Poetry
-
The method will depend on the type of oven, / as with everything: low heat is recommended, / slow, for around forty to forty-five minutes, / but each kitchen, like each tin, is particular / and it’s u... -
The river dried up because it doesn’t rain. / The road that connects the countryside / to the city was turned to pieces / under the heavy showers / back when it did rain. / They closed the only grade... -
Music changes our walls / it twists them inward / —It exceeds the edges of the seats / and greets itself / Shooting coups de grace into the air / with a trumpet // (Yes, Armstrong, you’re right / i... -
The fittest rubs gel on his hands as if he was polishing a trophy; / from the pharmacies the masks have been snatched / that protect against fear; / in the supermarket the shelves return a ghost of a... -
Long before the land, / we lost the sky / of the native tropics. / Its ceaseless light / without winter frost, / clouds with no ice / or darkness. And the guardian / azure above the mangoes, / mountai... -
Poetry departs from a function, but not primarily as Jakobson understands the term (poetic function), but rather in a sense that approximates Hjelmslev’s understanding in the realm of linguis... -
I don’t lament those memories without a history, the homicides / perpetrated in the name of tenderness. Today the fire marks me / as if it were a part of the torturer’s steel. There’s no doubt / the c... -
Some things, while falling, make sound. Others do not. Night falls, for example, in silence. The house is unchanged. The furniture and the windows stay where they are. The spaces in between stay empty... -
I belong to that category of men / who carry a knife or switchblade in their belt or pocket. / Everything they love fits into a shoebox. / They’re content with a hot meal, / the first classical radio... -
Memory holds hope / And hope, the wish to drift through woods / Below branches and the undersea light of autumn / This is how I returned to myself after love / Uselessly I had chased blazing suns / Th... -
Is it possible a poem / like a glowing ember / which does not extinguish / nor discourage itself / and persists / in history / beyond bared knees / sweating armpits / and turns over on itself / and on... -
What to say of an ass? / I never said a thing. // An ass stood next to Leticia’s mouth: / His ardor sprang from the moon / And he scratched / Against me furiously. / There was an ass in Juan Luis’s ho... -
The poem fell like a deafening block of ice. // Sparse-leaved shrubs grow here / and sheep crop // with small shifts forward; // they don’t seem to move, yet advance / across the ground. // I thought... -
Far too high: the sky / suspiciously white. / The day resists itself, the light flees, withdraws, / concealing what it finds. Everything looks / for its pretext in the memory of blood / the knees don’... -
Like those who dance in a swamp / and do not fear sinking there are those who draw an abyss / and do not fear falling / like the seam of life / in the body of death / stitch by stitch, the thre... -
we are the guarantors of houses through which a safety pin runs / we are the one you always lost sight of and they made you look for / we are in the living room on the table where nothing ever lived /... -
One day I placed a rock on top of your name / and I said to myself: I’ll go singing all the way home. / And I sang / like a wild woman on powerful legs / like a wild river I sang. -
if you drew a map of my body / you would find traces of the blast / where dinosaurs pass away / where those who did not love me agonize / look at the long line of people / who would not give their liv... -
To sleep once and for all / I would have to oneirically detach myself / from my dreams. // Every night I try a retraction on myself / and early in the morning I vanish / in front of the mirror. -
You were on me and night fell / On the haystack in the stable / You rustled my breath like a white hanky / And we heard the cows low soooo long / You stayed on me and the hours passed -
You came back in the warm night’s epicenter, / paled by the violence / of your desire. With stealth you were creeping / toward the borders of the bed, / a place where blood performs its miracles. -
Here comes the night / slowly, in grey / by a storm within // rising moon in Cancer / and Mars at the tides / my blood goes / up to the heart / of the smooth and eternal / vigil of insomnia -
You only need to know water a little to realise it’s tired of being a liquid. The proof is that as soon as it has the chance, it turns into ice or vapour. But not even that satisfies it: vapour gets l... -
The military parade has finished. / Now bums stroll the pier, / an alley where no one finds a peaceful death. // This year there were fireworks / and the President read a tear-jerking / and ovation-wo... -
When passion gets strong, so strong / Heaven cocks its trigger / And then we’re done for / My sweet, sweetheart. / It would be better, perhaps, for us… / Oh no, it would be no better for us! / (Excep...
