BOOK: THE HOUSE OF LOVE AND DEATH 
(Libro completo)
LA CASA DEL AMOR Y DE LA MUERTE
LEONOR MAUVECIN
Across
night pending his name, his surreptitious
desire to live,
the other side of the night! Pizarnik
****
He knows the alphabet that the death guardian
Rabinovich
Sonia ****
A t the end of the road home. Among the mountains
expected: the crypt
love and Leonor
- with its unfinished dream-
and stream - Heraclitus that runs between the stones and a poem
writing on the wall that says Walker
you who spend the source
wet your hands and let a few drops
dissolves like tears on the grass
I read these words
-
-often without knowing that I appointed. ****
I named.
Unbeknownst to me
named Pedro Juan Vignak
and the poet says grasses
flourish today in his memory
Then I discovered in my
and wildflowers
abandoned garden. ****
Wildflowers and now it's winter
is two thousand and four in the calendar of life is
July in Villa Leonor, in Cabana
where the mountains are dressed in gorse and passion.
**** Where the mountains are dressed in gorse and passion
emerge from the earth, the crypt. Chapel
white dome-shaded
cathedral is the mountain-
that strange, whimsical forms before me.
What do I look? "He asked.
look into the past in the secret fumble
What do I look from the dried flowers
someone left on the stones? An image
in writing of the night?
My portrait? ****
My portrait?
The artist draws his face on the wall
-the-
it collects in the water hurt
Pinta star muses who come to seek
draws words and predict earthquakes.
And she writes poems, and seduces him.
He does not know, she is not. ****
're lost between page and Narcissus
Susan Romano *
not her.
is my hand which now writes
and music and the perfume of the acacias and wine and the stars
and writing indelibly etched in stone the arcane.
And I'm lost between page and
Narciso. And death
who plays anymore.
**** it I, the same silent
it envisages
as the water goes with me
* Play again.
The day after yesterday
is within the walls of the house.
yesterday is repeated and again, the river is yesterday
showing my own face in the sound of water.
yesterday that it becomes fragmented
.
Fragments of the house.
****
Fragments of the empty house. Writing
another look has provided
And there is the smell in that room
the smell of bodies
her moans, the wind masks. Moaning
house between walls, between oblivion
bite spaces of silence words. ****
Everything
enmadejado and tied with a thousand threads of love. Leonor
Buffo
* Bite
silent spaces
words and she ignores him.
The pendulum has turned on its name and each letter
echo sleeping naked in his throat - and she does not know-
And his own name, between the tiles of the temple-view-
Hidden. Attached to the bones sleeping under gravestones.
The house has become
where another woman with her name, for she weaves a web
. Only
dew on the grass at the foot of the mountain, is the crypt,
crying their tears of love
in the steeple. ****
Lacking bells, drew
lover in a vacuum, a tear.
*
In the belfry:
love Can you write?
Is there paper setting out that script?
hurt me and I have points on the body.
On the skin, the signs of desire to behold
words. ****
I know there
words that were written for each letter
she shouts his name.
Perhaps, the first pronounced. ****
A reality
favors symmetries and slight anachronisms. Jorge Luis Borges
*
For the first time he draws pendulums with words that turn
cabal works and discover its name
-the-
it in the newspaper every morning.
is chance he thinks
and does not know everything, and it was written.
. ****
Ungraspable Don lost, to evoke,
find it evoked.
And before that, as was said. *
Everything was already written.
has returned to the house. Only
dew on the grass at the foot of the mountain.
Remember, look, you know, that you have read-once-writing
oracle stone, which speaks and says: You
you spend to the source / wet your hands and let
a few drops like tears / dissolves
on the grass.
in the source water inevitable. The house
love and death.
In the thirst, the desire
the face of love is renewed. ****
is renewed in the mirrored surface of
and is another source. Far
was that the evening quiet.
Looks in the water and discover
their newborn eyes. ****
newborn.
In his own writing he seeks. Written absentee
which is in the eyes of the world
and yet he is, and is another
-not recognized.
He has seen for the first time in their voices
haunted hidden.
Wanted between
shadows of the choir and the music makes them drunk.
Now is Orpheus.
must, but do not want to look back. ****
not want to look back.
- Who speaks to me and heard my name pronounced?
Are you looking for? Are
Persephone, which saves
seed in the belly of the earth itself. The germinating
every spring
attracted by the sound of light?
Did Eve, banished
offering the apple to my mouth and speak
in the whisper of the serpent?
Or Pandora, and you have hidden under the stones
in the house of love and death
the box?
Let me believe you are my beloved Eurydice
that came down to the bottom of the night and called me. ****
When you finally shook more than you were embracing life
Eurydice says, Horacio Castillo
*
has fallen to the bottom of the night and called me
- I'm here
drew up the warp where the plot is woven
and wait for you.
I know you'll come and catch it from your music threads
in my shadows loom.
weave a light blanket to relieve
neglect and loneliness.
will come to me and walk
beside you to the threshold where the light reveals the faces.
And not for me, which I just kissed you
have woven the fabric carefully. Daedalus
ensnaring
which it will be my name. I'll
other. ****
Another
.
hands tending the vacuum, she is.
The vertigo does not know
you do not know where the storm takes
and floats like a leaf in the wind. While
evening looks in the mirror and his own world
unfolds. ****
His own world is unfolded
and man that he writes, that drawn with words
brushed every gesture
eye gaze
smile
and draw a figure on paper, "hers.
is lost between the letters of his name.
-Maze
words Ignore the Minotaur. ****
Ignore the Minotaur.
Women runners transiting disordered
it is now.
pierce your body with light reflections
hurts the grip of the shadow.
In the small window lit
flying cranes. Cranes
leaving a trickle of water to rise
- Ariadne's thread.
And she hears his voice made of birds. Alas
on the glass. Labyrinth
time word. ****
only the fugitive remains and lasts. Julio Castellanos
*
Maze in time the word.
And she falls into the abyss and is not afraid
and left rocking.
sniffs the scent of her bare skin.
know he is, but do not look even close your eyes
.
know the sweet touch on the body and points
linking their names. Anagram
fire. ****
Where he plunges
many times to remember the name of a god. Sonia
Rabinovich
* Anagram
fire. He
is dipped into the well of happiness.
Again and again. Search
infinite water in an untimely rain.
Again and again returns to the place where gods exist.
Again and again ...
And she can not escape. On it
subject
love your thighs, your chest opens
start the heart.
On the altar of the temple: pink flowers. ****
pink flowers.
He writes
spilled Kabbalah sleep in his arms
Leave your mark
secret message between the folds
to read body-nude-
alone and remember it. ****
love again,
open a random poem.
*
And remember.
is autumn rains.
Water seeks the channel and extends
sea, and in death
mystery of life.
water is love, weaving carpets with silver
and survives. ****
survives
And where he has returned
where everything is back where land
preserving the memory of the Fates
weaving a tapestry, which he names:
muse, goblin, woman maze. Phantom
disturbs
imminent sunset under the walnut
where once cradled loneliness. ****
Where once cradled loneliness. Can
the right and the reverse,
like a glove?
life and death
in one lifetime
On a single death?
**** A single death?
- I wonder,
In the broad area of \u200b\u200bthe house
no place for everything: for small
death and oblivion.
For love that curls the thread of life. For the heartbreak
unleashes the thread of death. ****
Unleash the thread of death.
Life, it unleashes. And it is only
movement.
Pendulum Movement that pendula encrypted. The pendulum
joining ends at home. ****
in the house. He wanted to reach heaven
water on the moon.
picked the stars of the tank. He looked at his hand
-hallucinatory-delusional
Oh! It
only water. ****
Only the mirror
water-fetching the crane in the pico-
where the girl looks.
Look through the eye of ice
looking for the silver moon. Look
and graying hair braid and let
seeds in the bird's mouth. ****
is in the bird's mouth where I pick up the chalices
- bright chalices -
where I drink:
does the wine of joy?
And these frail hands my hands
holding the "insatiable" cup of life. ****
Life
open your eyes and hold its gaze from the sky
extending the sun as a light scarf.
is the greeting of passing time.
old is my father's blue Mercury
the dusty street.
That car no longer exists but
I look pass from the window and he
,
leaves me abandoned to chance. ****
random Abandoned is a photo
forgotten in some corner of the house.
"It's a temporary home," says
The photo is of a girl who contemplates the landscape,
you are holding a doll
and play. That girl
-feed me.
Maybe I'm the girl who played
but I am also
that doll and I surrender. ****
I neglect. And the girl plays
involved in the sleep pattern. Play
. Draw
worlds in the air. Play
. Only scraps of cardboard
only paintings, "he says
and hugs the wrist. Play
with glass eyes. Play and watch
elusive sky where the birds
****
Birds and she ...?
Which one? "He asked.
Does doll?
girl still plays
the "as if"
as if eyes were made of glass
to imagine life. ****
To imagine life
I left that night I was cornered in a light sigh.
Where dwells the silent house
empty words that other threads have woven for me. Seeking
in the code between the lines
and let the world fall apart and become
shattered the glass, where it had been reflected
mothers who cradled their children with love songs. I let the dark
pack devour the interstices of peace and write
****
write anything and I'm aware, no guilt.
sleeping Like all drowned in their own miseries
Like all who dream of a parcel on a paradise lost
Am I, the stranger who dwells in me?
Am I sailing in the rubble
of reality in the nave of empty talk?. ****
in a vacuum.
Who is this unknown
coming to knock on the door?
That disturbs and awakens ghosts
sleep
birds and bats loose in the moonlit night
and turns his face hidden
on that mirror.
**** hidden in the mirror: do you look for unknown
what you want.
Drop your cards on the table and looks
:
"Is that the place of bliss? ****
not leave me alone then ever with my unknown
: I do not let me
Olga Orozco
* Is there on this site?
The unknown I am.
Someone said the stranger
me. Robo
mirror image
watching me - Am I that doll?
- Russian doll-
and every woman I contains
"holds another? -
****
" Every woman I contains
save another?
Tell those women who live
me to let me.
Tell them not to hit the camera. Tell
the lamp oil containing bird feathers
sleeping on the home. ****
sleeps in the house of death. In the attic
In place of the shadow
hidden. It's crazy
The screaming at night.
That is not spoken, "he said. And the crazy
watching us all the windows. ****
For all windows is a script that reads
from the other side of the night.
Where our own world and focuses the universe
weigh things by name.
is love, "he said.
love, with its high walls and jasmine
silent and set table and those white sheets as white as
pages.
****
The name is the archetype of the thing
in the lyrics of "rose" is the rose
Jorge Luis Borges
*
As
-pages in the house of love and death-
have been scattered among the weeds
the letters of his name.
name naming-
woman is the woman
takes between points, her perfume
the color and shape.
And this surreptitious desire to live. ****
With the desire to live
surreptitiously crossed the threshold of the garden. Fall
has collected his own shadow
as a wildflower.
****
For only we can get down and not up the stairs
time. Marguerite
Youcenar *
As a wildflower
her down the stairs of the house
and knows that there is an ancient script that draws
those steps. Bringing together
rubble of his shadow
pieces of her life and those eyes that ask
- Do you love me? ****
Do you love me?
Angeles in exile
draw with bird feathers
an anagram.
Where words are wound
overlapping. Where words
bite in mouth,
and say their names.
In the house of love and death
is the hour of the Angelus. ****
When the Angelus
in water supply
"We're inevitable
perhaps imperceptible shake of chance. And
thirst and the desire
he writes the letters of his name written
tears.
(It dissolves on the herbs) ****
Epilogue
Heaven is limp.
The earth spins its mantle of dark sap.
The fire shines on the horizon,
- like a fire in the mountains, I think. While the living water
whispers a secret that is not decrypted
Here are your eyes the night here, here here my heart
mogote
and you, and the last card in the deck.
*********
