Nobody should suffer yet how many women weep in secret in the daytime undergrowth martyrs violated by hands believed to be fraternal locked up in a silence with no return unmade in pain they cover bruises with weary signs of a smile the sowing of beatings it is a burning fire that makes no noise.
Nobody should suffer Read More »
I have no more hands. I have lost them spreading caresses and they didn’t come back. I no longer have a mouth. I used it in the bitter kisses I gave. I still have my feet and eyes. They follow me, they chase me, they scrutinize my faltering steps. They don’t lose their compass in
she goes to the public swimming pool, puts on a swimming cap and goggles gets into the water, but isn’t able to ask, or perhaps doesn’t believe. So with her first stroke she says “here I am”, then another stroke and again “here I am”. Here I am she says with every stroke. Here I
When she wants to pray Read More »
You are all thorns, you’re all fire and keep me away from your perilous heart. I cannot be enough for your joy and seem to delight you but little, so little hardly lifting that riotous shadow you are all bitterness and wrath you are in the clash and bewilderment my racer, my heart’s record-breaker my
I cannot, my love, I cannot make you a song Read More »
Snow also covers the waste. And the cold insinuates itself under the skin. How love can grow without the sap of the gift? The emotion spreads from a caress. Life perpetuates itself in the warmth throbbing of the transplanted seed, and the earth, the lover, becomes a mother. Spaces open to fruits which are soaked
When the black curtain goes down on the words I would like to say and get tangled on the tongue, there is not only lack of voice, there is oxygen rarefaction, there is a scream which restricts the living space. When the flamingo holds its head in the flickering light of sunset an imperceptible barrier
To my daughter Andra I’m digging a hole in the air shadow shielded thickened coolness the air doesn’t begin nor ends with it. I’m digging a hole in the air filled with man’s pricey stuff the soul is about to seethe out quivering like a branch, marveling I do exist. Only a blind man’s poorer
after Ezra Pound Oh, Zeus, oh, Aphrodite, oh, Bacchus, give me, I beseech you, give me on bond a tiny tavern with shiny bottles shelved in Indian file to woe thy eyes, and haunting rum and tequila phials opened under the Dutch tobacco light. And a pair of funnels slightly worn out. And, passing by,
The Island in A Dream Read More »
PARIS 1910 You didn’t hide the shadows, the wounds, the tame sharks in the heart, the flattery placed on the broken window sill. Under that window the hyenas gathered, they defied the moon, they tormented it with belches and insults; clumsy singsong like brush strokes impressed with remorse. Could I not have loved you right
ANNA ACHMATOVA IN MODIGLIANI Read More »
That wind acid which increases mosquitoes and tamarisks at the crossroads of Coscile and Crati, in the sun-burnt plain, it is no cowardly inertia, abandonment, rotten fairy tales, but sighs of God who saw the Temples were falling and he could not remedy, because He was drunk and lying by the sea he was telling
THE MILONE MISTAKE Read More »
