Lina ZERÓN

Lina ZERÓN has a degree in International Relations at the National Autonomous University of Mexico (UNAM) and a Master in Transnational Enterprises.

She is a poet, narrator, journalist, publisher and cultural promoter. Lina Zeron is a mexican woman highlighted by its sociocultural work. She has been honored nationally and internationally for her work as a writer, editor and cultural promoter, activities in which has excelled both on account of its literary and its solidarity with writers, and groups of these, originating in different latitudes (either recognized or well that enjoy little promotion), who propel in literary meetings and those who disseminates in bodies and the mass media or, generously, supported with the publication of their debut or with the reissued of their books. Her solidarity is also recognized in their commitment to the Mexican society. She teaches poetry workshops and tell stories to the children of the indigenous communities since 2000.

Similarly, Lina Zeron has been distinguished by its incursion, through their literary texts, on issues of peace and women's rights. In addition, her talent as a writer and cultural promoter have earned her awards as the academic title of "Honorary professor of Graduate School" and Doctor Honoris Causa by the University "Daniel Alcides Carrión" of Peru (granted in 2009 and 2010, respectively); the Doctorate Honoris Causa from the University of Tumbes, also in Peru (with which he was recognized in 2007), and its integration as Vocal Academy extension and dissemination of culture in the Faculty of Graduate Studies, FES Zaragoza, of the UNAM. In addition, her poem "A Great Country" -worthy, by their universal significance, the Trophy-recognition on the part of the Andean Parliament - is included in the textbook course on literature and Spanish language, which is distributed in schools in Nicaragua since 2006. She Was honored as Woman of the Year 2002 in the State of Mexico for his poetic career. Honor poet of the workshops of Claude Couffon translation, Brittany, France, 2002. Obtained presea Eagle Warrior by the Circle of speakers Mexico. June 2005. She has been Judge and Jury in various competitions both national and international poetry and short stories.

The poetry of this woman has been translated into English, French, German, Italian, Catalan, Portuguese, Serbian, Russian, Slovenian, Italian, Arabian, Romanian, Dutch, Mongolian, Hebrow, and Persian.

Her work can be found in books edited antologied in several countries. She has published poems, stories and newspaper articles in magazines and cultural supplements not only from different Mexican entities, but also in many contries.

As an author she has published more than 20 books of poetry and narrative.

Some books of POETRY:

Liver of bitch and other poems. Next edition in La Habana, Cuba. 2014

The innards of the wind, amarillo Ed. México 2011

To wreck the whirlwind with a grancle, Brown Turtle Poetry in Translations Series, Selected poems, Illionois, USA, 2009.

Consecration of the Skin, Second Edition, Ed Union, UNEAC, Havana, May 2008.

Wings of the Wind Music, love poems, UNAM, Mexico, June 2008. Magical designs, selection of love poems. Ed Colectivo Cultural Morelia, Michoacan, Mexico. 2008,

Harpa de umbra si lumina, Editura Pelerin, Rumania, 2008.

The Invisible Wound, brief anthology, Ed Café Mexico, February 2008. Essential Anthology, Ed Mago, Chile, 2007.

Consecration of the skin. First Edition. Ed Athens, Barcelona, Spain, July 2007.

Cities where I named you. Ed Union, UNEAC, Havana Cuba, May 2005. Nostalgy of Life, Ed Union UNEAC, Havana Cuba, May 2005.

Sky grows at the bottom of your eyes, ed. Bilingual French-Spanish The Barbacane, Lyon, France, 2004.

Red Wine: Ed Union, UNEAC, Havana Cuba 2003

Purple Butterflies, Ed April UNEAC, Havana Cuba 2002,

Amoradas Borboletas, Ed Pilar, Brazil,

Zweierlei Haut, bilingual edition, German-Spanish, Ed Flor y Piedra, Berlin, Germany, 2001,

Black Rose for a coffin without a body, Ed Stel Blau, Barcelona, Spain, 2000,

La spirale du feu, L'Harmattan, Paris, 1999,

Letters April Moon, Ed CIEN, Mexico , 1998,

Moon in April, dreams, Ed CIEN, Mexico, 1997,

Moon in April, poems, Ed CIEN, Mexico, 1996

NOVELS:

Mom Lolita, Laberinto Ed. México 2011

Behind the Light, amarillo editores, México 2010

Ps for Ana, ED. UNION y UNEAC.

Claude Couffon, The traductor. Praxis Ed. México 2009

SHORT STORIES:

Minicronicas ribbon and other stories, amarillo editores, México 2009 and second edition was traslation in to russian.

As editor, through his label Linajes Publishers (founded in 1999), has produced more than 100 titles of national and foreign authors,

She has invited in the most important Festivals of Poetry arround the world.

Translated by Dolores Canela

BREATHING in the eyes of the sky

Test in twelve times

Lina Zerón

I

¨ Yes, I am addicted to writing, It is like breathing ... ¨

Yes, I'm addicted to writing, it is like breathing; that mechanical action of which we almost have no consciousness and keeps us alive. I also read everything my eyes allow me to; the left one has lost peripheral vision and has five scars on the retina, the right one sees much better but when it compensates the other one, vision becomes blurry, like when someone leans on you, they leave you with their troubles and suck the vital essence in you. But I'm happy; today there were no tears for nothing or for everything. I always wake up with a different plumage; I remake myself from my ashes when I listen to you. I have no secrets, neither my blood gets cold, I am continuous as the sound of Eric Clapton’s guitar, as the infinite word in Homeric poems, as the clock that gives an hourly chime, as your eyes that vanish into another world when they reach pleasure and it seems to be your last breath. I have mixed feelings every morning but everything remains in my own land, in my blankets, under my pillow. I change what I consider, the rest is left intact, and I don’t break the time or the balance of the universe. I've learned to control my anguish focusing on my breath. I close my eyes and feel how oxygen enters and exits my lungs, suddenly I inhale all there is in the atmosphere, as if I were the only being on earth, I hold on for six seconds and exhale a large and noisy blow, and feel at peace.

II

¨ Do not cover that mirror with a cloak of silence and distance,

include me in your breath ... ¨

Every night in dreams I cross time zones to get to you. Don’t lose me, do not let me go away from your life, hold on to my light  which will always lighten you if you need someone’s  hand on your shoulder or to kiss you passionately; someone to tell you you're wonderful and you’re loved  and desired, as a dying person clinging  to life’s  last breath. Mortals are afraid of love-words in order to avoid commitment with others or with themselves, but I do not fear anything, I encourage myself, but I also need a mirror where my love reflects, my being;  do not cover that mirror with a cloak of silence and distance, include me in your breath.

III

¨ Inhale my eyes, and exhale my fears ... ¨

Yesterday I asked you to include me in your breath. Inhale my eyes, and exhale my fears. You must use your lungs, nose, mouth, but also your skin and heart. I need to feel that you help me in the process of being alive. Today my hands were shaking like rain in the wind, I do not know what happened but my breathing was superficial, I did not feel oxygen was entering and a lot less, going out; I thought I was going to hyperventilate and everything was due to the circumstance that I almost fell down the stairs when the tip of my dress got stuck on the handrail.

I thought I could have gotten killed when falling and reaching the last stair step. That started it all; my breathing became unbalanced, like when you try to weigh in a scale the leaves of a tree against some rocks. My hands went numb and, to make matters worse, I was driving, I could not tell if my sugar had dropped  since I am hypoglycemic; had it been for a critical cause  or due to the shock.Luckily the light turned red, I leaned over the steering wheel and took a deep breath: all the air in my car, and then exhaled with a big: ah!

People, people, taxis, traffic lights, traffic, traffic, traffic! What anxiety, especially when you do not feel well. I could not control my breathing and I was wondering: -“is this how you are planning to visit China, with this nonsense about losing my breath?” I tried to calm myself imagining when I would discover that unthinkable world for me: where I believe its streets are a poem, that its food spells alphabets when you eat it, and its rice feels, pulses in the blood of every Chinese and within a few months, in mine.

I remembered what I had read about the ying and yang, the Tao and I began to calm down, I'm two blocks from home, my breath can hear my dreams, dissipate fears and make me believe that I can learn to speak with pictograms. I know I will not understand any Chinese, but I have a spirit eager to discover the rhythm of its time, running over their words with my Mexican accent, sleeping between the waters of its huge river and waking up to the excitement of continuing to be prepare myself for the trip.

I ask you to inhale my eyes, and exhale my fears.

IV

 ¨Recovering breath ... ¨

I am at home already, I am very tired, but I have yet many things to say. I need to catch my breath to continue. My instinct compels me to write, and I know I must, I cannot let myself down now that I have a poetic theme to develop: breath, breathing. Outside, the squirrels have gone to sleep and the night birds stopped singing. These are just a few lines to tame silence and balance my breath.

The azaleas from my house, the fountain, and even you, can think what you want, but now it's time to RECOVER BREATH, capitalized,  and to continue writing; I still have many questions in my lips and fingers, but my hips can’t stand anymore and they demand: “Stand up and lay down or tomorrow I will punish you”.  I know I should consider this warning, but a flock of stories in my head want to get out, and don’t allow me to rest; even when I say I'm determined to carry out any exhalation exercise to get what I desire; suddenly, a breath of spirit, as a breath of life, will make all computer keys fall out for striking them for so long.

V

¨ Breathlessness... ¨

Now I get distracted and for a moment to think about you. Yes, look, there's the mirror of time, if you want to we can look together and see what our reflection says; it doesn’t lie. Oh, look, there's the water of the creek where we once played. If you want to we can plunge into it --despite the cold-- but writing ... at this hour? Not anymore. I do not want to explain about love and those passions that tear skin off, or love under cero degrees, which I don’t know, or about the sudden acceleration of the heartbeat and the immense sighs when I see you every morning when you decided my summer; that I would like you as to reinvent Spring, but you are forbidden. You, least of all, breathlessness.

VI

¨ I must not, with total breathlessness  ... ¨

Days go by and it is nighttime I rarely remain wakeful but I’ve just arrived from a trip and I thought of you. I would like to record all the music we like, but it wouldn’t be well seen, even so, I am recording the discs that have been piled for years, like silt in the bottom of the sea, and I transfer them into my new iPod, and I’ve also thought of burning a CD for you, yes, you, to which I must apply the 'I must not with total breathlessness. At the same time, I'm writing this text, a yawning period, I  inhale deeply through my nose and strongly exhale from my mouth wide open,  but my lungs refuse to calm down, I think an open eyed love story starts to emerge, or two strong coffees;  although caffeine accelerates my heart rate and causes me insomnia. Maybe that’s what I must do to stop dreaming about you.

VII

¨ I perfectly know what I've accomplished and what I still long for ¨

Life is governed by fashion, starting from slimness, hair, clothing, to the fashion of suffering, loving, silence, suicide by jumping into the Seine River, or the tracks of a train. But today I will invent the fashion of owning a destiny. I have forged my own and I'm happy. I enjoy what I do. I perfectly know what I've accomplished and what I still long for.

However, in order to obtain what I desire, I need to massage my fingers and continue moving them, as the last leaves fall from the trees in my garden. This is how my fingers move upon the keyboard of my computer.

We are also living the cyber love fashion, but it almost always ends up with someone crying in front of a computer and sleeping under the desk with a mouse in hand; discouraged, the person wishes to die. What should be done is to bury that fantasy and experience something real, tangible, palpable, sighing, and yearning. We have to wait for the arrival of a new tram, full of sweet words and promises; for it to stop at the old heart station and to make you remember what it is to love and be loved in return, without paying attention to the terrible words: “I can’t, I don’t want to, I have no breath to continue” it's always better an “I don’t want to”. At least it's more authentic, has more character, at least I knew you in person.

VIII

¨ Where you fell in love, inhaling the last breath ... ¨

Do not hesitate, do not be afraid, do not be terrified ... I advise you to take this train, and when it starts running, jump in suddenly, without anyone seeing you or suspecting; what you need is to calm your breathing down, which is what gives us away,  and go on forward. Those outside of the glass look only through the mirror of criticism and envy. Do not tell anyone what you feel or think and least of all, if you are inspired. Just act like the hummingbirds that come to the fountain every day to search for food, they don’t wait, and they take it and fly away, without offering time to be caught. Such is the addiction to love. When you least expect it, you're involved in something intense which must be lived because happiness is moments, instants that do not return.

One should learn to discover if the train wagons tell horror stories in order to get off fast, at any part of the journey, without fear, because if you don’t, at any destiny curve it might derail and you will end up in a mourning dress, walking and dragging your skin gnawed by a heartbreak, begging the clouds for oblivion or for a struck of lightning fulminating you right there, where you fell in love, inhaling your last breath.

IX

¨Your breathing with mine at the same pace. They and I encourage each other ... ¨

At present my itinerary is going through “I do not want to”, and it will not stop even if you make signals or send kisses from the comfort of your sofa, just as the elderly who placidly enjoy the caress of time with their oxygen tanks to better breathe. Or, those who go in and out of our lives. Those who do not like the Beatles, the lazy ones that do not get up early, the astute beggars outside the churches or those awaiting their turn in line, resigned to live without emotions.

Every night, my ghosts sit at the edge of my bed, very close to me, licking my shadow and stroking my fears, I can feel their breathing pacing with mine. They and I inspire each other, we expect an improvement in internal and external time, or at the same time we consume without a trace, what a lack of gasp, how tedious!

I do not understand all those people so full of decency and modesty, who live crossing themselves or criticizing others all the time, while they spend hours making love to a stranger online. It is much better to catch fire and let the flames be seen from another continent and live, live, live. There is nothing more exciting than the thrill of a new love, which will inspire us to continue struggling.

X

¨ I was simply bit by “discouragement” the “no” ... ¨

But now, right now I should be writing about the concept of: breath, breathing, the gasp of life.

I tell you it is night time, it is very dark. This day ended with an “ah” of a tired breath, and may God sneak in if there’s any prayer. Preferably, if I may, for the Our Father. Mostly because we are used to it, and it is not easy to change it for another prayer. What are you thinking, that it doesn’t hurt me to be disheartened? Yes, if it hurts me much, especially since my passion is writing and having no desire to do it right now is upsetting. But I got fatigued or nostalgic, not the menopause, that has nothing to do with it, as men think when women claim or demand something. I was simply bit by “discouragement”, the “no”, this instant. And while this feeling of rebellion lasts, there is nothing to do...

I invite you to spend the night looking out the window, inhaling the scent of gardenias. Some other night, since, on this one I feel very tired and I must sleep. And that this is a disheartening moment, does not mean that I don’t think of you or I don’t miss you when you stop coming or I no longer want to write you, that I don’t send you my best wishes, my sighs, that I don’t yearn holding your hand and looking into your eyes, telling you it's beautiful even trying to recognize you, even if it’s this way, which is so close to” No.”

XI

¨ You give me back the breath of life, let us accelerate our breaths together ... ¨

It is nighttime again, my head spins and I tell myself, writing is a healthy and easy exercise, try it; it’s to take a breath of any situation, and not letting yourself down. You can say what you want, what you feel, what you think, and the others can read it or not, but you got it out, it is simple to say, you can even adorn yourself quoting a celebrity such as Franklin D. Roosevelt when he said: "Once I spent two years in bed trying to move my big toe. I assure you that in my situation it was the most difficult job. After that, everything else seems easy. “

And I ponder all this, because it is just the need-to feel heartened by something-, who repents of sins buried in the vault of my dreams, that trembles because I want to understand this omnipresent and rebellious discouragement, sullen, shredding the veil of the tabernacle and enter it as a pilgrim with no time, like a walker tired of walking, like a Gothic tower without a cathedral, like a woman who also lives the "I do not want to listen," I cannot breathe, it's like someone covering my mouth and nose to suffocate me. And this is the wheel of life’s fault, of the wheels of everyone, going round and round so many ways.

I'm going to bed. I need it. I hope the phone does not ring again because eighty percent of people dial the wrong number. Today was a day full of “that person doesn’t live here” calls. I wish that you were the one who would call so I could tell you: you give me back the breath of life; let us accelerate our breaths together.

XII

“I enjoy breathing every minute that awaits me in the enigmatic China”.

Today my best loving breath reached at its destination. The heart where I send it this weekend, is happy. So, In my dreams, my breathing and his heartbeat have been placed in the sleeping room. Though, they lick each other, assaults for our hungry lips and the heat wave in the bodies. It is too late, the tiredness took over our legs and the window before it was full of sunshine and rumor of the city, it has been silenced by the whisper of pleasure.

I fell so cousy here, going through my spaces, looking for my favourite corners reading an interesting book. And yes, I like being alone, I’m a so free woman to go where ever I want, specially if I’m going to find your breath on my chest pushing me to go over any trouble may found me.

I don’t understand some social rules of way of living, or maybe is the love of doing my wills, to stay alone with my poems and my literature and I don’t want anybody to still my creative winds.

Wonderful things happend when you share my breath and my heart cause you’re my muse. Believe me, the sky burns in one bed and a star appears on the horizon, always that I recived your letters, where ever I go and you demanding me:  “Where have you been? Ther’s a long time I haven’t seen you. I love you and I miss you, I need your agitated breathing in my left ear, I send a hug with all my love”. You know that makes me work with more passion.

When I arrived to China l’ll wanted walk in a park and read, or just sit on a bench to see what are the other ones doing. I don’t think I’m going to talk to anyone, because I don’t speak chinese and my english is so Mexican that I think no one could understand me.

I blush when I think of you and some listen my loud exhalations because when I do that, means explosions in the moon’s surface of love.

I promised to send you kisses, Saturday or Monday kisses. I’m going to share our memories with my other love, those that are closer to me, that are more tangible: my poetry, my books, my writing. You know, sometimes my dreams are broken, then I take cover in my fantasies that changes with the moon, the tide’s rhythm the singing of the sea birds, the touch of the clouds, and your joyful, sparking and deep eyes.

Now, expecting, life boils, yes boils, and I eat every day in a feast of emotions and feelings. I enjoy breathing every minute that awaits me in the enigmatic China.