The eye of time
The coin of time burns in my hand
a metal circle without a face
it burns all that I ignore of myself
all that no one suspect of me
The coin rolls down
reaches your tired feet
you take it and smile artlessly
It’s not a dream for you all this
you grab the coin and think
of my hair of my eyes
Someone’s telling a lie inside my eyes
someone hurts my heart
within.
(From “Hablar Sombras”/ “To Speak Shadows 2013,
Translation by Mario Licón Cabrera
Vagabond Press, Sidney, 2017)
To say the shadow
To speak from the shadow; be the shadow;
the fast flux where darkness
grows without body, subjugated.
To speak against the shadow of what we’ve said,
come back from the shadow of wakefulness;
go so high, so deep, timeless
that the fierce return won’t be needed.
To say the shadow, to say what we’ve left,
the remains of voice and sighs,
the reckless shadow with no accent
no pause, emotionless, pure shadow
that will beget more shadows on its way.
To speak, say, speak the shadows means
to get close to things, their bodies,
be a constant reflexion, a mirror
of a virtual language which is never true.
(From “Hablar Sombras” / “To Speak Shadows 2013,
Translation by Mario Licón Cabrera
Vagabond Press, Sidney, 2017)
Desert sun
We moved along the uncontrollable space of the
landscape
behind the blue mountains was South
We traced an imaginary circle
where all men and things and days
stood one before the other
recognizing their faces and beloved signs
I was the first to lift the feet in dance
then the whole circle was spinning with the sun
“It’s the desert moving us”—I said
and the music sounded louder in our bodies.
(From “Hablar Sombras” / “To Speak Shadows 2013,
Translation by Mario Licón Cabrera
Vagabond Press, Sidney, 2017)
a metal circle without a face
it burns all that I ignore of myself
all that no one suspect of me
reaches your tired feet
you take it and smile artlessly
you grab the coin and think
of my hair of my eyes
someone hurts my heart
within.
Translation by Mario Licón Cabrera
Vagabond Press, Sidney, 2017)
the fast flux where darkness
grows without body, subjugated.
To speak against the shadow of what we’ve said,
come back from the shadow of wakefulness;
go so high, so deep, timeless
that the fierce return won’t be needed.
To say the shadow, to say what we’ve left,
the remains of voice and sighs,
the reckless shadow with no accent
no pause, emotionless, pure shadow
that will beget more shadows on its way.
To speak, say, speak the shadows means
to get close to things, their bodies,
be a constant reflexion, a mirror
of a virtual language which is never true.
Translation by Mario Licón Cabrera
Vagabond Press, Sidney, 2017)
behind the blue mountains was South
We traced an imaginary circle
where all men and things and days
stood one before the other
recognizing their faces and beloved signs
then the whole circle was spinning with the sun
“It’s the desert moving us”—I said
and the music sounded louder in our bodies.
Translation by Mario Licón Cabrera
Vagabond Press, Sidney, 2017)
