lunes, 4 de mayo de 2015

In this blog I am publishing my project "Ballad of the Rose" as a whole.

This project consists of an album with seven piano tracks
and a poem with twenty illustrations
which you can read below this intro.

I've illustrated and designed the art cover of this project too. 

You can listen the whole album in the following player
(or in my bandcamp where you can download it in High Audio quality too)

my official art page:



You are not
but that Word
which burns in the shadow
of a nonexistent rose bunch

The one that was cut down        
with a single stroke
by the invisible axe
of my autumn days

You are not
but a child
who shivers 
by the warmth 
of an imaginary sun

A flower
by a God incognito
in order to deceive me                  
to believe
in his sublime presence

Such is the power of your unwonted fragrance

Is it not your existence
that omniscient absence of you
that Nothingness which makes of this world
your corporeal and aching reverse?

Are not those dried petals
softly left behind your trail
the luminescent trace
of an extinct species?

From the magic and enigmatic doe 
only remains 
the golden silhouette

The brightness of a halo
which fades leisurely                
while stealthy into the forest


Go open in two
the sea that separates us

Make of my words
a bare flesh stigma
so that I can breath 
of your Heaven
through the bleeding

Make one of those
your gestures
biblical and facetious:

Announce yourself
in the aching smile
of some transvestite

Show yourself
in the pubic hair
of the young candidate

or in the inebriate tear
of the cabin boy

Incarnate your presence
in some livre maudit 
that our reading redeems
and doing so
making it Be

Announce at last your sign
in the fart

Announce yourself
in the faeces 
of some dirty lover

or in any other
of your beautiful creations

Announce yourself in the angel
Announce yourself in the shadow
Announce yourself wherever you wish

But announce yourself


I show you my worn veins
of fine and poisonous flow
for you to inject 
with the incandescent needle 
of your Verb
the incendiary nectar 
of the prodigious flowers

Make the unbelievable happen:
the thunder of a beat
in the heart of a corpse

Make of me the astonished Virgin
the rose illuminated by the angel
the enslaved flower of your Word

Make of me your announced beauty
or simply

make of me


on the sea mirror
a child floats

The spectral breath
his mouth exhales
swings the rose
in the shroud
that veils his face


The shipwrecked rose
thrown by the tide 
on the shore


right before
being dragged
back to the sea
by the undertow

Your name 
written on the sand

covered by a shroud


From the strange night
that arrives to the ports
a cabin boy disembarks
wearing wind in his feet

His soul staggers
still rocked
by the funereal caress
of the ghost sea
that roars in his body

recently tattooed
on his chest
the rose bleeds

His spectral existence
towards everything
that of you 

The swallow takes flight
over the end of the world

and vanishes there
where your look 


The dame blade
cuts the nocturnal lace
with which the lament
ornaments itself

There is nothing
in this funeral parlour:
the empty coffin
of a corpse
who fled away
having pulled
all the terrible jewels 
out of eternity


Star pollen
covers the waters
of the labyrinth sea
that around you

The birds discern
the sweet sparkles
of the old treasure
sunken there

The absence of a body
over your waters


His feet
are those of a saint

I’ve wanted to listen
his reliquary voice

paying attention to his words
which shine
unfleshed to the bone

discern the calm
inherent to the storm

A hundred ghosts shape his presence
solemn fragrance of a funeral
moan of an angelus
in the cathedral of the Verb

Place, Paul,
your hands on my head
and cure my leprous eyes
in the name of God


It is here
in the dawn of the limits
that I catch a miracle
almost by mistake:

managing to see
the demented reflexion
of me
in the sky

Right here
in the unintelligible 
of all of that
that is aware
of being eternal


Guillotining rose
with daybreak literature
you fall from the gallows
from which you were dragged 
by men

You shout to my hearing
a sublime hope
while they move 
your body away
turned into ashes

The executioner believes
extinct your Word
not knowing 
it is still shining
by the head of John

There, where the sign comes
giving aid to you,
the night palpitates

the night 
in which your heart

Wearing those sandals
which have stepped on Death
you are reborn again
from the promise
in which you died

And with a strange gesture
of immense tenderness
you tuck me in silence
with a blanket of light


You all have received the torch
from the hand of the angels
but you have not set fire to it

The night arrives
with its bramble of desires

The young lads go out
to the soulless streets
hiding from the furtive sun
that took shelter
in their houses

The nocturnal flowers howl
in the light of the sapphire
-that tear
in the flow of the skies-

The poets sign their verses
with criminal gestures

Beauty turns pale
in the trembling vanity
of their words

It is said
Death neglects her work
because of those gloomy effects
of little rigour

But it is 
because of the loudness
of this vain ritual
that the nettles bloom
in the broken corners
of the heart

You observe the scene
from the shadows
it casts 

While the rats 
nibble the stars
Silence falls
on the palm 
of your hand

Just like that
you pressure it
with all your Always
till transforming it
into a diamond

It is in this here 
that your fist bleeds
in the eternity
of this instant


The swallow comes
to drink from the darkness
of the wound

There, where your body
to the star-filled sky

There, where the miracle

I sink my mouth
in the warm stigma
without any shyness

I behold your night
and I look away



I have seen
your naked body
behind a nightly veil
making of its coffin
a cup of light

I see your naked body
happening in matter
mutating this world
in a prodigious scene

You don’t talk about
making the miracle
but seeing the miraculous
that beats in the atom
and between the pots

Give me a branch
and for you I will see
a branch

Give me a stone
and for you I will see
a stone



The idea of you
possesses the power of the metal
with which forcing the door
that goes to the marvelous

It is
in that glow
that I reencounter
the image of you
that is in me
projected on the sky

It is
in that unintelligible place
that beauty unfolds
and precipitates
as a salty rain
with bittersweet flavours
and hardened to life


The Sun shines with the splendour of a radiant stigma
as if a roman soldier would have pierced the sky with his lance
and it would bleed bunches of light over our heads

Pain falls as a celestial hemorrhage
inflaming my heart with flashes of devotion
squeezing from my throat the thorny chant
of the rose bunch you planted on my chest
with golden seeds


Those ilegible longings
that isolate me from the world
get transformed over the years
in a strange contortion

A mortal somersault
executed in the weightless

Bloody exhalation
of my wound’s reverse

Future adopts
the audacity of a skylight
through which the reflexions
of the marvelous
sneak in

The distance of you
does nothing 
but aggravating
the strange persistence
of your beauty

The light of your name
turns this muddy world
into a translucent picture
as if this creation would be
the beautiful stained glass
of a cathedral
through which
the Sun penetrates
heating the skin
that covers my face
with luminescent figures
that talk about you


You leave the death
men gave to you
to come back with the signs
of an eternal season

You come back 
with a breach in your look
as if that look would be 
a beautiful fresco
cracked by the time

as if that look would be 
the sky’s tapestry
by the lighting bolt

You come back
in the same way it has lived
the one who remembers you
and I remember you
covered by a scarlet mantle
as a forest 
of which nothing is visible
but the golden summit

You come back
with the rage
of an imprisoned animal

with the vigour of a cedar
or the power of a hammer 
hitting the sword

You come back
with the furious beauty
of a perennial rose

with the defiant majesty
of a blazing sceptre

and the idea of never 
going away



The Unhurriness
with which the prisoners
walk together
during their breaks

tracing circles
around an empty centre 

that translucent voidness
which lurking invisibility

Far from there:
the Image
of a gang of monks
inhabiting the silence
in the heart
of a monastery


Both realities
are the mute echo
of a cyclical eternity

An echo that repeats
with a light and distant
some Thing
that has never
been said


It is said
is the feudal castle
that safeguards Beauty

Just like 
that glacial sweat
martyrs exude
in the hour of their torture.
Sweat that freezes
their aching gestures
turning them 
in hieratic statues
filled with a Faith
so intact
as incandescent

The kind of sweat
that safeguards Hope

Words, instead,
are the refuge of the desperate

The sheltering temple
of the ones condemned 
to create fantasies
around an ardid
spinning in turn
in another cyclical 

But an eternity
that repeats failures
in the emptiness
of everything
that has been said

Only you 
are able to cover
the two shores of that river
about which poets talk
and monks keep quiet


It is during my diurnal words
that you instantly vanish
as if they were
the defective veil
that poorly covers 
the body
of a living corpse
which Is not yet

you always return
during my nocturnal vigils
offering yourself
in the cup of your hands
offering me
a shining mystery:
the luminescent seed
that gives to each word
its meaning

And it is during the dawn
right before opening
the eyes
that I manage
to recognize
your fragrance
still persistent
between the sheets

Every time I awake
Every time I imagine 

you appear

announcing yourself
in the Rose
that crucified 
on my chest 


Álvaro Barcala ©

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