THROUGH THE GLASS

“Earth, sweet and smooth earth
what was your face like, brown earth?”
Aurelio Arturo.

A river
Huge mountains, strolling clouds
Of vibrations, the green, grey and blue.

Poised with his sword
A man behind, his trumpet ready
Small, a minute bulge betraying his sex.

Where was he looking to? Was so much tranquility possible
By the red canon’s side, and the dead man’s face on this boots?
She, looking into the distance, poor lady who gets in her hand a blank paper
Awaiting the time of his arrival, thinking
Of  those nights between his legs.

Thousands of men and women waiting for who knows what from destiny.

Looking toward us, an old for, a line cowed with
Umbrellas, crutches, hands in mouths, ponchos bearing
The two O’clock sun.

Covered with a black shawl, as grand mothers, leg and braid
Arched, cities, domes, old windows, aged from watching the passage of man.

Youthful eyes, youthful bodies on the modern straw mats
The caribbean sea, the strong green, domes, miseries, solitudes.

In any square
two youths look into each other
Beyond the heart
Their arms and groins
In any room
One body joins another
To stay.

Clothing comes off
The simplest of signs is understood
Not knowing what they want
Whether it is the flesh they are seeking, or
Just friendship ,or
The world’s solitude
Bodies to which cleanliness does not matter
Water and perfume are unnecessary
The flesh always demands more than smell
Or the painting of the face
The eyes demand more than any  hand
The phallus and the vagina know a
Stronger, harsher, more demanding language.

Ancestors
Relatives from way back
Drifting in gold rafts
Dreams bringing misfortune.

Ignoring everything,
They built pain,defeat, fire burning their feet.

Bird shapes, bird beaks, bird skins
Angry faces, wrinkled, invisible teeth showing
Astral heads, loaded with  sparkling nuggets
Earrings piercing respiration, earrings smaller than the wounded ear
At the place where they were, a boy and his dog play
Both of them, master and beloved, watch
A ball of hide suspended in the blue air.

Or these, wearing their inherited wool from ruan
Daughter by the hand, son on her hips, wind blowing their hair
Poor things, beautiful faces, balconies, balconies,
Street corners crowded with memories.

You saw him
Well into the morning
The dirty bar, the hungry drunkards.

The words “do not go” were enough:
And yielded the body to the many pleasures
Without soul morality or conditions
Knowing we had seen each other
We knew the hips the pleasant kiss
Delicious ears, legs raised leaving vacant the spot
Where a phallus knows how to caress.

Earth of ours
Worked in vain and for a few
Rivers and ports flooded with sun
Wretched clothing wretched feet
Rivers as knives wounding the earth
Huge breasts of Indian   women, strong bellies of  Indian women
Breasts, breasts, like mountains of hunger that children do not suck
Smiling, absorved Yaunas, patient, laborious
Erecting their houses weaving their misery with vegetable fibers
Orchids, red dates, laurels of victory that only you can see.

Night monkeys, ant bears, herons, tigers, boas.

Pensive tortoises, chigüiros – fellow creatures of the world of teeth
Earth that yields nothing
And sex nevertheless
Huge breasts, breasts, phalluses as big as macaws
Phalli, phalluses, sperm that is born and dies in a moment.

At an unncessary beginning you talk about yourself
Vein of the tongue that never stops
Misery of the navel that does not stop the course of life
Heart, acorn of the brain
You talk about yourself
Because you are not.

Traslated from Spanish by Rowena Hill