You who do not remember

Crossroads

My body, now that we will not be traveling together much longer
I begin to feel a new tenderness toward you, very raw and unfamiliar,
like what I remember of love when I was young –
love that was so often foolish in its objectives
but never in its choices, its intensities
Too much demanded in advance, too much that could not be promised –
My soul has been so fearful, so violent;
forgive its brutality.
As though it were that soul, my hand moves over you cautiously,
not wishing to give offense
but eager, finally, to achieve expression as substance:

it is not the earth I will miss,
it is you I will miss.



The wild iris

At the end of my suffering
there was a door.

Hear me out: that which you call death
I remember.

Overhead, noises, branches of the pine shifting.
Then nothing. The weak sun
flickered over the dry surface.

It is terrible to survive
as consciousness
buried in the dark earth.

Then it was over: that which you fear, being
a soul and unable
to speak, ending abruptly, the stiff earth
bending a little. And what I took to be
birds darting in low shrubs.

You who do not remember
passage from the other world
I tell you I could speak again: whatever
returns from oblivion returns
to find a voice:

from the center of my life came
a great fountain, deep blue
shadows on azure seawater. 


El iris salvaje

Al final del sufrimiento
me esperaba una puerta.

Escúchame bien: lo que llamas muerte
lo recuerdo.

Allá arriba, ruidos, ramas de un pino vacilante.
Y luego nada. El débil sol
temblando sobre la seca superficie.

Terrible sobrevivir
como conciencia,
sepultada en tierra oscura.

Luego todo se acaba: aquello que temías,
ser un alma y no poder hablar,
termina abruptamente. La tierra rígida
se inclina un poco, y lo que tomé por aves
se hunde como flechas en bajos arbustos.

Tú que no recuerdas
el paso de otro mundo, te digo
podría volver a hablar: lo que vuelve
del olvido vuelve
para encontrar una voz:
del centro de mi vida brotó
un fresco manantial, sombras azules
y profundas en celeste aguamarina.

Versión de Eduardo Chirinos

Louis me espera desde mayo en mi librería favorita. El libro que no pude recoger, que olvidé, viene a mí como una revelación.

Aquí está el poema leído maravillosamente.

ayer una vez más

When I was young
I'd listen to the radio
Waitin' for my favorite songs
When they played I'd sing along
It made me smile.

Those were such happy times
And not so long ago
How I wondered where they'd gone
But they're back again
Just like a long lost friend
All the songs I loved so well.

Every Sha-la-la-la
Every Wo-o-wo-o
Still shines
Every shing-a-ling-a-ling
That they're startin' to sing's
So fine.

When they get to the part
Where he's breakin' her heart
It can really make me cry
Just like before
It's yesterday once more.

Lookin' back on how it was
In years gone by
And the good times that I had
Makes today seem rather sad
So much has changed.

It was songs of love that
I would sing to then
And I'd memorize each word
Those old melodies
Still sound so good to me
As they melt the years away.

Every Sha-la-la-la
Every Wo-o-wo-o
Still shines
Every shing-a-ling-a-ling
That they're startin' to sing's
So fine.

All my best memories
Come back clearly to me
Some can even make me cry.
Just like before

It's yesterday once more.

herir

Dedicado al recién converso al corpus comunista.

martinete
(Del fr. martinet).
1. m. Mazo pequeño que hiere la cuerda del piano.
2. m. Mazo, generalmente de gran peso, para batir algunos metales, abatanar los paños, etc.
3. m. Edificio industrial o taller metalúrgico en que hay estos mazos o martillos.
4. m. Máquina que sirve para clavar estacas o pilotes, principalmente en el mar y en los ríos, por medio de un mazo que se levanta en alto para dejarlo caer sobre la cabeza de la estaca.
5. m. Cante de los gitanos andaluces que no necesita de acompañamiento de guitarra. Proviene del cante de los forjadores, caldereros, etc., que se acompañaban con el martillo.




Las doce acaban de dar 
y en el reloj de la Audiencia, 
las doce acaban de dar 
pendiente de mi sentencia. 
Dios mío, qué pasará. 

Y porque he nacío gitano 
no crean que soy malo, 
que habemos malos y buenos 
y también somos cristianos.

a lifetime

Love, look at the two of us
Strangers in many ways
We`ver got a lifetime to share
So much to say
And as we go
from day to day
I'll feel you close to me
But time alone will tell
Let`s take a lifetime to say
"I knew you well"
For only time wil tell us so
And love may grow
For all we know

Love, look at the two of us
Strangers in many ways
Let`s take a lifetime to say
"I knew you well"
For only time wil tell us so
And love may grow
For all we know