nena

Si has visto a cualquier hombre desnudo
me has visto a mi.
Te estoy mirando desde todos los sitios sin que me lloren los ojos
pero toda mi carne apabullada llora sin hacer ruido.
Y todo el dolor de los excluidos, de los vagabundos, de los borrachos,
de los tristes, te está amando, te está pidiendo el próximo baile
desde mis heridas, heridas de puñetazos, navajas y jeringuillas.
En el rincón del olvido crujen los postigos de aquella vieja puerta
por donde la muerte aparece para arrebatarnos lo último
que nos queda, la última pieza de amor pegada al hueso,
el último trozo de beso partido.
Si has visto a cualquier hombre desnudo y sanguinoliento
en una esquina del invierno atroz,
como a cualquier pobre cristo inútil,
me has visto a mi, al luchador caído,
la sombra de Roy Orbison con ojos sin pupílas,
espectral al fondo umbroso de los enormes autobúses que cruzan
la asesina noche de Texas. Si has visto a cualquier hombre desnudo,
carne de cárcel, ahíto de terror y de alcohol,
enamorado como una niña,
pidiendote, Oh dama, Oh dama inexistente, sombra apenas
de aquella con quien realmente soñaba, pobre mujer cuya sangre se ha ido
evaporando del mundo con la lluvia, Oh dama eterna, dama mortal,
que bailes conmigo el último baile, sobre la nieve dura, en el círculo
de luz rota del Boulevard Palmerston, donde los pielesrrojas
asqueados de la realidad vomitan la vida y se alzan como águilas
hacia la luna de los antaños, ,la luna de estaño intemporal...
Oh, dama sin alma de mis amores inmensos,
paloma del miedo, patatita rugosa:
si has visto a un hombre cualquiera de verdad desnudo
partido y terrible, ven a bailar conmigo,
me has visto a mi. Ven a bailar
el último triste baile sobre las hojas de las navajas.

The Prophet

Who whisper in the ears of the vagabond
make him speak in voices not his own,
languages he himself would never comprehend,
words come out from the dead, after so long?

Fool, who from hamlet to hamlet sways along,
for the animal mirth and mockery of the lot,
a stranger always, and despised by all,
yet the words he speaks, though not his own,
make us fear the wrath of our displeased god.

The hot desert sun has burnt spots
of skin on his half bald skull
and he has wrapped his wounded feet
in wetted linen cloth.
He´s come to tell us how we will die
and how the fire will devour our bones,
our houses tumble, and the wind erase
the last trace of our presence from the land-

Laughing children and little barking dogs
folow him down the road across the fields
of late spring, the red poppies among
the golden wheat like sudden drops of blood,
and by late afternoon they reach the sea
which is serene, blue- turquoise tinged with mauve.

And a child puts forh a skin of wine
stolen from his father´s store,
hands it to the old fool, who drinks it up
gleefully as the dry earth swallous up a rain storm.
He dances now, madly, before the waves.
"Your Lord God might consider to spare you now"
he says "Tell this to your parents, but be sure to point out
utter destruction will befall you all
should there be no wine next time I come round"

And the children laugh loud,
and the dogs bark more,
and the sun begins to set
behind the watery horizon
as it always has done.

The christ

A man approached me on the road
and he did not seem a good man-
his face was caked with earth and blood,
so were his long and browny hands,
and the tunic he wore was torn.
I feared him and escaped from him
and cast him fully out my mind:
I am your christ, your lover true,
the man kept calling from behind-
You called and I have come to you.
But I had thought my lord would come
dressed in true silk and gold brocade,
not in the garb of a homeless man,
beaten by life, and dispossessed.
What would you give me were you to stay
inside my house and I your host?
If you woul let me be with you
I ´d give your money and house away
yet you won´t weep for what you lost.
You´d have no country, race or name
and one snow flake picked of the air
would surely feed us and delight us both.

core

I´ve hung my towels out the window to dry.
It´s what they do where the sun is still alive.

I´ve told the assembly what I did not like-
it´s what they do where people don´t lie.

I´ve put forth my chest to the thrust of the knife-
it´s what they do who do not fear to die.

I´ve wiped the tears off the little child´s face-
it´s what they do who can fend off pain.

I´ve learnt the languages of various birds
it´s what they do, who free themselves.

Eyeless the forest, the river and the sea
and I, alone with eyes to see,
my name, my eyes , my memory
have given all those thing to keep-
that´s what they do, who search to find
infinity.

cathedral

Temples were built
so that a man could walk in them
like an unimposing shadow,
scarcely visible in the dim light of God.
A god of stone, not of water or wind:
a pensive, melancholic, forever alone god.
Temples were built in the image
of the mind of men, full of cold,
secret recesses where the dead rot
eternally inside marble sepulchres.
By the cold god of men were temples built
so that a man could walk through them
in the shadow of his own god´s sorrow.

But a different god sings in the river
and ITS laughter is heard in the woods,
one against another the crystal leaves tinkle
with its wild laughter,
with the cold silks of the snow it descends
and engulfs all in its deathless dream.
This god has made the earth so a creature
could walk through it fully visible in the light,
so all shapes could be seen as they move
knowing freedom, and the spirit
which moves them is the same
that moves the sea and the night around the planet.
This is the god of glee who made the forests
an painted them a myriad hues
for the endless delight of the bird and the child.

element

I have lost my fear.
The sea can take me.
The wet earth can have me.
The desert can burn me and swallow me.
That is what the world is made for,
to destroy and bury
´till, of our having been
and having loved
nothing shall be remembered.
With me will sink
the voices and the gazes
and the beautiful faces
broken in pieces
by the very fury
from which they were created.
And all that will remain:
the sadness of my mind
at not knowing why
I never unsertood them,
their reason for being with me
there.
The sea is vast and sullen.
All that has shape is by the water taken
and in due time only the water rises
to the sun, and nothing is remembered.
A silence such as Noah perceived
after the darkness broke
spirals through the newborn light
and everything outside the corpse
is glad with life.
And clings to breathing.
And to the nearness of another form:
a crazy wish for infinity.
But I am not infinite
and the vast sea can take me,
and the wet earth can have me,
the desert can burn me and swallow me.
I have lost my respect for the might of Death.
The hot wind can paly flute
in the holes of my maggot- cleansed dead bones.

el salto

Como quien desde alta atalaya
mira hacia el vasto mar, escucha su rugido
y siente el embíte del viento
que de su seno turbio se levanta
y de súbito comprende
qué es la libertad
y no tiene miedo,
y se deja caer
y unos instántes
vuela,
y otro instante despúes
ha pagado su ansia
de flotar en el aire
con su vida.

Allá en el mareante y ruidoso torbellino
de los rompientes, su cuerpo sin alma ya,
maltrecho, el cadáver sanguinoliento
de un raro pez brillando
palidamente entre los negros farallones,
pleno de sal, ahíto de liquido frío,
el mar hace por hundirle
y él con la sorpresa de un ahogado
que reconoce continuar con el deseo
de los ojos abiertos,
ha oído los gritos
de alguien que le descubre,
horrorizado, desde la arena de la playa cercana.