Domingo Alfonso was born in Jovellanos, Matanzas, Cuba in 1935. He spent much of his life in the small town and published his first book of poetry, Sueño en el papel, in 1959. Alfonso attended Havana University where he graduated with an architecture degree in 1969. Over the course of five decades, he has written an additional nine books of poetry, all published by the Editorial UNIÓN of the National Union of Cuban Writers and Artists. These include Poemas del hombre común (1964); Historia de una persona (1968); Esta aventura de vivir (1987); and El Libro Principal & Un transeúnte cualquiera (2007). His work is associated with the Coloquialismo movement and has been widely anthologized in books published in Mexico, Italy, Spain and his native Cuba. Alfonso is also a songwriter and composer who has written the lyrics and music for more than 120 songs.
Meet with the Gray Citizen
The Wizard and the Mechanics
CreedMan in the center of the city among people and stones; pass by with my flower writing poems on pages of ash.
Meet with the Gray Citizen-For Carlos Alfonso- I've met with the gray citizen. He was looking through the bus window and i've seen him like the image of a chicken moving over garbage places kicking flowers and fragments of glass. Only like this, opaque. His voice slid inside my brain like water with no shine or taste: muddled being of a color much similar to gray. My steps going to meet him. Dark afternoon: shadow's cloth above us. This character and i coincided on the street's length. No light was shining. The bleary look of such a man (i guess one with a certain pain) skidded just a moment over me like someone reflecting up a quicksilverless mirror.
The Wizard and the MechanicsThe wizard and the mechanics go out in silence for a drink; sit in the deep of the tavern and they talk about our daily things; spinning axle trees, the workshop roar, engines made up piecemeal that finally move on their own effort. Describe later the television hours, night and its blankets, wife, the children's fear. Mechanics talk, the wizard shuts his mouth: feels jealousy for these common men; would like to quit his craft outdated, to trade the art of turning mice into flowers, oranges into knives, an art with so much effort apprehended, for a pair of greasy overalls, a place among machines and axle tross where endlessly black steel wheels turn and turn.
CardenalFor Helio Orovio One night in the Colony Hotel, speaking with Ernesto Cardenal, leaning over his beard, as if over a white abyss, i heard him say: your poems have that pessimism of he who forgets the existence of God or doubts about the heart of men. It was the sound of his words like the rumor of birds' wings, or the stroke of oars on the sea. I felt the flapping of fear on my temples and wanted to listen to Vivaldi or contemplate a flower bunch and i headed back to Nueva Gerona; the highway like a black creek, taking me closer to a building painted in green, to a cup full of beer to the brim, to a bed made with yellow sheets.
- poetry by Domingo Alfonso
- poetry by Rito Ramón Aroche
- poetry by Caridad Atencio
- poetry by Miguel Barnet
- poetry by Pierre Bernet
- poetry by Yanelys Encinosa Cabrera
- poetry by Alberto Peraza Ceballos
- poetry by Maria Liliana Celorrio
- poetry by Felix Contreras
- art by Wally Gilbert
- poetry by Georgina Herrera
- poetry by Karel Leyva
- poetry by Robert Manzano
- poetry by Roberto Méndez Martínez
- poetry by Jamila Medina
- poetry by Edel Morales
- poetry by Alex Pausides
- poetry by Roberto Fernandez Retamar
- poetry by Soleida Ríos
- poetry by Mirta Yáñez