Alberto Quero holds a BA in Literature and Linguistics, a Masters in Venezuelan literature and a Doctorate in Humanities by the University of Zulia, Venezuela. He has published six books of short stories and a book of poems in Spanish. He has written poems in English, which have been published in England, Canada and the USA. He is a member of the Iberian American Writers’ Association, the International Writers’ Parliament in Colombia and the Semiotics Association of Venezuela. He is also a reporter for Latin America at “Literary News”, a radio show aired on CKCU 93.1 FM, at Carleton University, Ottawa, Canada.
FRAGMENTS
To escape out of this spot of filament and anguish
I go quickly and invent a moment which lacks of future or past,
an instant that is unlikely to be called complete, and perhaps it never will.
To attend a calling that I doubt I can fulfill,
I erase, I accommodate, I change, and I return:
a burst in which I myself may suddenly get lost.
This journey has not yet ended
but anyway I keep on looking for something:
epitaphs do not convoke me for I know their trace.
Some of my certitudes still remain,
I know I have let some word escape,
a breath, able to construct something;
I also know that the name for some blockings is still pending,
the title for some isolation.
A single verse song comes to my mind,
the only one that I have written so far,
and that I may never finish.
Some day, I suppose, I am meant to regroup myself,
and I will collect this archipelago,
but not for now.
And it is neither fear nor outrage
but origin and survival of something that is postponed.
To jump, I think: only fragmentary things live.
FRAGMENTS
To escape out of this spot of filament and anguish
I go quickly and invent a moment which lacks of future or past,
an instant that is unlikely to be called complete, and perhaps it never will.
To attend a calling that I doubt I can fulfill,
I erase, I accommodate, I change, and I return:
a burst in which I myself may suddenly get lost.
This journey has not yet ended
but anyway I keep on looking for something:
epitaphs do not convoke me for I know their trace.
Some of my certitudes still remain,
I know I have let some word escape,
a breath, able to construct something;
I also know that the name for some blockings is still pending,
the title for some isolation.
A single verse song comes to my mind,
the only one that I have written so far,
and that I may never finish.
Some day, I suppose, I am meant to regroup myself,
and I will collect this archipelago,
but not for now.
And it is neither fear nor outrage
but origin and survival of something that is postponed.
To jump, I think: only fragmentary things live.
© Alberto Quero