Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘poetry’


Our next submission was posted on our Facebook site from David Peck García. Now that is how you submit works in the age of social media. We are proud to present a sample of David’s works. David has a fascinating biography and is currently living in our favorite city, Madrid! You can visit David here: David’s Video Page from Madrid.

 

About David Peck García

 

David Peck García was born on the Great Falls of the Missouri river in Montana; the child of James Peck and Teresa García. He was raised in Bakersfield, California. His first job was breaking a strike at Digorgio Farms of the United Farm Workers (UFW). He then worked on Tom Hayden’s U.S. Senate Campaign in 1976; later that year, he joined the UFW as a full-time volunteer in the legal department of César Chávez in Salinas. David worked the next 15 years on electoral political campaigns before moving to Madrid, Spain to finish his novel: The Lost Decade. David teaches scientific writing to Spanish MDs and scientists in Madrid, Spain.

Here is David’s contributions to #LatinoLit. This is a bilingual work:

 

La anatomía de primavera

 

Antes de abrir mis ojos, la imagen de sus labios ha tomado mi alma.

Labios rojos, sonriendo, labios que he estudiado anoche.

Labios contando,

Labios bailando.

Labios abriendo el camino hacia las puertas de primavera.

La Primavera. La Madrileña.

Ojos verdes, azul en la madrugada.

Quiero ver, despierto, bajo el sol de verano, sus ojos contando los

besos de la primavera, en silencio.

 

© David Peck García

 

Dos Veranos

 

Dos Veranos.

Ha sido dos enteros.

It was spring that fractured: the first, the beginning; the late

winter late: pregnant; aborting that spring; but this spring, the end.

An end that came too soon: an end with out explanation. She wouldn’t

say what she felt except the bits and pieces that lacked a narrative,

a narrator. The narrator quit, not to save the story, but to prevent

your unhappiness. She pays a woman to listen to her unhappiness that

she can’t tell you at any cost.

 

It was too clean, to easy, too American this broken dialog – turning

one inward to a tortured monologue. The void filled in with questions;

the night emptied of sleep. Awake at 3:00AM, again. Immovable. The

sadness, jealousy, rejection filling an endless night: who, why, when:

what does she feel and when did she feel it – but with whom? Who

replaced you comforting her when she was sad? Who is laughing with her

when she is happy? Who makes her laugh? Really, what’s the cat she

left with you got to do with it.

 

If you love her, let her go. It is the last bit, the only piece out of

place; that and the taking care of her cat.

 

Are you happy, he asked. Un poco, she said last night, coyly.

 

Let her go. Let her be happy. Let her feel joy. She gave you two

joyful summers of her life. She doesn’t need your memory. She needs to

start anew. Be strong and give her this last piece; to end her

suffering; to begin her new narrative – because you love her still.

Let her go to this new joyful springtime dialog. It’s a good ending.

 

© David Peck García

Read Full Post »

%d bloggers like this: