si conociera

Publicado el por m

Si conociera el idioma en que estás escrito

el alfabeto que da forma tu esqueleto

entonces podríamos crear esa otra lengua

algo nuestro

que combinara el efecto (que no distingo)

de la diéresis sobre las vocales alemanas

y las dobles erres del español que se suspenden

adorablemente en tu garganta.

Aprender alemán es aprender a amarte

recorrer la geografía de tu temperamento

poner un pie fuera de mí para pisar la hierba.

(Aprendo para poder nombrar

los espacios de luz que se abren en las cosas

cuando están sostenidas por tus manos.)

I. Zapata

The poems I didn’t write

Publicado el por m

All those nights looking at my window under the illusion you’d be thinking of me.

All the crossed dates on my calendar counting the days for your arrival.

All the jerseys I didn’t knit for you.

All the yellow and lavender blossoming from my hands when we slept side to side in that bus crossing the desert over (the briefest) night.

All those plans that broke down like mirrors crashing against the floor in slow motion.

All the weight of the dreams soaked in water. Now they have turned into mush and lie down covered in the dark, hidden somewhere in a corner.

All the poems whose ink diluted away. Why bother now?

All the poems I stole for you. What do I do with those now?

All that has become the anchor of my life. I lie still, refusing to leave it all behind. Paralyzed by its weight. Contemplating my stillness and remembering how beautiful it all once seemed.

«good for you, it’s not good to be alone»

Wisława Szymborska: Consolation

Publicado el por m

Darwin.
They say he read novels to relax,
But only certain kinds:
nothing that ended unhappily.
If anything like that turned up,
enraged, he flung the book into the fire.

True or not,
I’m ready to believe it.

Scanning in his mind so many times and places,
he’d had enough of dying species,
the triumphs of the strong over the weak,
the endless struggles to survive,
all doomed sooner or later.
He’d earned the right to happy endings,
at least in fiction
with its diminutions.

Hence the indispensable
silver lining,
the lovers reunited, the families reconciled,
the doubts dispelled, fidelity rewarded,
fortunes regained, treasures uncovered,
stiff-necked neighbors mending their ways,
good names restored, greed daunted,
old maids married off to worthy parsons,
troublemakers banished to other hemispheres,
forgers of documents tossed down the stairs,
seducers scurrying to the altar,
orphans sheltered, widows comforted,
pride humbled, wounds healed over,
prodigal sons summoned home,
cups of sorrow thrown into the ocean,
hankies drenched with tears of reconciliation,
general merriment and celebration,
and the dog Fido,
gone astray in the first chapter,
turns up barking gladly
in the last.

nota al margen xxii

Publicado el por m
Rene Magritte 1948

1.

I find this painting quite reassuring. Violent too, perhaps, but mostly reassuring.

2.

The days have melted together.

3.

Good fortune, maybe, to be left untouched amidst all the sickness and the spread of the disease. There is no real escape. Is it only a matter of time. But good fortune, this is what I have to remember. I’ve been lucky several times in my life.

4.

«I would trade all the good fortune, all the light of my days if only that’d make your sadness disappear»

5.

Maybe that’s been my greatest luck. I never had to.

6.

1948. 2020. So far yet so close.