The White Mans Burden
Lost in the forest, I broke off a dark twig And lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips: Maybe it was the voice of the rain crying, A cracked bell, or a torn heart.
Tonight I Can Write
Tonight I can write the saddest lines. Write, for example, ‘The night is starry And the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.’ The night wind revolves in the sky and sings. Tonight
Ode To a Large Tuna in the Market
Among the market greens, A bullet From the ocean Depths, A swimming Projectile, I saw you, Dead. All around you Were lettuces, Sea foam Of the earth, Carrots, Grapes, But Of the ocean Truth,
Gentleman Alone
The young maricones and the horny muchachas, The big fat widows delirious from insomnia, The young wives thirty hours’ pregnant, And the hoarse tomcats that cross my garden at night, Like a collar of
Puedo Escribir
Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche. Escribir, por ejemplo: ‘La noche está estrellada, Y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos.’ El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.
Ode To Maize
America, from a grain Of maize you grew To crown With spacious lands The ocean foam. A grain of maize was your geography. From the grain A green lance rose, Was covered with gold,
Leaning Into The Afternoons
Leaning into the afternoons, I cast my sad nets towards your oceanic eyes. There, in the highest blaze my solitude lengthens and flames; Its arms turning like a drowning man’s. I send out red
Ode To The Artichoke
The artichoke With a tender heart Dressed up like a warrior, Standing at attention, it built A small helmet Under its scales It remained Unshakeable, By its side The crazy vegetables Uncurled Their tendrills
Come With Me, I Said, And No One Knew (VII)
Come with me, I said, and no one knew Where, or how my pain throbbed, No carnations or barcaroles for me, Only a wound that love had opened. I said it again: Come with
Ode To Tomatoes
The street Filled with tomatoes, Midday, Summer, Light is Halved Like A Tomato, Its juice Runs Through the streets. In December, Unabated, The tomato Invades The kitchen, It enters at lunchtime, Takes Its ease
Tower Of Light
O tower of light, sad beauty That magnified necklaces and statues in the sea, Calcareous eye, insignia of the vast waters, cry Of the mourning petrel, tooth of the sea, wife Of the Oceanian
Walking Around
It so happens I am sick of being a man. And it happens that I walk into tailorshops and movie houses Dried up, waterproof, like a swan made of felt Steering my way in
Magellanic Penguin
Neither clown nor child nor black Nor white but verticle And a questioning innocence Dressed in night and snow: The mother smiles at the sailor, The fisherman at the astronaunt, But the child child
Cat's Dream
How neatly a cat sleeps, Sleeps with its paws and its posture, Sleeps with its wicked claws, And with its unfeeling blood, Sleeps with ALL the rings a series Of burnt circles which have
The Dictators
An odor has remained among the sugarcane: A mixture of blood and body, a penetrating Petal that brings nausea. Between the coconut palms the graves are full Of ruined bones, of speechless death-rattles. The