love poem

My soul is wild, thats calls you to it-

Wild as a river or a wood.

And it is useless to seek in it

a gentle mood.


I am like turbid waters running

they may not turn around

and never give to the same root

nor the same ground,


You heard a whisper but it wasn´t

the call of love.

And now the hungry sea before us

shall have us both.

angels

an image hides the soul within
so that the blind alone can see

one clear word alone can unveil
the unperceived beauty of a face

a bow before the darkeness may
reveal the worlds hidden there

one whisper of love will let you pass
into the loveliness of their heart

Without

i went outside of myself,
away, where i wasn´t myself,
like one who turns on a road´s bend
and sees the mountains right there,
the snowy mountains, just there.

i took my pain somewhere else
where no one could pay it heed,
my tears to some other place
where nor you nor i could heed them
and alone in the silence there
they flowed, a river.

i woul never take you with me
to where I alone should go
though you may want to follow me there
just to know...

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.