HECTOR CANONGE is a Latinx artist and writer of Catalan and Bolivian descent. Born in Buenos Aires, Argentina, Canonge spent his childhood in Bolivia, and grew up in New York City where he studied Comparative Literature and Media Arts. His literary research focuses on gender narratives in Hispanic Literature. His essays have been included in journals and literary publications presented in the United States and Latin America. His book of poetry treating issues of human displacement, Veinte Jornadas Para Llegar A Vos was published by Complot Press while he lived in Bolivia in 2021. His creative work incorporates various forms of artistic expression: Performance Art, Experimental Dance Butoh practice, and Socially Engaged Art to explore and treat issues related to constructions of identity, gender roles, and migration politics.
More information: www.hectorcanonge.net
19 de abril, 23:00 h.
Del libro Veinte Poemas Para Llegar A Vos
notas numéricas estancadas en pantalla
una esperanza que no deja de timbrar
en la palma de una mano cansada
silenciando quejidos galopantes y sin rumbo
no relatar es ser valiente
callar y exclamar en suspiros entrecortados
para no revelar palpitaciones cortantes
en la espera de ese día
cambian los silencios roncos
y las miradas angustiadas
confunden los mensajes acongojados
con gemidos transitorios y obtusos
diez y nueve jornadas se escapan
confundidas entre el micrófono
y las teclas de un romance inestable
acentuado por la virtualidad mutante.
April 19th, 11:00 pm
From the book Veinte Poemas Para Llegar A Vos
numerical notes stuck on the screen
hope does not stop ringing
inside the palm of a tired hand
while muting the aimless galloping moans
not telling is to be brave
to silence and exclaim in ruffled sighs
is not to reveal cutting palpitations
just waiting for the day
the hoarse silence begins to change
and the anguished looks
confuse the messages
with transitory and obtuse groans
nineteen journeys have escaped
confused between the microphone
and the keyboard of an unstable romance
accentuated by the mutant virtuality.
Pink colored clouds
rest on your shoulders,
lady bugs timidly biting every inch of the future
transform my desires for the ghosts of love,
swallow my hopes to find the land of my dreams.
Wondering must I be for one hundred of a thousand moons,
galloping on sea horses to battle the fury of my angst,
breathing the acid air of my own imagination,
I wait for the clemency of your dark heart
while I drown in my own poisonous words.
The bluest of living amorphous corneas welcome my visit,
in turn, we face one another panting our foolishness
unable to assist our sinking souls
pink colored clouds have descended on our bodies.