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Jimi Hendrix In Asunción

He was inspired in some outer star,

His mind created from other spheres,

In absolute control, absolute wildness,

Fingers in such rapid Dionysian exactness

The Greeks would have been mesmerised.

For me, he is at the ultimate pinnacle

Of some unnamed beauty, which I love.


Flying into this night, Asunción

I love it here, peaceul, calm

Friendly, members of the universe,

The soul direct to the guitar.





O who might have a tragic destiny

Like a sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,

Like a gipsy boy, O so yes

The wanderer and the drifting dream


The Portuguese wanted Solís back,

A mistake they had made losing him to Spain:

Era el más excelente hombre

De su tiempo en su arte.......

As the USA lost Hendrix to England,

They did not see who he was at all.

Evidently Díaz de Solís was a strange

And difficult man, not unknown in prison.

Mysterious suspicions and accusations

Accompanied him throughout his life,

Across the border between Portugal and Spain

Especially.  He was a mariner.


Strange, lost, exiled adventurers

With hearts filled with strange dreams,

Hopes of a silver mountain;  maybe

To find Love somewhere

Hallucinogenic impulses and visions

Shining like crazy diamonds

Outside the ordinary, trying other

Mistresses of extraordinary juices

Fruits of foreign mountains, bays of hope

Or hunger, the dead cold plodding life

Abandoned, like a poor baby

In swaddling clothes outside a monastery,

Later to become an artist.

Death unfeared, or at least,

Put to uneasy sleep.


And then when you want another smoke

The ship turns because of a storm,

Pelting waves rain in fury

The ship creaks in agony


Out on the edge of a ship that seems

To be sinking, every captain knows tricks

For the moment of disaster or discovery

Held in a primitive part of the brain


Pushed to extreme, music floods

From the medulla, danger dances

To sublime tunes of invisible pipers

Serenading in the fiords,

Drinking depths of gulping hell

To which all know they will go.


At that intensity and pitch

The dense clouds crash

The ocean gulps into its stomach

Death crunches with bare teeth


Tim Cloudsley nació Cambridge, Inglaterra. Es sociologo, escritor y poeta. Trabajó como profesor en la Escuela de Idiomas, de la Universidad Industrial de Santander, Bucaramanga en el ámbito de estudios culturales y literatura.

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