para librar el opio con la Maga?<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>Pasi\u00f3n tercera: Agujeros<\/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;\">III<\/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;\">Yo L\u00e1zaro de Tormes,<br \/>lleno de miedo ahora, rid\u00edculo, invisible,<br \/>yo de 35 a\u00f1os de existencia,<br \/>a quien viva dentro de un siglo,<br \/>a ti que no has nacido a\u00fan<br \/>te buscar\u00e1n estos miedos;<br \/>cuando leas que era invisible, ser\u00e9 visible<br \/>y no est\u00e9s tan seguro de m\u00ed por las esquinas de un silencio<br \/>o que estar\u00e9 contigo para ver cuando te desprendas los ojos<br \/>y los lances a las c\u00fapulas de las iglesias;<br \/>aunque sin m\u00ed, sentir\u00e1s lo rid\u00edculo que era.<br \/>Lleno de muerte ahora<br \/>con una pierna del otro lado del cielo<br \/>bocarriba y dantesco,<br \/>ser\u00e9 un invisible contador de agujeros<br \/>cuanto de risa y de miedo ser\u00e1s t\u00fa<br \/>si llegas a tener veinticuatro a\u00f1os de existencia<br \/>y seas un vampiro en el huerto de Melibea:<br \/>Seremos los dos un par de tontos en la colina;<br \/>el diario de la peste, la Cartuja de Parma,<br \/>la ciudad de Martha Abreu y la bota de un ni\u00f1o<br \/>y un coraz\u00f3n pastando en la floresta,<br \/>como peque\u00f1as dinast\u00edas parecidas a mundos desarmables;<br \/>a la rama dorada que tenemos que arrancarnos,<br \/>como si fu\u00e9semos el mism\u00edsimo sacerdote de Aricia,<br \/>como esas dinast\u00edas que nos tienden<br \/>porque en la ciudad, los perros est\u00e1n m\u00e1s altos que una luna.<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>El cisne y fragmentos de La pasi\u00f3n del ignorante: una segunda selecci\u00f3n de Juan Carlos Recio recuperada de la antigua Ca\u00f1asanta.<\/p>","protected":false},"author":284226809,"featured_media":2735,"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":[33206902,33206903,33205620],"class_list":["post-2738","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poesia","tag-archivo-canasanta","tag-juan-carlos-recio","tag-poesia"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- 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