English translation: Luis Rafael Gálvez
IT RAINS IN THE POEM
The scar in the horizon
invades my eyes:
The shadow has been uttered
I appreciate the quarrel
between verdure and death.
In this city they have
condemned fire and earth,
Only water and wind,
trasparent friends,
Accompany
me
The hierarchy of the invisible.
ARS MUTANDI
Dawn:
Words become transparent
I see as I come out how
silence opens up.
There
is a language spoken only
By those who have just been
born.
This
day's exile has begun.
Dew visits
me
and
the mountain gives up its boundaries.
My
hands are nomadic roots.
Is
it I? Or is the body what is real?
The fragrance
unfolds its crime
The rose will end up abolishing its thorns
But its danger will
increase.
The
road has been mutiladted...
Since
when do I read the book of fire?
Now
that time chases after me
I
know the place where death goes green again
There is
where my voice begins.
The Cry's Age
Who
survives his childhood?
I
believed in memory
Until
I was outraged by the vigil.
Time,
potter of cracks.
I came to speak in the
middle of the tempest,
I
arrived with my inheritance of shadows
Undecided between
poem and cry
Between
fire and blue...
Now I live exiled from the
past
and the misfortune of dawn.
All
writing
Is the
work of the dead.
© Gonzalo Márquez Cristo