WildlizaArchive for the '' Category

Gorse

Mércores, Febreiro 4th, 2004

Toxo

Mum, mum , where’s mum?

The last thoughts in her head, now are the noise of the machines.
The dressmaking machines.
The fashion-machines.
Exploitation it is not fashionable, then let’s put the fashinable-brothel in a fashionable-chicken factory, in the middle of the gorse.

She works at a chicken-factory.
Well, there’re no chicken, but the air is full of sweet and heat.
Many womans, like her, working at the same time in with the fashion-machines.
She tryes to think in Pepiño, four years old, so cute,and so small.
She loves to go with Pepiño to the mountain, to go for a walk.

There aren’t many free time.
Many weekends she is working.
Go for a walk to the mountain with Pepe, his husband, and with cute Pepiño.
Go picnic, between the gorse, the lovely galician toxos.
Yellows spots of the xorimas, the flowers of the gorse, along the hills, behind the sea.
In othe mountain far of the mountatin of the fashionable-chicken factory.

When she was a girl, she loved to go with grandpa to the mountain.
Grandpa was a intelligent man.
Grandpa knew the sciense of to do the zocas, the traditional wood’s shoes, imprescindible in other times when there wasn’t Wellington’s, only zocas.
Lovely days too , near the lareira, with histories between the fire and the tenderness of the family.
Gorse. gorse.
Green and yellow.
Love and explotation.
Mountain and blacksea.
Gorse, toxo’s galician yinyan.
Gorse iconic, in an iconic land.
Sara went with grandpa to collect gorse, to use as firewood.
Sara now was lacing green trousers, one piece, other and a madeinmarroco docket.
Marroco at Galicia.
Sara didn’t saw the bodkin, and the red began to dye the green.
She stopped to think aboud this new kind ot gorse, who give her blood on the green, but no histories at the night.
No family tenderness of grandpa.
Only Pepe and Pepiño, her precious treasures.
No toxos for a little of heat, only a broken bloody bodkin for a little of money.
Gorses.

Comments:|Comentarios
mr santos on 10/02/2004
hello i realy love your spanish poetry its so country like so uncivilizeated .yo are my fan

on 10/02/2004
http://www.intermonoxfam.org/page.asp?id=1095

The unemployment card

Martes, Xaneiro 13th, 2004

tsara

Dad, the cartoon, why today I can’t see the cartoon.
Dad say nothing. Dad arrive later ten minutes. Dad is a criminal for that. Dad don’t think so. When you have no work, Galician government give you a card. A card, telling you when you need to return to the unemployment office.
The unemployment office open between 9 a.m to 2 p.m. , but the card says clearly that you need to go between nine and eleven, and if not, you’ll lose whatever right . But Pepe was soo tired too waking up today.
DADDYYYY I WANT TO SEE SIN-CHÁN.

Shin-Chan, the name of a cartoon of the Galician TV. Xose, little Xose four years old see the cartoon every evening, when he return from the school.
Pepe say nothing. Pepe arrive ten minutes late because he works every night at a local company, loading potato coats. But no contract, and no money, so enough to eat, not many more.
Mr. José, -says that woman at the unemployment office- we can’t guarantee your rights, because in the card put clearly that we renovate the card between nine and eleven, now its time to get attention to look for a job.
Pepe can’t go ahead for more time. Pepe say nothing, Pepe see her
SINCHAAAAAANN.
Because these ten minutes, Pepe loses the money which pays the government to him, and that he uses to pay the flat.
Now , where to live?
DAAAAAAADDDY
What it will be about his little Xose. Xosiño, my dear, he lose his mother time ago , he lose his mother because she worked in a company who uses toxic products. A big-fashionable company all around the word, but which it paid nothing to her, nothing for Pepe and Xosiño. No money for Pepe, and no money for little Xosiño.
Pepe starts crying
Dadda why youth arrre criiiyingggg?
and Xosiño is crying too.
Pepe open the gas. Pepe give a big and strong hug to Xosiño.
Years ago, when Pepe have no money , He went to the sea to look for fish anything, to search for any seafood for the him and his parents.
But not now. Because thirty years and five black tides before, no free food avaliable on the Galician coast.
The gas cover the room while the cartoons of the Galician TV made stupid gags in a Castilian accent.

Comments:|Comentarios
Catu @ catuxa.blogspot.com on 13/01/2004
We should give Pepiño a second chance to fight for his Rights. Let him watch ShinChan and keep on fighting.

un máis, un menos, pero un on 14/01/2004
Dad, son, another world is possible: try for. For you, for me, for all. We need it.

The hostel

Martes, Xaneiro 13th, 2004

xubia

The hostel.
The hostel is cold, The room is alone.
Smell to men working.
No much, only a little. So cold to smell anything.
Today is friday, normally in that kind of rooms come men to sleep from Monday to Thursday.
The room of the hostel is cold, and all the terrace is of the seventies, from times when the people had money. Yes, from the times in which people had money and they spent it in putting floor tiles in the facade of its houses.
Not now, Not at Freixeiro, not at Ferrolterra. Now the floor tiles fell on the ground.

I go to the bathroom.
Humity and more cold.
I touch the tubes of the heating
The heat is cold. No heating in winter.
I open the hot water. Is the only hot thing here. Maybe it’s a kind of hot-cold water.There’re a forgotten and pink used soap, with pink water around it.
I return to the room.
A chair of the sixties, living with a wardrove of the ninetees, probably buyed at the hipermarket, that hipermarket that grew with the economic disaster of the eighties.
I see a narrow door. A white and cheap narrow door. I open the door , and there’re a small terrace. More humity, more cold. I see the street. The buildings of three and four floors withouth elevator, the buildings with floor tiles, the swimming-pool houses, like I like to say.
The light signs of a karaoke.
Cars. Cars of the seventies. Cars of today. All of them, baroque cars like a statue of a virgin in a Galician rural church.
The museums are for the politicians, people use cars.
I return to the room.
There are a small television. very small, with a small antenna. The television is over the mirror, over a little toilet.
The plug of the television it’s wrapped by the wires. But at the ceiling there’re a low-comsuption light.
Yes, not heating , but you can use the television from the bed. Digital era in the swimming-pool house.
Pink-orange walls.
It’s Narón.

Comments:|Comentarios
regedit on 14/01/2004
There is a littles difficulties of grammatic in our text, both yours and mine, but your style is unique. Because this is a personal opinion, I must to say that I am deeply depressed with rainbows of happiness on forward sights. I do not know why do can I feel so identifying with you, but it is the very truth. Go on, and give some many presents like this to the people. Thank you, meu.

drinking sangria at Galician beaches

Luns, Xaneiro 5th, 2004

we are sick of being a colony

There’re many people who come to Galicia to discover our landscapes, to do the camino or to relax of their work. But not all, others came to taste sangria, spend the night talking with the boyos buyers of the luxurious yatch’s, and making fun about the rural people.

This people, will be turn their holidays in a waste of time, at least in my opinion. Why? If you do that answer, probably you’ll need to review your data about Galicia.
Maybe it’s easy if i start to talk about, for example, Ibiza. To many people from Europe, specially from UK and Germany, say ‘Ibiza’ it’s to say ‘easy and funny sex, nights to dance, days to drink’ . Yap. Maybe it’s true, maybe not, but I discovered that at a times it is more strong talk about another ‘cliché’ that about all the reality.

But I’ll will say what i feel when people come here trying to discover where are the bullfights ,or telling us “how so bad-mannered you are to not talk in Spanish [Castillian]“. Were not idiots. We are not terrorist for talking in Galician.We are a peaceable and worker People. Maybe the Galician People talk in other language (galician) and have no idea about the english language, or about travel to the Seychelles, or the many adventures that you had when you was a teen. But, believe me, it’s sure that there’re good reasons to that situations.
Our culture it’s great, but the economy in Galiza it is not o.k. Is far of that. Yes, we have now modern highways,and three airports, but in many rural areas, village in where it’s difficult to survive, to finish the month, it’s hard enought to keep in mind your family, that to spend money driving along fast highways(no highway to heaven here, only outside, to Madrid) or taking an aeroplane, to where?. And only for can’t have this experiences, we aren’t idiots. We aren’t unlucky: only hard times for Galicia. I hope better times, we need it.

I know that in Galicia not all the people have the same way of life. Like in the rest of the world, in Galicia there are rich people, poor people, intelligent and idiot people. But there are many hopitalary people who never say you hello… because your hotel it’s far enough of their houses.

And at the last times tourism mean not always a better chance to the Galicians. Of course, sure that Scotland or Berlin it’s expensive, but that’s not mean that for the Galicians it’s cheaper to try buy a house of their own. And with the tourism, at many times the cost of life and the the prices grow and grow, and the properties are bought by foreigners, then there’re no way to live in their land, and sadly, Galicians still emigrate. Of course foreigners are always welcome [at least for me!], I only what to talk about the reality of here, because there not many writers with works in english language about Galicia , or Galicians.
I wish in future we can go to everywere. Not for emigration, not to conquire. To relax and learn.

Wildliza

Luns, Xaneiro 5th, 2004

Wildliza

The Wildliza. The Wildliza, the times, the cement, The humity, the local mafia.

The plastic windows, The plastic bags, the plastic people. The mariscadas in the pubs. The people of the mariscadas. The garçons. The fuel, the no fuel, the antifuel, the poetry of the in-absence of the fuel. The rich. The poor. The extremely poor.. The people who don’t have the word poor.

The Conselleiros. The secretary of the conselleiros, The secretary of group A of the conselleiro. The lover of the conselleiro. The second woman of the conselleiro. The third Audi of the conseiro. The inexistent degree of the conselleiro. The travels of the conselleiro. The ignorance of the conselleiro. The clothing bill’s of the conselleiro.

Wildliza, my land

Comments:|Comentarios
Agremon on 06/01/2004
Note last words of paragraphs: local mafia, word poor, and the conselleiro. Or, reorganized: the local word, poor conselleiros’s mafia.