Although “Ten” was the second book I published, it was actually written before the first one that did come out, “Once”. Both titles were published by Rumbo Editorial – “Once” in 2009, and “Ten” in 2010.

When interviewed in the media, I am invariably asked why did I publish them out of order.

The simple answer is that “Ten” is a book that has no palliatives, whereas “Once” (owing to its free structure and multiple endings) is a book from which something positive can effectively be construed.

I think that the two compositions I have included below exemplify that. They come from the two final sections of the book, “Vicinity” and “Distance”. These turn “Ten” into “an exorcism and an outright damnation”, as I say in the preface.

I think these two compositions pay a clear debt to albums like “The Who By Numbers”, “All The Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes” and also an album I greatly like from an artist that (generally) I’m not  really that fond of: “Blood On The Tracks” by Bob Dylan.

So, without further preambles… “I Hurt You” and “You Lie”.

I Hurt You

I leave you because I don’t want to desert you
I decompose you because I love you intact
I say nothing because I love how you react -
I hurt you because I didn’t want to hurt you

I lead you because I don’t want to divert you
I tug at your heart because I love you unmoved
I love the absence of all you never removed -
I hurt you because I didn’t want to hurt you

And you longed for morn-like brilliance when I longed for the night
And I longed for occurrences when you longed for respite

I prod you because I don’t want to convert you
I motivate you because I love you inert
I love the deep silence whenever you assert -
I hurt you because I didn’t want to hurt you

I leave you because I don’t want to desert you
I decompose you because I love you intact
I say nothing because I love how you react -
I hurt you because I didn’t want to hurt you

You Lie

You lie splendidly and I love to believe you
And I tell the truth for I want to deceive you
I’ll bear the brunt of this retardation
You lie surreptitiously and I observe it
I have nothing left and I want to preserve it
Then I ponder on this situation

And I don’t know if I should love it or hate it
All that I know is that you facilitate it

You lie without reason and I justify it
I can see where this leads – still I ratify it
I like to savour this degradation
You lie brazenly and I congratulate you
I watch in awe and I want to emulate you
Then I ponder on this situation

And I’m uncertain if I exaggerate it
All that I know is that you facilitate it

And you lie and I never want to reproach you
But I feel the friction, and when I approach you
I lack all valour and I lack all tact
And you lie in the dirt for that’s where you belong
And I’m right beside you as I vomit this song
And it comes tumbling like a cataract

And I wonder if someone can terminate it
Cancel, void, nullify or invalidate it
Displace, banish, extinguish or dissipate it
All that I know is that you facilitate it

(Hagan click aquí para leer este artículo en español)

This is the dissertation Uruguayan poet Javier Etchemendi delighted us with when “Ten” was officially released (Friday 19th of November, 2010).

Numbers Also Go To Heaven

A closed universe vibrates in the writing of Emilio Pérez. A place that we can only stare at from the sidelines, knowing that there is an important part of him that will always remain out of reach.

The reader might ask himself, what good is a universe like that for? And that would be tantamount to asking what good is mystery for. The answer is obvious: for losing yourself in it, and coming out modified and strange, knowing something did happen and that such a something attracts us like danger and love do, in an unconscious way.

A mystery is not there to be elucidated. By its mere nature, a mystery is no longer a mystery when we fathom it out, when it becomes a certainty within a safe place. If the veil separating what we know from what we want to know becomes broken, then the mystery itself is broken for good.

A book is a door. I know that very well, for I am a guarder of the gates to the other world. And every once in a while, I let words pass from one side to the other. And since I know about words, I can honestly tell you that in “Ten” the author matters very little. Rather, it begins to matter very little once the door has been opened. Some might say, “But it is a book written in English”. And I can reply: do kisses, tears, desperation and redemption have a language? Emilio sets down his titles like glowing stones that we can follow to the other shore, where the golden pot can be found. “Nobody Feels All The Time”, “The Dark Side Of The Road”, “Broken”, “Cry”, “After The Fire The Fire”.

A book that is a temple, an erotic breviary and a decalogue of the seasons of life. This book comes right after “Once”. The reader should never obviate that fact. Number mark our lives, and they have been present in literature from the dawn of time. Five o’clock will always come in shadows, and three times will the dead ones hit this floor, knocking on this door. Concept titles, that is what numbers are. Abstractions, perceptions. A book full of obsessions, of love, of silences. A book that is dangerous, because silence is dangerous. Going through what is hidden always is. And thus, we come back to the beginning, back to mystery. The author seems to be telling us, look behind the words, behind the language, behind the images. But be careful. There is a masonry of silence that implies not talking about it, and revering it without words. And when we reach that point, only the photos remain. Emilio placed them there, like windows to that seemingly chaotic universe. Only through them will the reader become the voyeur he wants him to become. He wants to recruit us, to share in his voyeurism. And we end up looking at an inner landscape. We see what we can. Emilio seems to lead us, to point the way, and then to distract us. But the reward is there, so close and so far out of reach. So close and so far out of reach like the instant and the intimacy that lie at the inception of everything.

“Ten”, by Emilio Pérez Miguel. A door straight into emptiness, or the entrance to the lands of the first time.

(Click here to read this post in English)

Esta es la brillante disertación que nos obsequió Javier Etchemendi en la presentación de “Ten”, el viernes 19 de noviembre de 2010.

Los Números También Van Al Cielo

En la escritura de Emilio Pérez Miguel vibra un universo clausurado. Un lugar que sólo podemos atisbar subrepticios, sabedores, además, que una parte importante de él quedará permanentemente fuera de nuestro alcance.

El lector podrá preguntarse ¿para qué sirve un universo así? Y sería lo mismo que preguntar para qué sirve el Misterio. Y la respuesta no se hace esperar: para frecuentarlo y salir de él modificados, raros, seguros de que algo pasó y que ese algo nos atrae como nos atrae el peligro o el amor, de una manera inconciente.

El misterio no existe para ser develado, su naturaleza se rompe apenas lo intuimos, entonces deviene en certeza, en seguridad y en lugar conocido y se habrá roto el velo que nos separa de aquello que ciertamente no deseamos saber.

Un libro es una puerta, yo lo sé bien pues soy portero del trasmundo y dejo pasar cada tanto palabras de un lado para el otro. Y  como sé de palabras estoy en condiciones de decirles que aquí el autor casi no importa, o que dejará de importar una vez que la puerta sea abierta. Alguien podrá decir “pero si es un libro escrito en inglés” y yo puedo contestar ¿acaso los besos, las lágrimas, la desesperación y la redención tienen idioma? Emilio dispone sus títulos como piedras incandescentes que podemos seguir como trashumantes hacia la olla con el oro detrás del arco iris: nadie siente todo el tiempo, el lado oscuro del camino, quebrado, llorar, después del fuego el fuego.

Un libro templo, un breviario erótico y un decálogo de las estaciones de la vida. Este trabajo nos llega después de Once y no debería pasar inadvertido para el lector esta circunstancia. Los números signan nuestra vida, han estado presentes en la literatura desde la primera hora. Siempre volverán a ser las cinco en sombra de la tarde y tres-veces caerán los muertos golpeando este piso, llamando a esta puerta. Títulos concepto, eso son los números, conceptos, abstracciones, percepciones. Un libro obsesiones, de amor y de silencio, dicen los poetas que el silencio sostiene las palabras. Un libro peligroso, porque el silencio lo es. Peligro de revolver en lo oculto. Y regresamos así al comienzo, al misterio. Esta es la propuesta del autor: busquen detrás de las palabras, parece decirnos, detrás del idioma, detrás de las imágenes, pero cuidado. Existe una masonería del silencio que consiste en no hablar de él y adorarlo sin palabras. Y en este punto sólo nos quedan las imágenes. Que el autor colocó allí, son las ventanas a ese universo en aparente caos. Será a través de ellas que el lector se convertirá en el Voyeur que Emilio desea. El nos quiere reclutar para que compartamos su voyeurismo. La imagen nos devuelve en asombro a un paisaje interior. Verá el que pueda ver. Parece señalarnos, nos somete a pruebas, nos distrae. Pero la recompensa está allí, tan cerca y tan lejos. Tan cerca y tan lejos como el instante y el acto íntimo que están en el origen de todo.

Ten. de Emilio Pérez Miguel, una puerta al vacío o la entrada a las tierras de una primera vez.

Today I’d like to share a couple more poems from “Ten” with you. As I am sure you know, “Ten” is the book that I have just issued with the support of my long-standing friends from Rumbo Editorial.

The prequel to “Once“, “Ten” is split in six different parts that make up a single chapter. The poems I have included below come from the central part of the book. This is named “The Giver And Taker Of Life”, and it takes the shape of a passing day that ends up becoming a song.

I hope you like them! As usual, I look forwards to your every comment!

Flugelhorns

I count every single step from the end
Towards the outskirts of the beginning
You were the battle never worth winning
And the episode no-one should append -
Now the juxtaposition is thinning

Flugelhorns playing
Across an empty building, down an empty street
Amid a wasted dream, through nighttimes incomplete
Flugelhorns straying
Like the truth I loathe but I cling to nonetheless
Within my spent heart, like the thoughts I don’t possess
Like a guilty antiphon -
Why did you leave me alone?

I count every single mile from the end
Towards the remnants of the commencement
You were my one chance, my one investment
And the bitterest share and dividend -
Now you transcend my deepest resentment

Flugelhorns playing
Across an empty building, down an empty street
Amid a wasted dream, through nighttimes incomplete
Flugelhorns straying
Like the truth I loathe but I cling to nonetheless
Within my spent heart, like the thoughts I don’t possess
Like a guilty antiphon -
Why did you leave me alone?

Flugelhorns baying
Across an empty effect, down an empty cause
Amid a wasted dream, through immaculate flaws
Flugelhorns slaying
Like the immanence I refuse but I reckon
Within my spent heart, like the hopes I won’t beckon
Like the love I never shone -
Why did I leave you alone?

Appalling

Will the finis be like the inception?
The curtain of defiled diction falling
Like a shadow of affliction upon my heart
For I disgrace you
And I efface you
Then I embrace you
And it’s appalling

Must this be attached to my perception?
The tolling of nevertheless falling
Like an echo of selfishness upon my heart
For I possess you
And I transgress you
Then I address you
And it’s appalling

And I can’t desert you
Or divert you
From this spiral that has no end
Since I can’t reject you
Or eject you
From this habit to condescend

Must this be a rule with no exception?
The advent of acrimony falling
Like a poisonous litany upon my heart
For I maltreat you
And I deplete you
Then I entreat you
And it’s appalling

Will the finis be like the inception?
The curtain of defiled diction falling
Like a shadow of affliction upon my heart
For I disgrace you
And I efface you
Yes I debase you
And I deface you
Then I embrace you
And it’s appalling

Classrooms

Although there’s nothing left to fear
And nothing left to interfere
Down the hallway I overhear
Nonetheless pitched against nonetheless
In these empty classrooms at the other end of recollection
And the fractured windows relume
And I’m entangled in the loom
Of songs that seem fresh from a tomb
Entuned by phantasms with prim caress
In these empty classrooms at the other end of recollection

And I seem to forget and recall what hate is
And what remains of this interrupted fate is
Like a cross that I bear for you
Through wastelands of distance, or when standing near you
And if I do disestablish or besmear you
It’s just because I care for you

And though there’s nothing left to butch
And nothing to feel overmuch
Down the hallway I almost touch
Nonetheless pitched against nonetheless
In these empty classrooms at the other end of recollection
And some fury shines through although
Timidity still steals the show
From sigh to sigh, from throe to throe
Into each particle of loneliness
In these empty classrooms at the other end of recollection

And I seem to forget and recall what hate is
And what remains of this interrupted fate is
Like a cross that I bear for you
Through wastelands of distance, or when standing near you
And if I do disestablish or besmear you
It’s just because I care for you

And though there’s nothing left to earn
And nothing to adjust in turn
Down the hallway I can discern
Nonetheless pitched against nonetheless
In these empty classrooms at the other end of recollection
And it’s almost time to depart
From the spoils of this haunted heart
And halt in mid-sentence, apart
From the rumour, influence and duress
Of these empty classrooms at the other end of recollection

And I seem to forget and recall what hate is
And what remains of this interrupted fate is
Like a cross that I bear for you
Through wastelands of distance, or when standing near you
And if I do disestablish or besmear you
It’s just because I care for you

"Ten" Is The Prequel To "Once". Both Books Have Been Published By Rumbo Editorial.

Yesterday I published my second book of lyric poetry. The launch event was a very touching moment, with lots of old and new friend in attendance along with my family and people that I did not know until yesterday, and who attended the event on strength of the announcements that were made on local radio.

The book is named “Ten”, and it is the prequel to “Once”, the one I published last year. The books (which have been published by Rumbo Editorial) are interconnected in many senses. For example, the pictures you can see on “Ten” are the ones that illustrate “Once”, and vice versa.

"Ten" & "Once" Side To Side.

My good friends Marcelo Otamendi, Dinorah Santomauro, Erika Mayssa Bassi and Mario Paz played a selection of lyrics from “Once”, along with their very own compositions.

I thank everybody for being there in such an important day. Now, the day after the event, the one phrase that defines how I feel is the one sung by Ben Lee on his song “Love Me Like The World Is Ending”:

It is the first day of the future…

Thanks, everybody.

My Second Book Of Lyric Poetry, “Ten” Is Being Released One Year To The Date In Which I Published “Once”.

Tomorrow I am releasing my second book of lyric poetry. It is named “Ten”, and it is entirely in English.

It is the companion book to “Once”, the book I published around this time last year. The events described in “Ten” take place one year before the ones set down in “Once”.

Expect plenty more posts about these two books. In the meantime, I would like to share some poems from “Ten” with you.

Enjoy!

Dance Across The Moonlight

There’s a cessation in my heart I seem to eternize
And there’s an eternity I can never realize
And I move across the silence that keeps me company
And you dance across the moonlight arisen in the sea

And I close my eyes to see you

There’s a question in my heart I seem to perpetuate
And there’s a perpetuation I can never abate
And I move across the silence winged by celerity
And you dance across the moonlight arisen in the sea

And I close my eyes to see you

There’s a disunity in my heart I seem to prolong
And there’s a prolongation I can never bear along
And I move across the silence that binds you close to me
And you dance across the moonlight arisen in the sea

And I close my eyes to see you

Here

Chasing meretricious rainbows I came in here
Knowing there was no promise to reclaim in here
Embosoming the shame in here
Within my devotion
Just like an emotion

That I never bothered to restrain or impede
And what you never expressed was all I would heed

Chasing deleterious dreams I strolled in here
Knowing I would regret it all I bowled in here
Treasuring the fool’s gold in here
Reinforced by the thrill
Of pleonasms shrill

That I never bothered to restrain or impede
And what you never expressed was all I would heed

And I simply thought of you without thinking twice
And what you never gave was all that would suffice

The Lingering Farewell

It might be us – but we can’t be certain
We are simply a chance away
Nothing but a chance away
Too much binds us together for too much binds us apart
The sky falls down like a jagged curtain
And our fingertips dance away
In a lingering farewell of a silence of the heart

We are here – and we poise upon the wind
We are simply a dream away
Nothing but a dream away
Too much binds us together for too much binds us apart
There are feelings we won’t ever rescind
Yet our fingertips stream away
In a lingering farewell of a silence of the heart

And what never formed dissolves – but not quite
We are simply a why away
Nothing but a why away
Too much binds us together for too much binds us apart
There is a fire in the eyes of the night
But our fingertips die away
In a lingering farewell of a silence of the heart

Well, this is quite surprising and also immensely fulfilling. “Once” has been put on display at the Uruguayan National Library, and prominently put on display at that. I have no words to thank the person who put it there. I am deeply indebted.

These are some of the pictures that I took. I specially love the ones in which you can read the inventory code that has been added to the book now.

These are a couple of poems from the second chapter of “Once”, the one titled “Dos Idiotas y Un Idiota” [Two Idiots and One Idiot]. It is the chapter in which the train of thought begins following dual pathways.

You can read more poems from “Once” right here and here. And for information on the launch event of the book, look here and here.

I hope you like these poems. If there is anything you want to tell me, use the “Comments” box which is situated at the bottom.

Rocío Y Ella

Comenzaremos por el punto
neutro del trasunto
de una misma comparecencia,
porque estos bifrontismos
son los mismos
imprevistos
entrevistos
hundidos en mi conciencia.

Y el empeño
que no domeño
y que se rehúsa a evanecerse
ha dejado de ser cíclico,
y esto que no puede hacerse
ni más grande ni más pequeño
ahora es algo recíproco.

Parece que el parecido
será restringido
entre este y nuestro estado,
mas las voces que prometen
arremeten
de profeso
sobre eso
que se ha supeditado.

Y el empeño
que no domeño
y que se rehúsa a evanecerse
ha dejado de ser cíclico
y esto que no puede hacerse
ni más grande ni más pequeño
ahora es algo recíproco…

Ella En Colores

Ella en colores más tenues
pacta otro significado.
Otra clase de inflexión.
Otra suerte de complexión
y otro valor ultimado.

Ella en colores más tenues
me acompaña por defecto
y por mi propia elección.
Y perfila mi convicción
como un camino directo,

como un patrón que sin verlo
crea y daña sin deberlo.
Y es demasiado difícil
saberlo o no sin saberlo.

Ella en colores más tenues
que trata de obviar mi pincel.
Eternamente probable
cual sueño inacabable
que yo deposito en tu piel.

Ella en colores más tenues
no espera ni un momento:
llega al punto exacto
y en un único acto
torna lo estático lento

torna su mente en su mente
casi automáticamente,
y es demasiado difícil
quererla o no simplemente.

Rodrigo Y Él

Alguien dice
“Ella se asoma
al umbral del estío que toma
la celeste
historia de mi corazón”.
Alguien dice
“Ella lo es todo
vivo en su sombra a mi modo
y me cuesta
cada esquela de razón”.

Alguien dice
“Ella es un pobre
pretexto que deposito sobre
la memoria
de las bandas grises del mar”
Alguien dice
“Ella ocasiona
una tristeza en mi persona
necesaria
que trato de no recordar”.

Alguien dice
“Ella es Julieta”,
y miente como aquel poeta
que tan solo
procuró decir la verdad.
Alguien dice
“Ella es el centro
que esmaltó en mí, muy adentro
cada ola
del alba de la soledad”.

Alguien dice
“Ella se ataca
y su brillo es una estaca
en un prisma
que conceptúa el dolor”.
Alguien dice
“Ella es proclive
a no vivir, y cuando no vive
es lo mismo,
tan solo que mucho mejor”.

Alguien dice
“Ella lo es todo.
Vivo en su sombra a mi modo
y me cuesta
cada esquela de razón”.
Alguien dice
“Ella se asoma
al umbral del estío que toma
la celeste
historia de mi corazón”.

I would like to share some more poems from “Once” with you. Remember, you can read another pair here and learn more about the book here and here.

Please have your say in the “Comments” section below. I would love to have your insight on these compositions.

Corazones De Arena

La razón ahora brilla como una luz menos plena
y todo lo que siento es como un engarce
de palabras no dichas que no podrán pronunciarse
y dibujo corazones en corazones de arena.

Mi alma está vacía por haber estado tan llena
y aún busco matices en estos cuadernos
aún busco recuerdos consumados y eternos
dibujando corazones en corazones de arena.

La voz de lo incontrastable es como una sirena
del alma; me llama, la sigo, jamás percibo:
ya no hay retorno a un punto que no concibo
al dibujar corazones en corazones de arena.

Y tu presencia me abre como quien abre una vena
porque no puedo pedirte lo que ya te pedí
ni que me devuelvas los momentos que nunca te di
dibujando corazones en corazones de arena.

El Puente De Un Suspiro

Si tus ojos son el puerto,
y el cielo que respiro
es el sueño en que despierto
¿Es eso el final del viaje,
o es el puente de un suspiro
que me acerca hacia ti?

Y si el tiempo es un momento
quiero que dure por siempre.
Si sentir es lo que siento
con la voz con que te miro
en el puente de un suspiro
que me acerca hacia ti.

Si pintarte es un color
conduciendo al retiro
que me lleva a tu interior,
¿es eso una partida,
o es el puente de un suspiro
que me acerca hacia ti?

Y si el tiempo es un momento,
quiero que dure por siempre.
Si sentir es lo que siento
con la voz conque te miro
en el puente de un suspiro
me siento cerca de ti.

La Segunda Vez

Trunco repercute este juego.
Se pierde el día en el día
se pierde el fuego en el fuego,
pero mis ojos sonríen aunque no sonría.
La primera vez que me falles la culpa será tuya
La segunda vez la culpa será mía.

Anhelarte mata el anhelo,
el porqué, y la monotonía.
Se borra el cielo en el cielo
pero mi alma siente lo que ya no sentía.
La primera vez que me falles la culpa será tuya
La segunda vez la culpa será mía.

Y pierdo luces en mi corazón
y el matiz pierde su valía.
Se muere la razón en la razón
y – no sé cómo – varía lo que no varía.
La primera vez que me falles la culpa será tuya
La segunda vez la culpa será mía.

Fliscornos Otra Vez

No recuerdo sus promesas
cuando escucho una promesa
en todo lo que expresa.
Lo espero en las sombras
y recojo cada sombra
que no nombra.

Y al oír callar el día
su mirada es mi cincel
Pienso en él, pienso en él
y quiero lo que él querría.
Y lo hago a conciencia.
Es cuestión de conveniencia.
Estación de la cosecha
de almas yermas en la mía.

No necesita mentiras
cuando miente sobre la mentira,
la gravidez, y la ira.
No necesita motivos.
Siempre tiene un motivo
redivivo.

Y al oír callar el día
su mirada es mi cincel.
Pienso en él, pienso en él
y quiero lo que él querría.
Y lo hago a conciencia
Es cuestión de conveniencia.
Estación de la cosecha
de almas yermas en la mía.

(Hagan click aquí para leer este artículo en español)

A promise is a promise, there you have the pictures from the launch event for “Once”.

To begin with, publisher Carmen Galusso introduces the ones sitting at the table. Then she talks about the way we worked together up to that date.

Secondly, literature teacher Fabián Severo offers up an excellent critical speech. It is the first time that I listen to a qualified person commenting on my book, and I am enthralled as I see which verses and lines he highlights. You can read his full speech here.

In third place, speech therapist Alejandro de Barbieri Sabatino reads the book’s prologue and three poems that he kindly accepted reading on my behalf.

Finally, it is my turn to speak. It is a very special moment, as I am surrounded by all my loved ones. It is a frankly moving experience. You can read my full speech here.

As a scoop, I can confirm that my first book of English compositions will come out at the end of 2010, or at the start of 2011. It is already finished, but the public has to assimilate “Once” first.