The book of Alice

The book of Alice


To Lewis Carrol and Paula



"...And we shall be amazed by every country we visit, for every country is new..."
M. Schwob.The book of Monelle.




TESTIMONY OF ALICE I

The needed oxygen, the open window.
Do you remember the girl with dreams
Who used to stroke cats in dark lanes?
Where they Alice an her old cat Dinah?

Her eyes grew inward,
duplicated girl,
yearning for a fresh look,
a verb in the indicative
destroys all the "we were-had-wandered",
struggle between realities
of narrow mosaics,
a row of doors,
carved glass.
Who named us
destiny of the other
limitative forces of existence?

Facing her own trial
the King an Queen of Hearts
sitting on their throne
Alice spoke to them:


"I sought to hold her in my arms
lose her amid my kisses
choke myself with tears
that came from within
timeles tears
elusive shadow.

Who was I looking for
through her,
but the other girl,
the girl who loved catas
the girl who
blossomed anywhere
timeless
my lost girl.

The black cat of a hallway in San Telmo.
girl moved by the forest
before the house
of Le Cobusier.

Girl who comes from Madrid
on a postcard
where on blue steps
whit deep eyes,
the girl of Kaene
and her cats
cry out
"they wait for you in Madrid"
Girl to defy the norm
at every moment,
to pull out elves
from a top hat to lighten nights.
Girl of Monelle
of black and white canes
of life and death
of sound and silence,
of ambivalence.

Girl that passes through the present
like a trail
that cherishes laughter,
a gesture,
a word.
Girl of immensity,
of being a rose,
the immeasurable one of Borges,
that unique rose
to believe
we can be more perfect
more beautiful.

I sought to embrace the son
possibly lying within her
she was lost and intact
timeless.

Free,
forever free
cradled by loneliness.

Some creatures are born
to be just a signal
a premonition.

-And I always knew it-
I knew that
we are always shivering with cold
ind the long night
of polarities.

My swift eyes
played
with time gust
and its different dimensions.

Enjoy light,
and enjoy shadow
hop from one place to another,
break the norm,
history
that ties and tyrannizes.
Cages.

The word is a weapon then
that can change inside us.
Be flesh,be warmth,
be sugar
be a dance
to release from ourselves
all the music
living
within us
paint
all that is grey
in a city,
paint a sad face,
be a sweet.

I sought the girl inside her

The invisible girl
clung to my legs,
climbed over me
blew air into my eyes
smiled
and I felt light

Had she ever departed from me, then?


She was rocking
on a swing to the sky,
her static eyes
tore down heroines
of foreign causes.
Rockingçon a swing to the sky,
she tore down old sorrows
hidden in stage prop couches
Theatre
to launch to life,
howl with fear
facing the ease of days
that are not invented
but solely
to be lived

She sleeps with me today
in a tender embrace
"my flesh returns to her flesh"



ALICE I


Alice cannot find the White Rabbit
in waistcoat and watch.
The hole of descent,
the bottle crying out
"drink me"
her changes in size,
the little golden key
and the door leading to the garden.

Alice seeks her country
with eyes of wonder,
she knows she will see the Tyrannical
Beheader Queen
she knows that in the Pool of Tears
she will drown in her
own tears,
her salty tears,
and she is alone,
no mice, no cats,
no Duchess, no Gryphon.

Alice stretches out her hands
naive,clumsy
through the looking-glass
the pack of cards
makes faces at her.
And it is a showcase.
A poster
an outfit.

Alice has a voice
a hidden scream
under her apron.
The Mock Turtle
appears and disappears,
it is a game of pretence.
Alice knows it.
The absurd
shall be there
in the Queen´s garden
and behind the looking -glass.

Alice promises herself
the defeat of the serpent
the encounter with the Mad Hatter
and the March hare,

because
it is possible to rebuild
what has been lost,
the scent of roses
that are white,
before fear
-white-


Alice does not want the poster
the purchase,the use,
the object,the trophies.
Alice thinks her country.
Loves her country
sings her country
laughs her country
whith no WHITE RABBIT
NO GUIDE
no guardian.
Alice is butterfly
is dove without serpents.


ALICE III THE FORGOTTEN STORY

Alice carries under her arm
the story that Lewis Carroll
forgot to tell.

Alice
and that story
held in her eyes.
She carries it.

And along her way,
together with the children,
Alice seeks the afternoon
of de never-ending tea.
She knows that the March Hare
has explored every burrow
and has sat down to wait.

There is rain
blurring mirrors,
shutting out her children.
Those countries
that dye before them.
But Alice
carries the story,

molds it to her skin,
to her bones,
she nurtures herself and as a wise female
she breastfeeds them.
She comes from magic,
cunning chess move,
unfinished chessboard
suspended in the air.

She comes from the garden
with dialogue amongst flowers,
she knits the sory, she winds it
for it to be warmth,
soft fleece
in adversity
Lewis Carroll
forgot to tell it
but it sparkles
inside, no endings
she squeezes it, bites it, possesses it,

and it is strength and it is tenderness,
feather-
mint-


it has defied the forest
that numbs names
-it is oblivion-
she shall live it.


Marta Macias (Fabularia 1990)
Tradución:M.Paula L.Macias.
Mariana D´Angelo.
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