Mónica Caldeiro is essentially obscene and likes to write verses ever since she was a child. She studied Spanish Philology in the University of Barcelona (UB) and had her DEA (graduate studies) in English Philology, specializing in American and African American literature. She adores being artistically stoned and, thus, she has shared different projects with other poets, musicians and visual artists, such as PoeTrips & The Blue Bus Band (spoken word & jazz) and Obra Negra (poetic prose and visual arts). Last year she co-founded, with Víctor López

LaGounda the poetic duo La Patilla & La Visceralidad. In Barcelona, you can find her in bars, closed or open mics and poetry festivals and has also performed in readings and festivals in different cities of Spain. She leads a poetry section on a radio program called Radio Contrabanda, where she invites poets to read and share their souls. She joyfully co-works and helps the Xarxa de Poesia Urbana de Barcelona. She is co-founder, worker and ideologist of the printing house Homicidas del LP. Many people calls Mónica Campanilla de Cobre (Tinker Bell), also known as Visceralidad.

una decisión

La ira es un bosque que anhela su propia tala
y sin embargo endeble e innecesario
su poder podría ser preciosamente abrumador
pero algo debilita esas gemas,
algo reblandece las joyas turquesinas y vibrantes
cuando se acercan peligrosamente
a la hoguera y la llama

si mi capacidad fuera ilimitada
podría rescatarlas, esas piedras preciosas
que reflejan un sol que por ajeno
infiere obscenidades
y hace falta talento, hace falta escritura
para sobrevivir
hace falta entereza, otros recorridos, otras maneras
para encontrar un aliento
aún no contaminado

podría fácilmente retomar la lucha

ponerme por bandera esta guerrera que he sido
hacer retumbar las lociones para pelo de muerto
con grasa de cocina
manifestar que descalza me entiendo mejor
y así dialogo con el mundo

no me permito de mi propia boca pronunciarme
con esas palabras que mueven montañas
-elijo con mi fuerza moverme a mí misma

no me permito dejarme caer por cascadas de piedras
rozar sus esquinas/ cubrirme
de magulladuras
golpearme y dislocarme los miembros
una vez más/ noche tras noche
hacer de mi vivencia algo no auténtico
sino dependiente de otros que generan
esa máquina desengrasada con los frenos sin pulsar
desinhibida máquina de matar
de matarme a mí misma

yo crecí para otros asuntos
estiré mis ramas para atrapar redondeces
observar la manifestación caleidoscópica del sufrimiento
humano o del mío propio
crecí para reblandecer las joyas
que pudieran hacer de mis miembros extremidades pétreas
y qué otra manera sino de respirar
qué otra manera de buscar la superficie/ si no

sin la combustión suficiente
las heridas permanecen
mi decisión es
abrirlas para coserlas
coserlas con un dedal ardiendo
abrasado rojo y encendido
que nada llueva, que nada lo apague
que sortee todo barbecho
y que la ira fluya, fluya obstinada
con mi beso negro
en su dulce,
dulce y prestigioso/ ano
de fuego

One decision

Wrath is a forest longing for his felling
though poor and unnecessary

its power could be overwhelming
but something weakens the gems,
something melts the turquoise and vibrant jewels
when they come
dangerously
‘round the fire and the flame

if I were capable and unlimited
I could save them precious jewels
who reflect a sun being alien
being obscene
and it takes talent, it takes writing
to survive
it takes integrity, other routes, other ways
to find a breath
not yet polluted

I could easily take up my struggle again
put me as a flag this warrior I’ve been
make the shampoos for the hair of the dead
resound with the grease from cooking
demonstrate that I communicate better
when I’m barefoot and thus,
I establish dialogues with the world

I won’t tell from my own mouth
these words that move mountains
-I choose, with my strength, to move
my own self

I won’t leave my self falling from stonefalls
graze its corners/ cover me
with bruises
beat me and break me the limbs
once more and again/ night after night
make with my experience s/thing not authentic
but depending on others who make
the unlubricated machine with the unpressed brakes
the uninhibited killing machine
/who kills my self

I was bred for another business
I moved my boughs to trap roundness
to observe the kaleidoscopic demonstration
of human suffering or my own
I was bred to melt the jewels
who could make my limbs stoned parts

and how can you breath if not
how look for the surface/ if not

w/out enough combustion
our wounds remain
my decision is
to open and stitch them
with a thimbleburning
burning, burning burning
ignited red and lighted
nothing shall rain it,
nothing shall turn it down
avoiding fallows
so wrath flows, flows obstinate
with my black kiss
in its sweet
sweet and prestigious/ anus
in fire