jueves, 23 de julio de 2009

On edges

Para Seymour,

¿Alguna vez te preguntaste hacia donde estuviste llevando todos tus días? Si al amanecer la fría gota de rocío te hace abrir los ojos y te hiela el alma dejando tus lagrimas congeladas en aquel instante, en el que la muerte se asomo a tu ventana. Sin poder ver siquiera que llego y se fue. ¿Cuántas días mas vas a jugar a ser inmortal? Al filo de la navaja se te borran los días, y las palabras no existen para quien no tiene cuerpo. Por eso siempre ten presente a Nietzche:

“Quien con monstruos lucha cuide de convertirse a su vez en monstruo. Cuando miras largo tiempo a un abismo, el abismo también mira dentro de ti.”

La vida es un boomerang y siempre vuelve acelerado, que no sea que un día al amanecer en el espejo en vez de tu rostro encuentres…

When the ice starts to shiver
all across the reflecting basin
or water-lily leaves
dissect a simple surface
the word "drowning" flows through me.
You built a glassy floor
that held me
as I leaned to fish for old
hooks and toothed tin cans,
stems lashing out like ties of
silk dressing-gowns
archangels of lake-light
gripped in mud.

Now you hand me a torn letter.
On my knees, in the ashes, I could never
fit these ripped up flakes together.
In the taxi I am still piecing
what syllables I can
translating at top speed like a thinking machine
that types out "useless" as "monster"
and "history" as "lampshades"
Crossing the bridge I need all my nerve
to trust the man-made cables.

The blades on that machine
could cut you to ribbons
but its function is humane.
Is this all I can say for this
delicate books, scythe-curved intentions
you and I handle? I´d rather
taste blood, yours or mine, flowing
from a sudden slash, than cut all day
with blunt scissors on dotted lines
like the teacher told.

1968 from leaflets

Adrienne Rich

2 comentarios:

Nacho Mazariegos dijo...

John Keats
John Keats
Please put your scarf on

--Seymour Glass

leandro quintero dijo...

"The World is not something to
look at, it is something to be in."

I look and look.
Looking's a way of being: one becomes,
sometimes, a pair of eyes walking.
Walking wherever looking takes one.

The eyes
dig and burrow into the world.
They touch
fanfare, howl, madrigal, clamor.
World and the past of it,
not only
visible present, solid and shadow
that looks at one looking.

And language? Rhythms
of echo and interruption?
a way of breathing.

breathing to sustain
walking and looking,
through the world,
in it.