Poetic Art A cow grazes in our memory blood escapes from the teats the landscape is killed by a shot The cow insists on its routine its tail scares away the boredom the landscape revives in slow motion The cow abandons the landscape we continue hearing the lowing our memory grazes now in that immense loneliness The landscape leaves our memory the words change name we are left weeping on the blank page The cow grazes now in the emptiness the words are mounted on her the language makes fun of us (Translated by Ron Hudson) The Messenger She took the words out for a walk and the words bit the children and the children told their parents and the parents loaded their guns and opened fire upon the words and the words whimpered, yelped slowly licking their blind wounds until at last they fell face down on the bloody ground And then came death dressed in her best garment and stopped at the poet’s house to call ...