martes, 25 de septiembre de 2012

Talleres de Poesía y Narrativa para Nuevos Escritores

Talleres de Poesía y Narrativa para Nuevos Escritores

Como preámbulo a la versión número 4 del Festival de Poesía y Narrativa Ojo en la Tinta, el Colectivo Literario La Raíz Invertida invita a los talleres de creación literaria Ojo en la tinta (2 talleres de poesía y 2 talleres de narrativa).


“Iniciación al Infierno Musical”

Biblioteca Pública Suba Francisco José de Caldas, JUEVES, 5:30 p.m. (Del 4 de octubre al 6 de diciembre).

Biblioteca Luis Ángel Arango, MARTES, 5:00 p.m. (Del 25 de septiembre al 4 de diciembre)


“Coordenadas de La Ficción”

Biblioteca Pública Parque El Tunal, LUNES, 4:00 p.m. (Del 24 de septiembre al 3 de diciembre)

Biblioteca Pública El Tintal Manuel Zapata Olivella, VIERNES, 4.30 p.m. (Del 28 de septiembre al 7 de diciembre)



Colectivo Literario La Raíz Invertida – Festival de Poesía y Narrativa Ojo en la Tinta


Banco de la República - Biblioteca Luis Ángel Arango
Red Capital de Bibliotecas Públicas - BibloRed
Red Nacional de Estudiantes de Literatura y Afines – REDNEL Colombia
Ministerio de Cultura – Leer es mi cuento 2012


martes, 4 de septiembre de 2012

Ojo en la tinta New poetry from Colombia's Raiz Invertida poetry collective

František Kupka, El desafío (El ídolo negro), 1903

Memorial del árbol
Article and translation of poems by Kevin Barker

By Henry Alexander Gómez

Born in Bogotá (1982), Henry is the founder and director of the Festival de Narrativa y Poesía, Ojo en la Tinta (Eye in the ink). His poems appear in the short Colombian poetry samplers Piedras en el trópico (2011), (Stones in the tropics) and Raíces del viento (2011), (Roots of the wind). His most recent book, Memorial del Árbol, is being published shortly.

There are suns that fall

An angel toys in the branches of the tree.

It is so great, the abyss
and so quiet, the roof of the world
that we embrace its grief,
and we drink aguardiente,
and we cry,
because we do not understand
how God plays with his stone fingers
among the poplar leaves¬


She walks through the streets squandering her nakedness
and later drinks a field of logs,
silenced by fire.
He sneaks into the cinema of the afternoon
and cries with shoes in the air.

A valley of campaigns.

A fly buzzes morbund among old papers.
the rain falls on a guitar abandoned in the desert.

The devil said he would take us home¬


" the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?".
 - William Blake.

The enigma of its skins surprises me again
at the hour of death.
Again, the dawn undermining anguish
and the terrible secrets; I have dreamed a blind jaguar
giving birth to the thousands of mirrors that preceded him
from the first tiger of Adam in paradise
a labyrinth of black pearls, of black rings of fire,
shaded strokes of black jade,
in the golden ivory that underlies the gloom
of the untamed jungle.

What immortal vision? What mystery hides your flesh?
Your flaming blind eyes follow me still
in the darkness of my steps to the tomb,
like a stone of immutable gold
in the comfort of Allah's desert firmament.

I dreamed him a thousand and one nights in this eternal dawn
I dreamed him in the form of the tiger, the lynx, the leopard,
in the form of the puma, the lion, and the imposing panther.
I dreamed him in the infamous face of the hunter
and in the bloody face of the sorcerer.
I dreamed him on the altar of the blood of a race
that venerated the terrible symmetry of the universe.

I dreamed him wooing, in the afternoon of a dead tree,
and devouring a man under the Amazonian flood
from the hand of Poe and Blake I dreamed also of Tzinacán1
in his closed hemisphere, deciphering the scriptures of God
in his indecipherable skin.

Taken from:

Henry Alexander Gómez
Memorial del árbol (2012)