Luis Benitez
Nothing of what I say May deviate the fall of a leaf. A word will not Detain the other one. It’s useless for me to dedicate A truth to these listeners: They will turn
O! Und dann wieder dies Bei-sich-selbst-Sein! Diese Stummheiten! Dies Getriebenwerden! ………………………………………………………………………. O! And then to be with – our – very – selves! This muteness! This going adrift! Gottfried Benn When we take her
Walking along the corridors of imagination, Free and alone forever, as when he was And didn’t know he was a child, Until forgetting that I’m imagining. That this heavy flesh, that urinates and sweats,
I see a woman any woman making up and change First she is thinking of something else (because when a woman Begins to make up she hasn’t yet separated this act from the rest
This evening and part of the night I sank again into the dense sea Where we beings and things float. I descended for pearls to show to men Who fear even the risk of
If you have nothing to say keep silent Let Ezra Pound speak From the shadows the splendid old man From the fine water line The magnificent old man Shows you the genuine banknotes of
The opposite seeks the opposite And the drop of black Grows within white Until turning white into black And conversely the drop becomes white We all want the opposite Which incarnates in front of
To think that Spinoza died polishing eyeglasses. That Blake got tired at a printer’s shop Waiting for that day’s conversation with the angels. That just to live Baudelaire humiliated before his mother. That Rimbaud