Eternity

Oh, will that day arrive

When I shall ceaselessly ask – yea, drive

Eternal questions into Thine ear,

O Eternity ! and have solution

How weak weeds grow and stand unbent,

Unshaken ‘neath the trampling current.

How the storm wrecks titanic things;

Uproots the trees,

And quick disturbs the mighty seas.

I was dead

I was dead
I came alive
I was tears
I became laughter

all because of love
when it arrived
my temporal life
from then on
changed to eternal

love said to me
you are not
crazy enough
you don’t
fit this house

The Three Oddest Words

When I pronounce the word Future,
the first syllable already belongs to the past.

When I pronounce the word Silence,
I destroy it.

When I pronounce the word Nothing,
I make something no non-being can hold.

Wislawa Szymborska


(Picture: Infra black drawing, Paul Paun)

The Hurricane

"We are the birds of the coming storm." — August Spies

The tide is out, the wind blows off the shore;
Bare burn the white sands in the scorching sun;
The sea complains, but its great voice is low.

   Bitter thy woes, O People,
      And the burden
   Hardly to be borne!
   Wearily grows, O People,
      All the aching
   Of thy pierced heart, bruised and torn!
   But yet thy time is not,
      And low thy moaning.
   Desert thy sands!
   Not yet is thy breath hot,
      Vengefully blowing;
   It wafts o'er lifted hands.

Απολογισμός

Νύχτωσε. 

Ώρα πού αναρωτιέται κανείς τι έπραξε στη ζωή του.

Κι οι νεκροί πλάγιασαν και σταύρωσαν τα χέρια, 

σαν αυτό που ψάχναν

να το αγγίζουν, 

επιτέλους, 

μέσα τους.

Τάσος Λειβαδίτης 

A Frightful Oligarchy

Fear is an absolute monarch;
Nothing overshadows
His omnipotence.
Next to him Queen Despair
Has fewer competences
Since it is as if everything has been lost by now.
When she doesn’t feel young and strong enough
To plunge into mourning
Sailing-souls, she asks the assistance
Of her exclusive nurse, sadness

A noiseless patient spider

A noiseless, patient spider,

I mark'd, where, on a little promontory, it stood, isolated;

Mark'd how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding,

It launch'd forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself;

Ever unreeling them--ever tirelessly speeding them. 

Oda a la bella desnuda

Con casto corazón, con ojos
puros,
te celebro, belleza,
reteniendo la sangre
para que surja y siga
la línea, tu contorno,
para
que te acuestes a mi oda
como en tierra de bosques o de espuma,
en aroma terrestre
o en música marina.

Torturador y Espejo

Mirate
así
qué cangrejo monstruoso atenazó tu infancia
qué paliza paterna te generó cobarde
qué tristes sumisiones te hicieron despiadado

no escapes a tus ojos
mirate
así

dónde están las walquirias que no pudiste
la primera marmita de tus sañas

Utopia

Island where all becomes clear.

Solid ground beneath your feet.

The only roads are those that offer access.

Bushes bend beneath the weight of proofs.

The Tree of Valid Supposition grows here
with branches disentangled since time immemorial.

The Tree of Understanding, dazzlingly straight and simple,
sprouts by the spring called Now I Get It.

O Me! O Life!

O Me! O life!...of the questions of these recurring;  

Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish;  

Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)  

Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle ever renew’d;  

Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;         

Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined;  

The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?  

The tulip

Perhaps the tulip know the fickleness
Of Fortune’s smile, for on  her stalk’s green shaft
She bears a wine cup through the wilderness

Hāfez

translated by Gertrude Bell

(Picture: Flower, Abidin Dino)

El sueño

Si el sueño fuera (como dicen) una

tregua, un puro reposo de la mente,
¿por qué, si te despiertan bruscamente,
sientes que te han robado una fortuna?

¿Por qué es tan triste madrugar? La hora
nos despoja de un don inconcebible,
tan íntimo que sólo es traducible
en un sopor que la vigilia dora

To Our Land

To our land,
and it is the one near the word of god,
a ceiling of clouds
To our land,
and it is the one far from the adjectives of nouns,
the map of absence
To our land,
and it is the one tiny as a sesame seed,
a heavenly horizon ... and a hidden chasm
To our land,
and it is the one poor as a grouse’s wings,
holy books ... and an identity wound

Estadio Chile

Somos cinco mil
en esta pequeña parte de la ciudad.
Somos cinco mil
¿ Cuántos seremos en total
en las ciudades y en todo el país ?
Solo aqui
diez mil manos siembran
y hacen andar las fabricas.

¡ Cuánta humanidad
con hambre, frio, pánico, dolor,
presión moral, terror y locura !

Seis de los nuestros se perdieron
en el espacio de las estrellas.

Life or Death

A Soul, half through the Gate, said unto Life:
"What does thou offer me?" And Life replied:
"Sorrow, unceasing struggle, disappointment; after these
Darkness and silence." The Soul said unto Death:
"What does thou offer me?" And Death replied:
"In the beginning what Life gives at last."
Turning to Life: "And if I live and struggle?"
"Others shall live and struggle after thee
Counting it easier where thou hast passed."

Fragen eines lesenden Arbeiters

Wer baute das siebentorige Theben? 

In den Büchern stehen die Namen von Königen. 

Haben die Könige die Felsbrocken herbeigeschleppt? 

Und das mehrmals zerstörte Babylon - 

Wer baute es so viele Male auf? In welchen Häusern 

Des goldstrahlenden Lima wohnten die Bauleute?
Wohin gingen an dem Abend, wo die Chinesische Mauer fertig war Die Maurer?
Das große Rom 

Als sie mich holten

Als die Nazis die Kommunisten holten, 

habe ich geschwiegen; ich war ja kein Kommunist.

Als sie die Sozialdemokraten einsperrten,

habe ich geschwiegen; ich war ja kein Sozialdemokrat.

Als sie die Gewerkschafter holten, 

habe ich geschwiegen; ich war ja kein Gewerkschafter.

Als sie mich holten, 

gab es keinen mehr, der protestieren konnte.

Martin Niemöller

Streetscene

                          for Eugene Smith

She was on her knees
in a Tenderloin doorway
eating chunks of darkness
out of a small tin can.

As I passed, a photograph
of a Haitian man crawling
on a Port-au-Prince sidewalk
30 years ago came to mind.

There was no difference.

Anna, weine nicht

Sie sprechen wieder von grossen Zeiten 

(Anna, weine nicht).
Der Krämer wird uns schon ankreiden.

Sie sprechen wieder von Ehre 

(Anna, weine nicht).
Da ist nichts mehr im Schrank, was zu holen wäre.

Sie sprechen wieder von Siegen 

(Anna, weine nicht).
Sie werden mich schon nicht kriegen.

Mary Wollstonecraft

The dust of a hundred years
Is on thy breast,
And thy day and thy night of tears
Are centurine rest.
Thou to whom joy was dumb,
Life a broken rhyme,
Lo, thy smiling time is come,
And our weeping time.
Thou who hadst sponge and myrrh
And a bitter cross,
Smile, for the day is here

So Little

I said so little.

Days were short.

Short days.

Short nights.

Short years.

I said so little.

I couldn’t keep up.

My heart grew weary

From joy,

Despair,

Ardor,

Hope.

Curriculum

El cuento es muy sencillo
usted nace
contempla atribulado
el rojo azul del cielo
el pájaro que emigra
el torpe escarabajo
que su zapato aplastará
valiente

usted sufre
reclama por comida
y por costumbre
por obligación
llora limpio de culpas
extenuado
hasta que el sueño lo descalifica

Magnificat

Quando é que passará esta noite interna, o universo,

E eu, a minha alma, terei o meu dia?

Quando é que despertarei de estar acordado?

Não sei. O sol brilha alto,

Impossível de fitar.

As estrelas pestanejam frio,

Impossíveis de contar.

O coração pulsa alheio,

Impossível de escutar.