MAGAZINE OF GARBAGE COLLECTION
Nº 39. YEAR 2001- FEBRUARY, THURSDAY 22
FUSIONED - DIRECTED - WRITTEN AND CORRESPONDED BY: MENASSA 2001
DON'T KNOW HOW TO SPEAK BUT WE DO IT IN SEVERAL LANGUAGES
SPANISH, FRENCH, ENGLISH, GERMAN, ARABIAN, PORTUGUESE, ITALIAN, CATALAN
GRIS, IS A PRODUCT
OF A FUSION
THE BRIGTHENESS OF THE GREY
THE JARAMA INDIAN
THE FUSION WITH MORE FUTURE OF THE
INDIO GRIS Nº 39
question is totally out of control. Now I hope it grows.
always thought that I would have to live what I live and, at the same time, I
never thought that I would have to live what I live.
arrived and told me
yes or maybe a no, made me
open new roads, made me abandon roads.
one night I bumped into poetry,
I spent my time flying from one place to the other
pending on the whim of my tender beloved women
whom only knew about love how to make love.
told me with moral solvency
to live, a man does not need to fly
less still going from one place to the other after his beloved.
A man must have his feet at the level of his feet.
soul at reach of a brief caress,
the sun over the earth at the time of sun,
the body and the word like available rivers
and at night, some dream, a love story.
man puts all his hopes on man.
A man has freedom as a flag.
He gives water to the thirsty and fights for a piece of bread
and loves, he pretends he loves, but does not know how to.
A man, Poetry said severely,
a man knows he will die and does not care.
He knows that he dies when he writes and even though writes.
He knows that each love kill him and even though he falls in love.
man, I told her, ambitions to fly
and though he cannot, he does not care,
He ambitions to fly, loves the illusion of flying.
To feel in that instant that some day…
man, Poetry, is capable of killing,
is capable of eating the beloved heart,
elide a kiss of love from his mouth,
and love, from his captive lovers, money.
any afternoon a man
allows to be caressed by a breeze, an air,
a feeling pounds in his chest
and the poor man in falling, falls in love.
he pretends he has blood in his veins
and jumps and runs and caresses himself frenetically
and wants to surrender completely for love
and, there, the police comes and he is jailed.
you follow me, Poetry? Of man we talk.
He is capable of dying pursuing false ideals,
capable of making war for almost nothing,
letting his other half die in silence.
gets into the middle of the volcano and challenges it.
He wants to navigate the oceans with his body,
touch immensity, the sky with his verses,
drill the womb of the mountain, the rock.
wants to reach with his heartbeats
the intimate life of all his lovers,
he wants to reach the centre of things.
he falls in love, Poetry,
and rots like a flower under the sun
when someone dies or abandons him.
questions at the verge of being solved in our favour I allow myself to think the
next four decades, from which I'll use an entire one for painting, also painting
in general and I'll leave three
decades to enjoy what has been produced. Poetry will be by my side all the time.
days ago it was Santa María (Saint Mary's day), congratulations.
have liked to send you some flowers, but it's summer and I don't have much money
September I'll be 40, see, it doesn't seem true that the crazy skinny fellow
becomes 40 years old.
I shaved my beard, but this time I'm growing a moustache, this I have already
told you, but I should send you a photo. There are days when I don't have a
single wrinkle on my face.
I realise why it's so difficult for me to write, I'll finally write a great
2000, the book I finished to put together a few days ago, is a great book. When
reading it I was thrilled by the fact that it was me who wrote such beautiful
words, but I also feel when reading it, that a poet who wrote that at 40, hasn't
yet given all he's got.
mentioned book is once more a poetry book. 230 intense pages, where poetry
reaches the sublime, you'll see. An insolent book of wisdom. I'm happy with that
book. Now I'll have to suffer to get it published, for that is my desire.
you could see me at this moment, you would like to see me. I have my skin half-
tanned in the middle of my holidays. Clean, tall, young, as if I yet had
everything to do. Following a treatment of home holidays I have been able to put
on some kilos, which give my usual liveliness a healthy look. The treatment
consists of some brief moments of gym (I work on this with great concentration,
so that the 10 minutes I practise are equivalent to almost two hours of intense
exercises). I drink several orange juices and half a litre of milk per day. The
rest of the time I eat (without discrimination of tastes), I fuck (without
discrimination of race) and I reread some writings. These small changes in my
daily way of living have made my health reach an optimum point. I think that
referring to my health, this summer I'm trying to replace tobacco by pot as much
as possible. Some days I'm able to do it enough, especially when I stay at home
the whole day, 4 or 5 cigarettes are enough for me those days, I control the
rest of my oral anxiety smoking pot or reading, that is also a ritual of
November 23rd, 1980
the edge of life, a man insists that it is better to go on singing.
ask myself if we'll see each other some day. To palpitate together the emotion
of a thing well done.
of lazy elves do nothing but make me obstinately recall my past. My small
childhood, my youth. Those patios. Those eyes of yours looking at the universe.
mother, our perfumed and ambitious mummy, do you remember? Malignant udder
because of that perplexity her absence produced in us.
is like a small provincial town by the sea shore. And I'll tell you that nobody
people around me are convinced that we live in a big city. I let myself flow
with the current, I also have to know about that. However, the current doesn't
treat me very well. I'll let myself flow some more time, afterwards, I can
imagine, once again solitude.
quietness of words, that quietness that belongs to writing. Writing to you has
the particular charm of writing to a relative.
these far away lands, where I live now, to feel like
someone's relative is difficult. There are days, I swear to you, when
everyone believes that he is supporting himself. A mysterious paradise where
bees eat the honey made by God.
you may realise, I'm an artist. A sort of refinement, in solitude, in misery.
Alien to the rhythm of my heart, I march at the beat of the palpitations of the
poet is not only alien to himself but is alien to that other alien who names
The bloody desolate pampas (=plains) and me!
Small moss almost lost among splendid rose bushes and
Everything seemed gigantic for my small voice. I was the
small miserable poet and the passers-by spitted my face and ran away, as if evil
would have nested in my face. I'm the last piece of meat of the century. And
nobody listened to me.
COW WAS ALWAYS
A LITTLE CRAZY
BETWEEN THE COW
AND THE MORIBUND
A book by MIGUEL OSCAR MENASSA
am tense, I have appetites, hungers of millenniums and now they'll want to
content me with some piece of cheese, excrescence of some pastoral cow, or the
same cow beaten to death and quartered on the table, recalling
ancient rites, where men ate
each other, and that was love.
I stab my small knife mercilessly into the cow's heart and the cow moos, it tears itself with passion in front of the murderer. I, with surgical precision, separate grease and nerves and I give my beloved one a morsel from the cow's burnt ovaries.
-We're free, she says to me, while she entertains herself with the noise of her teeth trying to chew the burnt parts of the universe. Later, lighter, making a mirage of everything, a lie, she says to me with ease:
A magisterial cow that moos and murders all the time lives in me. Sometimes she seems in pain, but nothing matters to her, she knows that she was born to be beaten to death, and then she shits everywhere and the mad flowers eat what is essential of shit and grow rapidly towards the future."
AN UNLIMITED DESIRE
AN UNQUESTIONABLE TENDERNESS
book written by Miguel Oscar Menassa
To get along with your partner in the Holiday Season
and during some of the working days
“This novel is a monument to desire, not to its satisfaction and desire doesn’t fit in moulds norms”
Leopoldo de Luis
“ Menassa transforms eroticism into a real encyclopaedia of sexual relations”.
THE PABLO MENASSA DE LUCIA ASSOCIATION
2001 Working Woman Award to the
The award will be delivered by the actress
17 - 3° izq. - Madrid 28008