LaChuecaedición20aniversario6

LET’S BECOME SHIT ON
POETRY William Cacua
A short time ago I attended to a mate’s theater
party. The reason: His birthday. My gift was a
book: “Ansichten eines Clowns” by Heinrich
Boll. A few days ago he had looked it on my
small library, therefore I thought it was the
most appropriate gift. Fifteen people arrived.
“After drinking a gulp of tequila
and seeing us around a circle, someone
proposed improvising verses.”
Midnight. Speakers loud sound echoed
through smoke of the joints. After drinking a
gulp of tequila and seeing us around a circle,
someone proposed improvising verses. First
of all, he served a full gulp to each one, then
he said we must drink immediately without
leaving a drop. His throat was boiling so he
had to wait a minute before reciting. Nobody
assume the risk: What happen? ¡I’m listening
to you! he said. Then he laughed. Someone
said he should start. Initially, he didn’t want
and was puffing to excuse. Minutes later watching
the silence in the room, he laughed: “It’s
not easy being a poet” I know what you mean
because poetry reaches the most transcendental
topics of humanity; for example, death,
immortality, soul; you know… After that he
drank a gulp of the bottle.
“He read one of his poems.
A transcendental topic, no doubt. “
Subsequently, participants scared, if they had
written a verse before, now they think those
verses were trivial. There was a silence. Another
laugh, again. Later he went to his
room and brought a notebook. He read
one of his poems. A transcendental topic,
no doubt. However, it was loaded of words
and embellishments like a baroque echo,
it didn’t allow me connect with the poem.
After he finished, I took off my shoes and
one of my socks. I stood up to recite an
improvised verse to this sock, I realized I
was drunk. However, I continued. I lifted
up my right hand, I swung my sock and
started to recite:
A month ago I don’t wash my sock
As you can see
Feel and breath
No lack explanations
I wear them everyday
And every night
They are my only friends
Since two years ago
When I stole them from my ex
We used to be a nice couple
I smell them before wear
To remember who am I
And who was I
It’s a piece of my body
Which hides my steps and fates.
“Why do you believe daily
activities, things and places are
not load of poetry?”
I haven’t finished. In that moment he interrupted
me saying: ¡That’s not poetry! As I
said before, poetry is about transcendental
topics, and not that crap you recited a few
moments.