{"id":2918,"date":"2026-10-16T21:05:59","date_gmt":"2026-10-17T01:05:59","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/canasanta.ca\/?p=2918"},"modified":"2026-10-16T21:20:40","modified_gmt":"2026-10-17T01:20:40","slug":"augusto-rodriguez-poesia","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/canasanta.ca\/en\/cultura\/poesia\/augusto-rodriguez-poesia\/","title":{"rendered":"Augusto Rodr\u00edguez :: Poes\u00eda"},"content":{"rendered":"

Nos topamos ante el vocablo de un poeta de nuestros tiempos, tal vez conversacional, metodista, ext\u00e1tico, insurrecto, vehemente, dilatado grandemente a las nuevas formas del decir \u00e9pico, pero siempre vers\u00e1til, vertible.<\/em><\/p>\r\n

\r\n\r\n<\/em><\/p>\r\n

El camino de Augusto Rodr\u00edguez a\u00fan es largo. El descubrimiento est\u00e1 al acecho, detenido tras su puerta en espera del ataque. Su aguda metaforizaci\u00f3n lo ayuda a elevarse, a conservar el ego de la palabra, el sustento de su propia sed. S\u00ed, podemos decir que nos encontramos ante uno de los poetas m\u00e1s relevantes y prometedores del Ecuador actual.<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Todo se ir\u00e1 a la basura<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Mi coraz\u00f3n estallar\u00e1 como pi\u00f1ata de fiesta<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

de lo que alg\u00fan d\u00eda fui no queda nada
solo v\u00f3mitos de transe\u00fantes<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

la borrachera es la \u00faltima victoria
en estos d\u00edas<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

la mejor poes\u00eda se sigue escribiendo en los ba\u00f1os p\u00fablicos<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

tanta es mi n\u00e1usea
que le vomitar\u00e9 a la mujer que amo<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

y despu\u00e9s me la devorar\u00e9<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

con un poco de esfuerzo pero con la muerte
dividida en mi garganta<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Trabajar cansa<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

\u201cTrabajar cansa\u201d, ya lo dijo el poeta Pavese<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

y es que todo me cansa
hasta lavarme los dientes
o ponerme medias para dormir<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

\u00bfqui\u00e9n pudiera ser
todav\u00eda un ni\u00f1o que juega al bal\u00f3n
y no tuviera miedo
de envejecer o morir?<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

\u00bfqui\u00e9n me regalar\u00e1 pronto
un poco de veneno
para beber antes que llegue el fin?<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

El animal que hay en m\u00ed<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Mi cuchillo tiembla en mi pu\u00f1o.
No hay nadie en la casa,<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

me escondo en el corredor
y sigo pensando
que no hay nadie.<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Pero una sombra cruza sospechosa
el animal que hay en m\u00ed
me incita a atacar y ataco:<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

otro muerto m\u00e1s
para que los peri\u00f3dicos
se sigan enriqueciendo<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

y yo en mi clandestinidad, solo,
con hambre<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

y sin que nadie
me tome una maldita foto
No hay nadie en la casa.
Me escondo en el corredor y sigo pensando que no hay nadie.
El animal que hay en m\u00ed me incita a atacar y finalmente ataco
luego duermo tranquilo, un muerto m\u00e1s para que los diarios sigan enriqueci\u00e9ndose y yo mientras en mi clandestinidad solo y muerto de hambre y sin que nadie me tome una m\u00ednima foto<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Escupo sobre mis banales contradicciones<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Lo escribir\u00e9 trescientas veces en mi piel:<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

es in\u00fatil respirar
cuando tenemos la muerte
tan cerca<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

es in\u00fatil so\u00f1ar
cuando solo tenemos
un vaso de vino por delante<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

es in\u00fatil cantar
cuando no tenemos nada con qu\u00e9 saciar<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

nuestros apetitos sexuales,
ni nuestra verg\u00fcenza,
ni nuestras canalladas<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

es in\u00fatil creer en dios
cuando hemos vivido negando
las religiones<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

escupo
sobre mis banales contradicciones<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

y repito:<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

todo es in\u00fatil<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

lo escribir\u00e9 miles de veces en mi piel<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

No me prives de tu carne<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Ll\u00e1mame canalla, vendepatrias,
mentiroso
o ll\u00e1mame Lucifer
pero no me prives de tu carne<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

yo soy un rey que perdi\u00f3
hasta su corona
mi poder est\u00e1 hecho pedazos<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

he vuelto a ti para coronarte
como la nueva reina
de mis tinieblas<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

es lo \u00fanico que puedo hacer por ti
ll\u00e1mame vagabundo
o Satan\u00e1s
pero no me prives de tu carne<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Los dioses leen en mi piel<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Los c\u00f3digos de tu cuerpo
tienen m\u00faltiples alas<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

donde mi enajenaci\u00f3n se estremece
y encuentra su espacio<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

tu cuerpo es un peque\u00f1o lenguaje
que los dioses leen en mi piel<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

tu cuerpo est\u00e1 lleno de significados
y de significantes<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

que s\u00f3lo yo descifro
en mi locura<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Los muertos copulan con otros cuerpos<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Nada somos
m\u00e1s que un poco de sol
en los ojos
y aire movido
por los labios<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

(el pecado original nos sigue pesando,
en nuestra est\u00fapida conciencia humana)<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

hay muertos que copulan
con otros cuerpos<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

nada queda
s\u00f3lo mi rostro ba\u00f1ado
de venenosas serpientes<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Quemar\u00e9 todas mis naves en tu cuerpo<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Todos se han ido
nadie queda al lado
de mis huesos<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

mas esa vela encendida que alguna
ardi\u00f3 en tu cuerpo<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

la cera se fue derritiendo en tu piel
mord\u00edas el aire
de la locura<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

quemar\u00e9 todas mis naves en tu cuerpo
pues ya no queda
nada de nada<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

mas esa vela encendida que arder\u00e1
eternamente<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Bocetos ingenuos<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Los cuerpos son peque\u00f1os grabados
o bocetos ingenuos
de Dios<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

\u00c9l nos hace volar por el papel
con su pincel<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

pero Dios
se ha marchado<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

y se niega a terminar
lo arruinado<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adi\u00f3s padre<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Padre me voy: voy a jugar en la muerte,
padre me voy. Dile adi\u00f3s a mi madre,
y apaga la luz de mi cuarto: padre, me voy.
Leopoldo Mar\u00eda Panero<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Padre me voy
me voy definitivamente
a jugar con la muerte<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

mis d\u00edas se han tornado tenebrosos
y ya no tengo tu mano
sobre mi hombro
ni tu sonrisa cariada
y ben\u00e9vola<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Padre lo he decidido
tengo que irme pronto<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

ya hice las maletas
y es inminente mi partida<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

desp\u00eddeme de mam\u00e1, de mis hermanos,
de la abuela
y del perro hijo de puta del vecino<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Padre me voy
s\u00ed pero aqu\u00ed te dejo
mis poemas
para que los leas y despu\u00e9s
los quemes<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

pero antes te dar\u00e1s cuenta, tal vez, de todo
lo que en vida, te am\u00e9 y odi\u00e9<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

El d\u00eda del entierro de un amigo<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

Todos los presentes
lloraban a moco destemplado
por la muerte de mi amigo<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

leyeron poemas
corearon canciones cortavenas<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

y contaron
una que otra an\u00e9cdota
sobre su vida
en este mundo<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

cuando me qued\u00e9 solo
frente a la l\u00e1pida
de mi difunto amigo<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

le arroj\u00e9 semen y vino
porque fue lo \u00fanico
que a \u00e9l
en vida le interes\u00f3<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

El amor de las putas del bar<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

F\u00edjate, incluso las putas en el bar
piensan en \u00e9l
beben demasiado
y casi se olvidan del negocio
Charles Bukowski<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

\u00bfQui\u00e9n dijo que las putas
no tienen derecho a enamorarse?
es verdad que algunas ni besan
a sus clientes<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

otras s\u00ed
a otras les gustan los tres platos, a otras dos,
a otras ni uno<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

pero ellas
se ponen como gallinas pisadas
cuando el poeta
llega al bar<\/p>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n

porque mientras \u00e9l las penetra
tambi\u00e9n les lee al o\u00eddo poemas de amor
que
jam\u00e1s olvidar\u00e1n<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Doce poemas de Augusto Rodr\u00edguez recuperados del archivo de Ca\u00f1asanta, con su presentaci\u00f3n y ep\u00edgrafes 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