About the poet:
Giselle Lucía Navarro (Cuba, 1995) Poet, storyteller and designer. Bachelor in Industrial Design by the Superior Institute of Design of Havana University. Graduated in the Centre of Literary Formation Onelio Jorge Cardoso. Professor in the Ethnographic Academy of the Canary Association of Cuba. She leads the literary group Silvestre de Balboa. Member of the movement Poets of the World. She has also obtained diverse literary awards: La Edad de Oro 2018 (children´s poetry), Pinos Nuevos 2019 (infant-juvenile novel) and David 2019 (poetry), such as some Mentions in the international awards: Angel Gavinet (Finland 2012), Poemas al Mar (Puerto Rico, 2012) and Nosside (Italia, 2019). She has published the books of poems: The Circus of Wonders and the infant-juvenile novel What is your house´s name? by the Gente Nueva Publishing House. Her book of poems Criogenia is in process of publication by Ediciones Union. Her texts appear in anthologies and magazines of Spain, EUA, Chile, Peru, Mexico, France, Finland, Venezuela, Argentina, Puerto Rico, Italy, India and Belgium.
VISCERAL
Odio al artista
que cree que el arte viene desde el asco
y trepana su cerebro para extraer cada palabra dulce,
cada trozo de suavidad,
esas palabras que él llama defectuosas,
y se arranca la sensibilidad
en busca de la perfecta belleza de su obra.
Odio lo perfecto
como todos los esquemas artificiales,
como el hombre perfeccionista
que subsiste gracias a su oportunismo,
un hombre que me odiaría si leyera estas palabras
y me llamaría cursi
y dijera que aún soy transparente
y mi palabra no crece.
Un hombre que no se permite la dulzura
es un cuerpo que se quema de espaldas al sol.
VISCERAL
I hate the artist
that thinks the art comes from repulsion
and perforates his brain to extract every sweet word,
every piece of softness,
those words he calls defective,
and tears off the sensitivity
searching the perfect beauty of his work.
I hate perfection as all the artificial schemes
as the perfectionist man
that subsists thanks to his opportunism,
a man who could hate me if he read these words,
a man who could call me kitsch
saying I´m transparent
and my word doesn´t grow.
A man who doesn´t allow sweetness for himself
is a burning body backwards the sun.
LECCIÓN DE ANATOMÍA
He comprendido que la libertad no existe
y no hay camino sin tropiezo,
tronco sin árbol,
mente sin cuerpo,
y la vida no vale nada sin no existe la muerte,
que esta diminuta bala le da sentido a mi existencia.
He comprendido que la libertad no existe
en este cuerpo cocido al aire que penetra en sus pulmones,
estos glóbulos rojos que se agrupan
y el sentimiento latiendo en todo lo posible.
He aprendido que un hombre que depende de su cuerpo
no puede ser una criatura libre.
LESSON OF ANATOMY
I´ve understood that freedom doesn´t exist
and there is no path without stumbling,
no trunk without tree,
no mind without body
and Life is no worthy if Death doesn´t exist;
even that this tiny bullet gives sense to my existence.
I´ve understood that freedom doesn´t exist
in this exposed stitched body that penetrates its lungs;
these red globules that group
and the feeling beating in every possible way.
I´ve learned that a man who depends of his body
can´t be a free creature.
