Blesok no. 107, May 2016
Translation by Gordon E. McNeer
TIME GONE BY
The room fills with the smoke of absence,
throughout the empty house
a light that strikes the wall
dazes me in its reflection,
crosses the glass, enters through the window
without finding the books,
the party clothes
that were in the closet
like the remains from an agenda of adolescent evenings.
The day only shows what was never its own
to tell me later
that it’s possible to lose once again what we have lost.
THE INEVITABLE SHADOW
All the decisions that we make one day
live on piled up like wreckage
or ethereal fragments
that climb and rise up
just like vines
that never let go of us.
Love is black,
the journey is black,
the house is in darkness.
Without nuances or scales or brilliance or contrasts
there no longer exists in the shadows
even the outline of your face shouting out at your enemy
for the right to the last word,
sadness descending in an elevator,
or the tracks that are the vestiges of the moment
in which I left and you left my childhood,
a place we will never return to.
The lights of the future avoid details
and permit living
beyond the shifting shadows
that now cross the sand,
the sheer darkness
behind the abyss,
but they never reach
the dwelling place of the inevitable shadow
anchored in memory.
A LIGHT UPON THE SEA
This packed bag
is a glowing lighthouse that sheds light on the uncertain,
the fragile clarity of a light upon the sea
that shows us both
fear and the coming of age.
everything travels resolutely toward the past,
now only the sea exists
and the false sound of its companionship.
THE WOMAN BECAME A CAVE
The woman became a cave,
the humidity within
turned her smooth skin
into a ruin.
Today the tourists arrive to observe her.
They caress her struggle against time
and her noble resolve to live in the cold.
They touch her grottos secretly
hoping for shelter within the stone:
an ancient understanding of history,
a claroscuro limit to their fear.
Harm doesn’t dissolve in renown,
the limestone doesn’t dilute in their visits,
the beginning is final,
the tourists move on.
There are no women without light
or houses without windows.
With love we sleep,
with doubt the vicious circle turns and burns
It was ten-thirty,
we were waking up together when there was a loud noise.
Two parallel lines that cross
and on bursting clamor for, need,
to possess the word world.
To live in circles
once again there’s a need for
the word meaning.