Saturday, February 26, 2011
Caminas y desandas en esta dirección
completas esos círculos que evocan infinitos
me llevas en susurro por un sendero echado
vienes y te vas como emigrante oleaje.
Runa luminosa de sombras pasajeras,
de destinos cantados en estrofas de eclipse.
Aquí está el paradero, aquí una pausa ciega.
Enrédate en mis ojos tan velados de arrobo
y vuélvete el sedante para esta noche larga.
--Lilyan de la Vega
You walk toward me and retreat from me in one line.
You complete these circles that evoke the infinite.
You carry me, whispering, to my destined path.
You come and go, like a wandering swell.
Luminous rune of passing shadows,
of destinies sung in strophes of eclipse,
Here is the resting place, here in this blind pause;
Tangle with my eyes, sleepless with rapture,
Be my sleepy potion this long night.
--translation by Deanna Hopper
The amateurs have gathered in the bar,
some of whom can barely keep it down,
and at their yacky-yack and har-dee-har,
the shelves of mirrored bottles sigh, and frown.
The pro keeps to himself. He does not sneer;
these tourists in his kingdom pay the rent.
He gestures graciously to this idea;
his vodka smiles at him, beneficent.
At last the hour is over. Neon blinks
on empty stools; the bottles all relax.
The king abides, his forehead to his drink,
and waits the stroke that cuts the scene to black.
He shudders as it takes him: mirrored high,
sees all the bottles, sneering, empty, dry.
The life is torn.
After the violent explosion,
while you stand
The loved life -
the solid-seeming life,
the future plans.
They look beautiful,
the torn pieces,
a train whistle dies
far away in the night . . . . . . silence
the first bird awakens
- - Patrick Mizelle