I have to start somewhere
with a simple line, a simple word
with a message parallel to
despair.
From what premise should we start ?
That the world is seriously important
or that it is unimportantly foolish.
Take your stand,
there is no final stance
a long-winded illusion
appearing and disappearing
at times irrefutably real
other hours, come as falling dream’s ash.
I have to end somewhere
with a simple line, a final sigh.
That this life is a song
a rhythm in time
it is a string of melody
an intoxication of chords
a synthesis of possibilities
an improvisation of pattern
that it is wandering
a spontaneous unity
an organic experience of circumstances
a multiplicity in simplicity
that it is an urgency to vibrate
a progress through novelty
a passage through uncertainty
a metamorphosis through seasons
that this life is a surprise
a song in disguise
there is little doubt.
The world is brand new!
everything in it exists
they all exist
everything was born now
the green little moss between two round rocks
the small hairy fibers of dust
the orange flame from this candle
the smooth nail on this finger
everything is new
visiting for a first time
they all exist
violently
enthusiastically
I have just been born
how close is everything
everything has a glimmer
Abandon, ever so vague
a name entirely unpronounceable
a thought, utterly worthless
then a feeling without face
a touch without my skin
I’m too old to restart this engine
I must move on, abandon
what once was light now is shadow
what was once purpose is now fiction
there is a pure moment
(nothing else)
no matter what I think
it’s not my call to make
there is only a pure moment
(nothing else)
I might pretend to stir this vessel
but it’s really not my doing
there is apparently something ancient
something beyond measure
I don’t sense it, life is cold as cement
The waves are coming down on me
I can only laugh
sometimes I feel like expanding indefinitely
but a cage made of ribs
keeps my insides in their place
The next step is here… it’s too late
to look back.
We are some sort of subject: irrelevant
we are some sort of electro-chemical
matter: unnecessary
We are eagerly afraid
the final gasps of death
fear is the last ally
the last lost courage
to throw away
the cloudy misty life
of human superfluity
panic: a mouth-full of despair,
feed us more!
The colossal strength to sustain
those pillars of petty humanity
and vanquish utterly
vanish totally
in the final realization
– the ineffability –
the unspeakable death of language
for the beginning
the return
to an untold world
More Modern Poetry ?
A flag out in the open,
a powerful symbol,
a common faith…outshining this confusion.
We were all looking around for such a thing,
we were all calling out for one unifying gift
Where is it?
And who’s found it?
I can’t find it… and nobody talks about it.
A secret search; shameful, sacrilegious
If all these tall buildings were to go
and we need no more to be free
What do we do then?
I dreamt we were all screaming out of pure ecstasy
“we’ve found it, we’ve found it!”
people would cry…
an undreamt-of happiness
proper of madmen
could it be true?
A paralyzed world, frozen in astonishment…
A single instant before we wake up: and then?
Breathe, quite slowly…
as you caress the dim surface
follow the curves, the missing parts
again, were we incomplete
unfinished as anything in time
are you still living this minute?
I cannot blame you,
let’s wait a while… the rain may pass
it’s fine to be weak – fear is homely
that hour may come, later tonight
after so many things have torn us apart
let’s wait, cocoon life
we may soar imperfectly, rottenly
there is no choice;
live this fate
frailly fly soon
when the rain has stopped,
when the soil is dry
so we can take off … again
I am constantly disappearing…
echoing faint voices, distant howls
together with dust
together with silence’s gaze
watching the black oblivion hanging
like a nightmare’s pendulum
ask yourself now
should we celebrate our meaninglessness
the cries of hunger and misery – unreal songs
spoken winds from distant tribesmen
humans are mist
shallow shadows built to dream
so close to the edge of madness – mothers reply
hold my hand, while we both come undone
wasteland of forms
Even though it is immeasurable
My prison is still tight as skin
but my horizons wide as silences
Although it is incomprehensible
The moment is clear as pain
but the mountain inside cold as ash
Since I have known only one
Many drops fall as from bloodshed
but the fragile division was born as orphan
Nonetheless I was lover of the loneliest desert
Counting the walls that serve as mistakes
but swallowed all the scriptures that read as noise
Thus, metaphorical speaking aside
The clouds raised thoughts as mothers
but motion now seems so still as bamboo
Nuestra corta existencia
se acorta con cada nueva palabra
elogiada en la punta del lápiz
se encoge el desfile de formas
con la longitud de otra ambigüedad formada
y, aun así, podría seguir repitiendo en cada nación
cada lengua
el canto de mi desesperación
repitiendo las agonías
declarando entre húmedas orgías
el himno de la noche antigua
“estoy solo y voy a morir”
irreducible aspecto de la mortalidad
entre los hermosos cadáveres
que ríen, celebran y viven el día –
así vivo también, pero moriría
al final de una interrumpida oración
haber vaciado un sinsentido de sustantivos
al hueco podrido del universo
Beyond Language 
You must be logged in to post a comment.