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Songs From Angelus Novus

I am let loose of normality:

Like Columbus, l face a sea of fire

In the clouds and sky: a massive scale

And power is America.



Flor de naranja, orange joy!

Flower of temptation, sucking desire

For your juices, lending power

To my vara sonajera, Pene del Sol,

Creative torrent, obsession for sex

Of the shaman, power of the sun

To penetrate the female, the supernatural world;

Unleash knowledge, imagine myths,

Be vehicle and vesicle for immense powers

Of spirit and art, like the search to vagina,

Obsession for the female, in the artist shaman.



Weld your sadness into some deep harmony,

Kake your inner spaces of sea and cave

lnto myths glorious as martyrdoms,

Turn the wild wolf in your howling forest

lnto the cry of droning waves

In the oceans of your ecstasy.




As if on the brink of a huge mountain peak

Viewing over vast Amazonian sights,

Western Civilization‘s mighty curse

Folds inexorably over all untamed land -

A dragon breathing its evil fire, blind

To what it burns up, destroys,

Or transmutes to mediocrity. Blundering

And violent, it stamps on precious eggs unaware of the life

It has put out - unaware of the terror it makes

For the birds, insects, grubs, jaguars,

Dreaming primaeval eternity in otherworldly forest,

Drowned in unconsciousness and timelessness;

But the dragon knows Time, if little else,

And sows its poison of guilt, theft, and shame.




Without such power, no love would be -

Without your beauty, your sacred mind,

Your spirit as a torrent from the core of love,

Your truth that flows from the glorious lake

At the centre of the universe, clasped in soft

Sweetness: from you, energy and power

Of depth and survival pour and pour.




I thought l flew to the very heights

The shaman‘s realm of celestial flight

Where tragedy intense raced my veins

And I met psychic love there




Sea of fire exploding

Of some deep yearning

Burning so hard within the brain




There are those who tread the path

Of danger, though in secrecy;

They are redeemed, though they flaunt

The holy light, rail against bars

Of reality, flail against normality,

Walk on the edge of visionary bliss.




I can look into the very interior of air

Where from a realm of night, flames burst out

Turning my pen to fire, as in a shaman‘s hut

Visions burst in colour from the night.

There is a story to be narrated:

How in the beginning the celestial stars

Were brought down to earth by poets of power

So that human beings could learn to see

The real behind appearances, the reasons for events -

Could explore their souls in natures´s forces.

Thus I pursue to the omega and alpha,

The archetypal flight and creative vision

Of mankind - fire-maker, jaguar,

Creator of poetry and planter of sperm.




How beautiful is the night:

The night is sweet and warm

As I think of you, and let music

Of memory appear.




Darkness in the night

Baying hounds in the mind

Shaman changing to jaguar

Not altering culture or psyche

Going beyond society

Entering nature and supernature –

No comparisons can be

With values of other humanity




In your thighs of bliss l pump

Into labia I shoot

lnto soft warm paradise

I lose my mind,

Enter union

Of bodies in equinox.




When the time comes for Peru‘s “development”,

When goats will no longer nibble grass on the motor-way in the centre of Lima,

When passengers will no longer be taken on a tricicleto in Pucallpa

Along the battered streets, bananas piled by the way,

Girls with smiles exploding in the sun,

When everything will no longer be totally unpredictable,

Making love to the girls being a mixture of heaven and hell,

Then will something have left the grand fantasy of mankind,

And the world will be a little sadder.




Ah, Liliana, did l deceive you —

Did l not keep a burning fire

Under the surface in caverns of the mind

For you, where nothing is clear,

Where depths of ocean rage and roar

Below airs where the sun pounds and pours

And where winds blow sweet perfumes, soft

As a spirit pure, bereft of power

From machines‘ desire, mad intoxications -

Jungle heat and wild explosions —

Ah, Liliana, my mermaid dream,

Whore of the mountains and tyrants‘ realm,

Under the surface of extreme fires

l kept a cave for you.




When l see in your face of stars

And l dream the vision from mud

Ah, I remember the struggle, suffering,

To reach the smile of peace.




Peru is when the sunset comes

Makes dark in a dusty bustling town

Chickens, shouts, loud motors

Strangely still as dusk comes

ln a café

With sopa de gallina.

Outside on the other street gather

Las chicas for the night's game,

Waiting by the trees, mixed smells

Gathering and floating like evening dreams.



Amid all the idle philosophies of the world,

The twists  and turns of power,

You give some soul and body-weary fools

A glimpse of paradise.




Those who take the reddest flowers

Can get stung - the journey is dangerous

To beauty, lying in wait are mouths

Hungry and biting that know to deceive.

This you must accept as you learn wisdom -

Caution must be balanced with giving in

To the lure of adventure, practical mastery

Of life must be blended with vision, whose object

Is unpredictable, shifting, like a dancer with a thousand veils

Who confuses the mind in plenitude.




Fevered I walk among high clouds

In flaming robes

Who is the king and who the clown




Like wool before a blazing fire

Is a person´s being -

Ready to burst into crazy love

And flames.




For eyes fuelled by crazy desires

All women in the world look like whores,

Hanging at doors, leaning in the street,

Tempting into their dark wet danger,

Pouting, protruding breasts and buttocks,

Luring intrusion into caves of mystery,

Stars that conceal as they excite,

Signs, constellations auguring bliss or chaos;

Drugs that stir sleeping waters

lnto currents and flames of disorder.




As you sleep your sleep in gold beds,

As the blood of the dead and starving courses your brain,

Are your dreams of the misery your trading feeds

Upon, or are they of islands and palm trees

ln bliss, bikinis and expensive beauty

In the cream of the world, that feeds from

The earth and bones of humanity?




After all this catastrophe

Whence comes redemption

Incendiary of the soul

Global liberation

White light blazing love

Brother/sister to brother

Liquidation of poverty

Explosive end to prison

Friendship universal, why not why not?

Magenta eyes of a pretty girl

Fruits of the Amazon

Ayahuasca in the jungle

Truth in the sunshine

Joy in making love

Beauty in conversation

Love and power in all art

Satisfaction in work

Achievement in challenge

Long drink after exhaustion

Good ideas from philosophers

Fantasies from fantasizers

Poetry from poets

Visions with shamans

Fables from storytellers

Jokes from the trickster

Laughter with friendship

Intoxication with alcohol

Explosion of oneness

In the power of the world.




How are your dreams, my sweet boy,

How are your dreams tonight?

The jungle sounds are playing games

With me, all round, tonight.


O are there flames, my darling boy,

Are there flames in your sleep tonight?

Don't cry my little love, don't cry,

Just turn to your sweet mama.




All death and love can merge in you

All sweetness lies within your skin

You make my dreams return to you

The night walks in your loveliness




Warmth that puts the body through its paces

Warmth that makes the body feel

Warm wool waiting to burn

Flight to the outer realms of imagination

To meet the jaguar, ancestors, plant spirits,

To join the stars in the highest intensity

Of special-coloured Ayahuasca.




You pay una chica, you fly to heaven

You take Ayahuasca, and you go there too

All the world is there for the wanderer, searcher

Though you fall hard down if you lose the balance

Of generous trickster with innocent.




To be a poet means to fly

To the unknown sky like a visionary eagle,

Swoop alone and collect the fruits

To plunge blood in the underseas

Where darkness reigns, and then persist

In higher flight until you learn

Immortality from wise spirits

Who dwell with the stars in the sky.




Enter this life as if your spirit were great,

Throw your heart on fire into the sea of love;

Gather with your dreams the perfumes of gigantic flowers,

Let your visions spill as the music from Mozart's piano.

Have no fear of death, let no man be an enemy,

Unsheathe your sword only to take a next vital step on your path,

Gaze upon the wondrous faces of women's beauty

And love their wisdom, warmth, their protective flowers of love

And love them with all the liquid flame in your body

Streaming like insane rivers of wild colour

So to discover whatever wisdom there is in books

And whatever joy without evil there might be in classrooms.

Enter the world as if it were a jungle of delicious fruit,

Let your visions burst and roll in primaeval profusion.

Be not deceived by illusory fear

Nor the Emperor's clothes of authority,

Nor the scramble for status, power, awe, or reputation;—

But any fame that comes due to the beauty of your songs

Enjoy, and influence - if you can,

Those who hear to embrace their freedom.




Let that wild beauty come again

l cannot get enough of it

Let that incantation to the sun

Give to downpours of holy light

Let joy as honey burst in flames

Flaring up my heart to happiness

ln the world go on fire in excess

Let its heart erupt in halos




Let the world burst in revolution

Global explosion of kings and warriors

Bust open the System

Change with Light

End malevolent Power

All kinds of lousy power

Reconstruct the world

In beauty and sanity




Though death has stalked me like an evil demon

I can fight, l will survive.

The prong in the jungle rose will not

Dismiss me from the battle.

Fucking hard it is to be

A shaman.




With this vision of absolute beauty

I take my leave of Peru

l do not like Peru

I am in love with her again




A bird in the air

Is this aeroplane

A shaman as eagle

Is the dream

Never coming to end

As long as we are here

The flames of vision are burning


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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