{"id":2757,"date":"2026-10-16T18:04:44","date_gmt":"2026-10-16T22:04:44","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/canasanta.ca\/?p=2757"},"modified":"2026-10-16T18:16:22","modified_gmt":"2026-10-16T22:16:22","slug":"alfredo-villanueva-poesia","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/canasanta.ca\/en\/cultura\/poesia\/alfredo-villanueva-poesia\/","title":{"rendered":"Alfredo Villanueva :: Poes\u00eda"},"content":{"rendered":"

Museo Grevin<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Aqu\u00ed.
De nuevo.
En medio
de la noche.
Aqu\u00ed.
Frente
a la terca\u00a0\u00a0 muda\u00a0\u00a0 l\u00e1mpara\u00a0\u00a0 roja.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Aqu\u00ed<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

C\u00f3mo giran\u00a0\u00a0 burl\u00e1ndose\u00a0\u00a0 del viento
las palabras\u00a0\u00a0 en desorden\u00a0\u00a0 en potencia\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 en amenaza.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Aqu\u00ed.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Ando\u00a0\u00a0 buscando\u00a0\u00a0 mis amigos\u00a0\u00a0 los muertos
el cortejo\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 que cruza\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 el parque\u00a0\u00a0 bajo la luna\u00a0\u00a0 y r\u00ede.
Esqueletos\u00a0\u00a0 de colombinas\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 metatarsos\u00a0\u00a0 coquetos
pierrots que ya no pueden\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 llorar desde sus huesos.
Por ah\u00ed.
Por ah\u00ed voy.
Por ah\u00ed me cuelo.
Los sigo
de lejos.
de cerca\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 los galantes restos de domin\u00f3s\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 restos
de damiselas\u00a0\u00a0 un dolor agudo\u00a0\u00a0 de sat\u00edn\u00a0\u00a0 de encaje
cr\u00e1neos blancos\u00a0\u00a0 m\u00e1scaras colgantes
un agudo llanto\u00a0\u00a0 de vino espumante
abanicos rotos\u00a0\u00a0 copas
abandonadas\u00a0\u00a0 junto a las fuentes\u00a0\u00a0 bajo los \u00e1rboles.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

El tercer hombre<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Ando buscando las palabras
para describir al tercer hombre.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Incierto compa\u00f1ero de caminos inciertos,
no sabe la ruta, despierta en el sue\u00f1o<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

y, despertando, se lanza al aire.
Todo camino es golpe de viento<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

que separa, re\u00fane, y separa de nuevo;
pero ninguno pierde la presencia del otro.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Le brindo mi cuerpo y la muerte.\u00a0 Me brinda
su ingenuo dolor, el terrible fluir<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

de sus textos, la angustia que lo invade
ante el reconocimiento de nuestra diferencia.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Se desnuda ante m\u00ed para que lo rechace
o me quede con \u00e9l, para siempre, cada uno<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

vibrando certero en el otro, haci\u00e9ndonos
el da\u00f1o necesario del amor, la escritura.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Osos polares<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Llueve.
En el \u00c1rtico se ahogan los osos polares.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Esas cazadoras bestias solitarias,
tan parecidas a lo que somos,<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

ya no pueden cruzar de t\u00e9mpano en t\u00e9mpano.
Fatalmente se calienta el oc\u00e9ano.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Ocurren tsunamis, tornados, sequ\u00edas,
Tiembla la tierra.\u00a0 Temo por el vidrio,<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

los batracios, las mariposas,
todos condenados al r\u00e9cord f\u00f3sil.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Pero a\u00fan m\u00e1s.\u00a0 Mis huesos,
secuestrados\u00a0 por la corriente<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

que arrastr\u00f3 al mar la Gran Manzana,
ahora bailotean fantasmales<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

junto a\u00a0 catedrales y vecindarios,
amigos, amantes,\u00a0 (des)conocidos.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Ballenas, ruise\u00f1ores,\u00a0 elefantes,
unidos en el reciclaje de las especies.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

A todos\u00a0 nos captur\u00f3 la marejada,
sepult\u00f3\u00a0 el lodo, la avalancha de humo.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Nos cayeron encima los edificios.
No pudimos escapar a la venganza<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

del planeta\u00a0 a\u00f1il, turquesa, zafiro,
como un piano sin manos, desquiciado.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Llueve.
En la Ant\u00e1rtica florecen pimpollos carn\u00edvoros.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Con la ayuda de Dios<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Con la ayuda de dios
ardi\u00f3 la travesti guerrera en la hoguera.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Ardi\u00f3 el fil\u00f3sofo bruno e inefable.
Se retract\u00f3 el cient\u00edfico impecable.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Al calabozo fue a parar el m\u00fasico
que tradujo la polifon\u00eda de las esferas.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Curanderas, hebreos, machos que aman machos
gritaron en la pira porque dios requer\u00eda.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Diluviaron ranas, el agua fue sangre,
muri\u00f3 cada primog\u00e9nito del enemigo.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Cu\u00e1queros adornaron las horcas puritanas.
Volaron en pedazos las estatuas sagradas.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Los esclavos aprendieron a besar traseros,
c\u00f3mplices y ayudantes del Imperio.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Con la ayuda de dios fusilaron a Lorca.
Y ahora, llueven bombas porque dios ordena.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Los moribundos no mueren, y los no nacidos
tienen m\u00e1s derecho que los que nacen.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Los siervos del se\u00f1or violan muchachitos.
Apedrean a muerte mujeres indefensas.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Han hecho santos de fascistas, morbosas,
un indiecito que es un cuento chino.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

El anticristo rige desde Washington
porque dios lo ha ensartado con su perinola.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

La verdad desnuda.\u00a0 Dios es un pretexto
para reordenar la historia del mundo.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Ejercitar la voluntad de poder.
Eliminar a quien nos d\u00e9 la\u00a0 gana.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Presupuesto de jubilado<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

\u00bfQue se han quedado sin pagar las cuentas?
No importa.\u00a0 Las flores son indispensables.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Y esas buenas botellas de roja ambros\u00eda
que afortunadamente no rompen la banca.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

El reci\u00e9n descubierto concierto para piano,
el almuerzo en los chinos una vez por semana.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Escribir a la luz de l\u00e1mparas antiguas,
despertar acariciando el vidrio.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

El \u00faltimo volumen sobre el ni\u00f1o mago,
la magia dolorosa de los bailarines<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

con cuerpos que trazan el amor y la muerte,
a\u00e9reos como un brazalete de plata.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Esa camisa de escandalosos p\u00e9talos,
todo lo que d\u00e9 gozo a los sentidos.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

\u00bfQue no ha llegado el cheque? Llegar\u00e1 ma\u00f1ana.
Mientras tanto, se acepta la mentira de pl\u00e1stico.<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Cinco poemas de Alfredo Villanueva: memoria, amor, conciencia cr\u00edtica y los peque\u00f1os placeres de la vida. 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