{"id":3503,"date":"2026-10-17T21:31:33","date_gmt":"2026-10-18T01:31:33","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/canasanta.ca\/?p=3503"},"modified":"2026-10-17T21:40:02","modified_gmt":"2026-10-18T01:40:02","slug":"alcides-herrera-duarte-poesia","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/canasanta.ca\/en\/cultura\/poesia\/alcides-herrera-duarte-poesia\/","title":{"rendered":"Alcides Herrera Duarte :: Poes\u00eda"},"content":{"rendered":"<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>En el futuro<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n<pre class=\"wp-block-verse\"><em>PARA M&amp;M<\/em>\r\n\r\nAl fregar y ofrecer unos servicios\r\npopulares, recuerdos del futuro,\r\nunas l\u00e1grimas borro en Joshua Tree\r\nque parecen el d\u00eda del diluvio.\r\n\r\nUnos m\u00e1rtires. Aguilas suplentes\r\nen la fiesta aburrida de este mundo.\r\nAl fregar, dibujando las estrellas\r\nsobre el plato de un rey, hago mi anuncio:\r\n\r\ndesde hoy, soy el rey, el nuevo due\u00f1o\r\nde las almas grupales. No lo juro\r\nni lo creo del todo. Los milagros,\r\ncuando friegas el piso -uno m\u00e1s uno-,\r\n\r\nse detienen como una temporada.\r\nUnas l\u00e1grimas seco y el orgullo\r\ndel orgullo sin ti, de la secuencia\r\ndel Esp\u00edritu el d\u00eda del diluvio.<br \/><br \/><br \/><\/pre>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>En el presente<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n<pre class=\"wp-block-verse\"><em>PARA M&amp;M\r\n<\/em>\r\nEs una sencillez. As\u00ed como dura la calabaza,\r\nsiempre que la recuerdas, dura el instinto.\r\nEn los papeles. El vodka es malo pero es bueno:\r\ntiene tu sangre y signo\r\ny tambi\u00e9n te adivina la capital.\r\nSobre tu cara logr\u00f3 caer la nieve.\r\nViste c\u00f3mo imitaban a las ardillas,\r\nc\u00f3mo volteaban el cordero: esas virtudes.\r\nA media noche. Angel que quiere presentarse,\r\nabusar de su muerte, ponerle\r\nprecio a su cabeza. Mientras Melancol\u00eda\r\nInvolutiva (2012) logra abusar,\r\ncuatro antes de las cuatro.\r\nEs una sencillez. As\u00ed como dura tu para\u00edso,\r\nsiempre que lo recuerdas, mi muerte dura.<br \/><br \/><br \/><\/pre>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>En el pasado, dentro de cinco horas<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n<pre class=\"wp-block-verse\"><em>PARA M&amp;M<\/em>\r\n\r\nTemo pararme frente a ella,\r\ncaminar a su lado, durar\r\nen el asiento del pasajero.\r\n\r\nTemo asomarme a unas estrellas\r\nque ya he visto morir\r\nen cinco mundos, cinco antes de las cinco.\r\n\r\nHacia la nueva muerte:\r\npor un hilo de plata,\r\nvoy por la nueva descripci\u00f3n.\r\n\r\nCon la fe de estos \u00e1ngeles.\r\nTemo al n\u00famero\r\ny a sus colores enemigos\r\n\r\ny a la jaula de oro de un rato\r\njunto al fuego. En aquel mundo, en \u00e9ste.\r\nFrente al agua con sal.\r\n\r\nTemo a su olor parecido a sus palabras.\r\nTemo que logre verme,\r\nser un desconocido, alguien por m\u00ed,\r\n\r\ny que se asusten\r\ny se retiren estos \u00e1ngeles.\r\nHacia la huelga de todas las visiones,\r\n\r\nen cama extranjera, enumerando\r\nplazas, dioses de barro,\r\nvoy por la m\u00fasica prohibida.<br \/><br \/><br \/><\/pre>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>X<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Yo pienso en libros, en overdues, mientras anuncian la \u201cnoche m\u00e1s fr\u00eda del a\u00f1o\u201d. Un beso en el sue\u00f1o, en la contemplaci\u00f3n a\u00e9rea de tus ojos -hechos para mirarme, para ver en ellos mi nariz-, me salva un veintiuno de diciembre. Un pez ha saltado en la bah\u00eda, una estrella ha ca\u00eddo. Hoy para ti yo pido paz, tranquilidad, turr\u00f3n de Alicante. Con \u201cun grito sencillo\u201d, voy del cuerpo a su luz, del polvo al oro. Te beso en el sue\u00f1o y en la muerte.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>Distancia entre tu \u00e1nimo y las cosas<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n<pre class=\"wp-block-verse\">Siempre ocurre.\r\nEstaba a punto de describir\r\ntu pollo en salsa, levantando\r\ntu delicado coraz\u00f3n\r\nsobre las lomas\r\nde R\u00edo y de Granada.\r\nPocos segundos antes\r\ndel 2012. De veras ocurre.\r\nComo yo s\u00f3lo podr\u00eda\r\nhacerlo, aun describirlo:\r\nmirando las cosas.<br \/><br \/><br \/><\/pre>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>Los cuerpos<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n<pre class=\"wp-block-verse\">Y yo quer\u00eda luz de luna.\r\nHacer menos canciones en la mente,\r\nm\u00e1s en la luna.\r\nLlamar al viento acompa\u00f1ado.\r\nMe gustaba Jer\u00f3nima\r\npero a mi cuerpo el suyo no,\r\nal suyo el m\u00edo no.\r\n\r\nEstar en l\u00edos, cuando\r\nrecuerda el l\u00edo del nacimiento,\r\nlas flores lilas del pasado,\r\ndeja en la boca\r\neste sabor sin nombre.\r\nQue no es simple.\r\nQue no es poderoso.\r\nQue no es enumeraciones imperfectas.\r\nEra hermosa. No pudo verme.\r\nY yo quer\u00eda luz de luna.<br \/><br \/><br \/><\/pre>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>Explota en Espa\u00f1a<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n<pre class=\"wp-block-verse\">Unas vacas. La m\u00fasica desciende,\r\npor supuesto, del cielo, de las sobras\r\nexclusivas del cielo. Tan parejas.\r\nUnas vacas y yo buscando novia.\r\n\r\nLas mujeres (a punto de morir)\r\ndesayunan, a veces son hermosas\r\ny recorren el p\u00e1ramo, o colectan\r\nunos versos que cantan \u201dde memoria\u201d.\r\n\r\nUnas vacas. El cielo. Un pabell\u00f3n\r\njunto al \u00e1rbol tan rojo de la sombra.\r\nLas palabras entienden. Con las manos\r\nlas recorren enteras y est\u00e1n solas.<br \/><br \/><br \/><\/pre>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>Sencilla voladura del Maine<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n<pre class=\"wp-block-verse\">Amanece. Estoy solo. Las miradas\r\nde este mundo y del cielo hacen su parte.\r\nTan dom\u00e9stica. Hay manchas, despedidas.\r\nAmanece y alivio tus canales.\r\nXenia Bergman, tu m\u00fasica recuerda\r\nunos c\u00edrculos rojos en el aire,\r\nese Cristo que ves, una palabra\r\npara el D\u00eda sin Muerte. Cerca, f\u00e1cil.\r\nEnamora el silencio, la sencilla\r\nvoladura del Maine, enamorarte.\r\nAmanece sin prisa en la cabeza\r\ny te extra\u00f1o en los templos, en los bares.<br \/><br \/><br \/><\/pre>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\">Del cielo del primer piso<\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n<pre class=\"wp-block-verse\">Del cielo del primer piso\r\nnos trajeron un tabaco.\r\nNos gust\u00f3. Le gust\u00f3 a Baco,\r\na quien pedimos permiso.\r\nEl canal, el Para\u00edso,\r\nentretienen por ahora.\r\nXenia Bergman enamora,\r\na su manera, y apunta\r\ndetalles de la pregunta\r\nm\u00e1s dif\u00edcil, m\u00e1s sonora.\r\n\r\nCuando se calla, aparecen\r\ncien mil denominaciones\r\ny pasan varios ciclones\r\ny las u\u00f1as no me crecen.\r\nMueren, aunque no \"fenecen\"\r\ny el mar se lleva una parte.\r\nTe pas\u00f3, no va a pasarte:\r\nmis manos tienen poder.\r\nVolv\u00ed para no volver.\r\nPara pasar, que es un arte.<br \/><br \/><br \/><\/pre>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n<h2 class=\"wp-block-heading\"><strong>Tres girasoles. Apt. 102<\/strong><\/h2>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n<pre class=\"wp-block-verse\">Jurar\u00eda que empieza con la Uve.\r\nEso dice Jer\u00f3nima. Sabemos\r\nque hay un d\u00eda, un instante, para ella\r\ny su fuerza, y tambi\u00e9n unos arreglos.\r\nMe quit\u00e9. Me sal\u00ed. Con tanta ayuda\r\nque, despu\u00e9s de mil a\u00f1os, agradezco\r\ny cocino en la mente y se lo come.\r\nYa no vive en el barrio y es perfecto.\r\nNo la voy a colgar en las paredes\r\ndel adi\u00f3s, ni habr\u00e9 perdido tiempo\r\nanotando que \u201cun pr\u00edncipe lo olvida\"\r\no quit\u00e1ndole el Nuevo Testamento.\r\nSi la borro, se ir\u00e1 sin ver al Hijo,\r\nsin ver Nada. La m\u00fasica sin miedo,\r\na la hora del suave (y postergado)\r\nCuatro Leches, la canta en el Infierno.\r\nAlgo dice, met\u00f3dica. Es dif\u00edcil\r\nentender de qu\u00e9 habla y qu\u00e9 misterio\r\npudo ver, mas afuera llueve a c\u00e1ntaros.\r\nHay un d\u00eda, un instante sordo, ciego.\r\nJurar\u00eda por ella, postergable.\r\nSiento fr\u00edo y calor, aburrimiento\r\ny nostalgia exclusiva. Me entretiene\r\nel Esp\u00edritu. Y, claro, es mi remedio.<\/pre>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Diez textos de Alcides Herrera Duarte sobre el tiempo, la memoria y la extra\u00f1eza cotidiana, recuperados del archivo de Ca\u00f1asanta.<\/p>","protected":false},"author":284226809,"featured_media":3508,"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":[33206902,33206632,33205620],"class_list":["post-3503","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poesia","tag-archivo-canasanta","tag-literatura","tag-poesia"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- 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