Have you
visited
the colossal
room
the sand in
song
the destination
of the rock?
have you
tested the
drug of desire
you drunk
merciless hunter
have you waved
the stars goodbye
you idol
of expanses
euphoric
and final
like sensation
empty of words .
El viento vuela
como una fila de pájaros ligeros
el viento brilla.
Yo hago nada
la invisible brisa
se encarga de mis movimientos.
¡Que dulce trayecto eólico!
Este, de vida a muerte.
What I employ
is not language
but the vivid shade
of movement and instinct
I have to be asleep
murmuring like a wide surface
of sea froth
twilight before the birth of pain;
my eyes expiring like new moons
in the obscure tingling of selfhood
only then
in that reflection
the hairs of the galaxies
sway like dark music,
the pupils expand
in one big womb of memory;
I remember
the place where the soul
used to be.
nadie
se entera
de la completa
nada que
significa todo
intercambio
una mirada fortuita
algo desea
desde muy pequeña
esa mujer extraña
y yo no soy su respuesta
mira que existencia llena de ciclos
un pétalo deslizándose en ese
quieto instante
yo hambriento de respuestas
me fui a tomar unas copas
y el tránsito del tiempo
hizo puré de mi alma hervida
lógicamente
me fui a dormir.
The possession of my self
in the refraction lonely
something sees as I
the trembling skin
of bright tomato
and someone desires
to lay bare on its surface
light like reflection
of a lamp
the map of understanding
may be indifferent
to axis of human
thinking
nothing belongs to earth
and the real
billows
on the dream
of matter.
There
by the brook of your stare
I meet the sound
of your drowning,
‘alas’ so light and lasting
a word surfacing like sighs from your eyes
I make room and stand back
so you run into the invisible
curl of a mistake,
my child you’ve begotten
sadness and its truth
is more distance than those streaming
glares that leap from walls to illusions –
there
I recognize our mutual meaning
nowhere in this fog
the outline of solution
nor the source of our misery.
Mi mirada
erróneamente
puesta sobre el juego
de las sombras sin bordes
el auto zumbando entre el humo
los cabellos que no sé a quién pertenecen
–
algo se mueve aquí como instinto de aire
algo me digiere como si estuviera
saciando el apetito del tiempo,
algo tiene los pelos de punta
y yo soy su piel,
algo acontece
y yo cedo.
I remember
the hungry birth I never had
and while I’m rolling like a pebble
down on a mountain I’ve never seen
I sense the abyss that does not exist
full of sand
frenetic inside a wave
following a cyclic course
with bubbles bursting
in a memory of circles.
I’ve tried to kill myself
in many furies and ranges
to drown infinitesimally
in the tiniest contemplation
somewhere finding the courage
to disappear without justifying
the senseless life I’ve led;
I’ve searched for death, afraid still
of void and thunder,
my hand – sometimes –
caresses the skin, outline, source
of an object’s beauty,
trembling uncertain
of its reality.
Sanity is a gift.
I only have the
penance of existing
in the passivity of fated
annihilation, wording
the symbol of illusion,
symbols
and nothing more.
Que suaves son las alegrías,
los significados mezclados
con las hojas amarillas de un árbol entrevisto
bajo la luz de otra ciudad,
en las calles negras
los días revueltos con horas
y aquí plasmado
en la punta de la noche
tratando de decidir
si de verdad
mi galaxia de dolor
es pura distancia
entre lo bello
y lo vivido.
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