the first
thing
to come into being
poisoned us
blinded us
ruined us
we’re under the spell
that things can be known
I declare
we still don’t know
the universe is unsolved
is it a machine
an organism
a process
a mission
an explosion
or even the dream of a sleepy god
I don’t know
so… I wet my feet
at the shore of the Kattegat bay
whistling like the wind
on a hot summer day
I woke up today reading
the Secret of Life
the stairway was the same
but the streets, oh the streets
they were building blocks of awe
molecular lumps alive with the wind
processes in motion
like trees in a storm
every face was a map
charting the layers of the universe
scenes changed as propelled by engines of time
orchestration by a slow chaos
everything interconnected by invisible spokes
why o why
must days like these
come to an end
tomorrow I must wake up
and open the first pages of
the Gates of Unknowing.
cuando terminé
de empacar
el universo
en mi mochila
ya había olvidado
a donde iba,
quería sentir como si
un candelabro opulento
colgara sobre
mi cabeza
iluminando con sus mil
brazos
todas las distancias
en este palacio
de tierra,
el destino
por más sinuoso que fuera
terminaría en el abismo
por eso te dije
antes antes antes
de que seamos polvo,
seamos barro unánime
en las manos
del alfarero,
un tazón
lleno de vino
para el poeta,
un seno de arcilla
en la boca del
dios que canta.
A translation:
By the time
I finished
packing
the universe
in my rucksack
I had forgotten
where I was going
I want to feel as if
an opulent chandelier
hangs over
my head
illuminating with its thousand
arms
all distances
in this palace
of earth
however sinuous
the path
it ends in abyss
so I told you
before before before
we become dust
let’s become unanimous mud
in the potter’s
hands
a cup
full of wine
for the poet
a breast of clay
at the mouth of
the god
that sings.
What muscle can I use
to lift despair
despair that’s agape and out of words
hope-coated despair
that keeps us waiting for a train
that was never built;
while the body of the universe
convolutes in acrobats and yogas
I feel like a cramp
at its heel
what is my next move –
let the future be?
but this future
is a dividing wall
between us and our _____
(enter your raison d’être here)
I have a sledgehammer
but only atrophied muscles
to do the job.
Bare on the floor bare with our heads facing the final precipice of tomorrow words coming like agonies born from the regret of the entire universe our eyes etceteras of tears unable to listen the ticks of the clock in the morning light, inebriated with the perspective of escape bare and obliterated on the top floor of a building alongside oblivion.
It’s 3:10 AM I’m sober reading Bukowski still recovering from my 48 hour birthday binge, the universe is still a made-up word for this bathroom and the filling air, yet I wish I’d be reading the great Chinese poets soaring over improbable landscapes lifting my veil of ignorance seeing through the deceits of Maya untroubled by the vicissitudes of time at one with the universe which is to say inseparably and eternally here with this white-tiled bathroom and the air that encircles me, in drowning invisible swirls.
I release a deep breath
unawares of anything
I’ve been away
weaving dreams
like a curing madness
the petty circumference of my desire
impels me to
move
not one finger
an inertia comparable
to an everlasting god
that has lived a thousand infinities,
in the deepest streets
in the coldest thoughts
I am a reckless survivor
dreaming in poetry
as a small pebble
tucked away
under the entire
weight
of the universe.
I turn my head
finally
after days:
the streets are covered with snow.
I’ve been unaware
like the boy
quietly placing a dot
after every sentence
of lyrical self-absorption:
the consequence
of being
irrelevant.
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