Raster. Jaargang 4
(1970-1971)– [tijdschrift] Raster–
Auteursrechtelijk beschermd
[pagina 257]
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Section II‘Es el tiempo este anuncio de gran zapateria es el tiempo, que marcha descalzo de la muerte hacia la muerte’. from Poemas Humanos Call of green things to his hand
no longer pulls
underworld gold
pales for his lack of envy
The things of poverty
he sees as clear
as mountain teeth
about to bite the sky
as the backbone of mountains
about to puncture the sky's belly
The city is grey with white hands
the city
the city
is grey with white and green hands
beckons the forests
cold mountain's reaches
They say the same mists will come down
but be drunk by the Sun
they say there will be a Sun up there
but it will be cold
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[pagina 258]
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Old man in a brown hat
drip at his nose
passing
the eyes / of a door through mountains
one way
with no thought of return
Frozen to gold
demonetized gold
to be dug up at dawn
changed into mountains
glass-enclosed
changed into mountains
Wind on the sands cat-god mouse
mouse on cat cat on mouse
lovers lying side by side in the mountains
he is about to enter
Her oyster is the Moon's
around it a city
prayer in his hands
calls to the caesar-poet
venture out there
And where are you
macho
in all this sleep
rotting about our bodies
Taken a bus twice only these fifteen years
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[pagina 259]
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Section VII‘Calor, cansado voy con mi oro, a donde acaba mi enemigo de quererme’ from Poemas Humanos Word of thin gold
letting them in
letting them out
the emprisoned hand
is the hand set free
the hand setting free
is the hand that locks
and the heart
that he could not enter
and the eyes behind their gates
and the mind he could not read
locked in gold-leaf
his needle to
the death of love
They sank the golden rod
at Huanacauri sank first time
clothed like the Sun in his clothes
went out he north she south
out of the inn of morning
and they set up pillars
wreathed in flowers and sweet herbs
for the Sun to come and sit on
in all its light
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[pagina 260]
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Through the high plateau
wind moved on grass
one horseman a statue
far from his sheep
another one
surrounded by his sheep
a knife in butter
Chaotic range white belt of mountains
horizon snow
little balls of cloud
tossed by the gods at play
domes minarets of cloud for Garcilaso
in Cordoba de los Olivares
polo among the singer-gods
and over all
Huascaran
the saddle-mountain
with the gods astride
their horse of snow
parading through their conquests
with sticks of light
In the quiet town
gold made / unmade
humming bird to his tasks
flighting atop his dance
putting in extras
some madness in the nectar
describing curlicues
for morning's joy
in the arms of their father the Sun
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[pagina 261]
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Section X‘ante el pesar de los padres de no poder dejarnos de arrancar de sus sueños de amor a este mundo’ from Trilce Passing the Palace of Justice
a taxi-driver says
great deal of palace
for so little justice
Photographers in rain
their cameras backed up
storks at the Station wall
trapped in their own last portraits
Where they mine his ores
wrecks of better housing
under crumbling mountains
in the high towns
there are no gardens
children tell homes apart
by numbers on the blocks
Arbeit macht frei
Noses stuffed against dust
on the prowl for their lungs
whole babies under shawls
stifle in mother smell
while guts torn up
golden wombs opened
give up their treasures
puffing down to the coast
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[pagina 262]
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The wounded country
whose past is drained
by vampire and vulture
out of whose wounds
torrent of ore
angry and sick
such men have drained
to add their own blood to the torrent
And the caesar-poet
walks in far Paris his night-walk
exhausted by Justice
as he falls to his drink
cats lap the blood
of the land he recovers in dreams
And his fathers from the hills
look down erosion
try tracing paths
messengers travelled
to bring news of the Sun
bread to his children
smouldering arms to the mines
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[pagina 263]
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ValedictionsHow do you live
saying nothing but
goodbye whole day
whole night quitting one thing
after another taking leave
everything done that long affair
no longer eat this
without thoughts
no longer come across this
without thoughts
no longer think this
without further thoughts
frailty of world
frailty of arches
trestles arches
steps
buttresses
belts strings ropes chains
all that receding
licks back towards you
like a leaving tide
your feet alone on the sand
nothing but sand
as far as eye can reach
nothing but feet
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[pagina 264]
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in rubbish detritus
still the trace
in emptyness void
still the trace
in forgetfulness
still the trace
and make a song out of dying
and make a song out of the strangled throat
like that swan dying
that stuffed trumpet
blaring fuck-it
unvoiced
singing still
and about the city
she goes about in
what about the city
she goes about in
streets corners shops
she goes about in
balancing love and hate
saying o.k. I’ll not... impediments
o.k. you take that man you make that choice
at your own level
o.k. those grapes sour as all hell
nothing but silence does
length of the silence dearest god
© Nathaniel Tarn 1970 |
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