The poem SKELETON BLUE AND OTHER AGONY (EBO, Montevideo, 1973)
Cependant c'est la veille. Recevons tous les influx of vigueur et de tendresse réelle. Et à l'aurore, armes d'une ardente patience, nous entrerons splendides aux villes. Arthur Rimbaud
I also remember the lost, or anyone else's
-assport all empty, non-
eyes of his own world.
Of the beautiful, remember, mutilated
impassable dawn.
And the faithful waiting in the morning, lying like a corpse
,
remember.
What they have hidden the bowels of the earth,
what learned men have sought,
what has gone around the bush and the birds
and has come to my eyes
what has turned the earth in a hell
circuit assumed in silence,
time and distance of a yearning,
darkened world
parents who bring children's birth parents that bring
others again light
up to these men.
And among them the secrets to living breathing while choking,
this time stayed in the memories rushed
someone walking with Homer
memory because it has no strength to guess the signs of dust, someone who cries
with weeping eyes and bones,
someone who hated and loved it until,
this distressed that fell between the teeth their screams of terror, the owner
its two feet of earth,
this man, here among men.
For the dagger the other day
cry of the morning is cruel and hidden tears in his bed
sounds. Ah
smile,
a hand of love given to death by flames rising
tab when there is light, not heat-emonio
abyss
almost trivial convictions and fearful trance
a duty passenger
ending child to bed and so
spent another day on his promise
a note, a betrayal, a comrade
going unnoticed as a gesture of death in the pupil of the mirror
silent screaming in agony.
complacent smile of the last executed
learned to hate my mirrors.
blood stops when all
everyone expected the downpour of light in the fall.
Glass is now
saliva in my teeth when I hate springs from the eye without
eco-drive and reversible
dead as dead as the dim light
pretending to shine after each lens.
(Give your photos a yellow smile someone dies
this in a corner of ancestors)
I am where I am not
and the cornea does not feel
reflective glass.
trunk fear where I stop,
the roots of horror have followed your footsteps. Trunk
fear, your leaves are dead and in my eyes
daemon network weaves his fall. Come
fruit and rest,
when now is nothing, tomorrow there is death.
not run your mouth and will not show your teeth, hold thy peace
your every word and no one will hear your cry of horror
blocked and dead.
(found in my nerves a brother,
Dove collapsed,
and eyes of abortion ran through my blood)
trunk of fear, you feed your thirst
with the horror of all.
The horror of my brother smashed in the gutter
and at home a child is silent remembering
sweet summer of the world,
and one day told him: "Come, come see the roots in the sand, water and seek
not want to die. Gaviota
When will come the fall and almost never walk sap your bones. But that does not last long. This beach is always spring and learn to eat the fruit which will rise from the roots of your eyes. Trunk
fear, you would want to dump on the waves
but the roots will prevent it seizing
other fruit. Trunk
fear, horror leaves
devour all
spring between the tracks always changes of the beach.
And you approach your final hour
with empty eyes and hands
your pupil glowed
seven rays and seven colors
when you opened your mouth to the storm.
The voice that you heard from a dragon waiting
tangled in your feet
(the hippo was walking away from you toward the swamp)
and rip off your ears and wears without Archangel
the web of lies and pain fleece
was intact and in your final scream your blood
terror fled
and only a skeleton wearing blue and one dying.
II
When the black rider, when your ray-l
Ray-crossed with
my eyes, already mother of pearl, glass and was
the world, your voice was
the beach and the sea drowning
your eyes infinite.
And I began then,
managed, once I started
see you, see the world,
to see how medieval mind how useless-sensitive
was my body. And
then was that I saw was
then I saw his face change, saw your skin
almost undid the pores in the sand and saw
renal flowers were forgotten and very long back
beaches. I saw
the algae were already
open my mouth and then I saw your hand off my hair and was
to enter your horse forever in the underwater world.
If I get him to hear me, feel me,
if I could open the blind eyes so heavy,
and talk at length from throat silent
many evenings he has cried in Forests and fruitless
One day he has seen his profile
evening after the men killed was sad and silent
,
he has borne the brunt of all dropouts in the mud
fragile road to death, and then if
will succeed him to put his eyes on me and I look slow
to the bottom of silence and thus will be
still sinking slowly and forever
in their graves at night
enough then only with your name
-Lux Dei-
to feel safe.
When descended
or before
as yet unnamed, one-year return
-now-I loved you. And I loved
calendars older than your name, old almanacs
worn yellow like pictures of provincial churches,
used for years that looked jaded
tedious passage of other years.
But it was your name, your name
any month you were born from my months
was your name that came to me one day painfully learned
and limit areas and men and was always
pattern
defining the boundaries of my skin and the world. Tu es veritas
and I only managed to be um
man when I could name you from these roofs open to anything.
was
In your numbers, and I knew-
the mystery of a tag-unreachable
, voluptuous-
migrant larks.
In perhaps your black hair blue ¾
(or was it sleep?)
my gull nested into rings or spirals
than 3 times, three times, was my
this ocean of birds of prey.
Night Long is back tonight
insomnia. She is blue and warm as a bird-eye
as fixed and as slow as slow tonight.
From the windows of cars that run and run down the eyes
up at night. Has climbed by traffic lights and fixed
as slow as his gaze. And after the silence
insomnia born in the many messages in your name
so deep in me. Your eyes and your name. An echo
I'm alone in this room,
lying on the same sheets that you touched, I'm alone and thinking
: herald.
And you're not a name. You
over and still have that shadow that slowly begins to go back to
and sea wind hits the window
dibujándote into my eyes. Messenger
and everything would be achieved if reflux
sea
not take you.
III
There's thunder in silence, almost gods,
tunnels hiding a strange moment
space and are horrible messages like tombstones unaddressed,
as certain letters of the books
doomed to forever incomprehensible terror
or men who have given their all smiling
and discover the precise moment powerless
previous life was a show-music-hall-
hurt that they look with frightened eyes,
and behind the curtains at the boîte a transvestite smoked in silence, and suddenly
now stands the most horrible scream accidentally
because
and touched her sex was a game of mirrors that shadow
and saw that her breasts were
bags full of lies, and the men saw
fetuses
who were born through each wound
and ran wildly to break the bulbs
to see the last shadow fell over the audience,
because then it was almost possible to
almost impossible to understand without mirrors
colored screens
not see
that after the restless
fringes were things, things that nobody would
supported,
very sad images that only the animals could have
keep their memories and because at that moment everything was offered to a recipient red revealed shame
absurd absurd as a revelation absolutely irreparable.
I can not even want to talk about heaven-yellow roofs, although sparrows
plucked-
or powder that you know it was in my life.
I can no longer be silent from the mouth before
or sing quietly behind the houses on the cobblestone street.
I can not say I can not
because it is impossible to go from this neighborhood
(It was the last bus.
went blind the lantern of the season)
And along the boulevard is a learning.
I can not say how it got
I can not live what I lived.
night lights
haunt me And there, against the wall of the factory, I
are dazzling and can not wait.
The people of this district look at me and do not recognize me, some watch silently turns sudden tumult of the morning sun. The others just watch and shut up because I do not recognize me.
But it is still night.
A sparrow does not sing in this neighborhood
and can not speak what you want. I can not tell
-tar the intersection
touched my blood-
I can not tell those walls sunken secrets in my hands
and tell you I love you
because I can not tell you
and 3 sparrows
shot dead after the gate of my house.
obscured by ideas engendered between germs of insanity,
by hope enigmas tired of not seeking support, as an older
cross is falling but still the night wind
the hold on his stick,
by all the paths of all the arteries,
by the blood and dust
slow your sign arrives empty.
For cities still full of ashes and faces,
by the will of others to what we all wanted
and some found, invented by the tracks
secretive birds in deserts virgin
neutral and nobody gets their silence. This absence
inhabited
name comes silenced my eyes looking for anything.
She seems to jump between steps of adolescents grow in ivy
younger,
moss hanging from his mountain.
It is seen in the skin of each man
feeling,
is seen in the green leaves of the highest pines
evening watching the earth is born
land and sea that swallows and other
once the offering.
She looks hidden in all profiles,
sunk in the eyes to flee, in plotting
gestures more severe, and in its war
is seen running by the flags
and into the pure final words detached
playing with her hands caressing the bone to be born in the shade. Slowly
come. As the summer.
slowly sinking your roots among the shadows.
A yellow skin
give you the hand and a day pass like so many poor light beam
all its mud. Barro
again in your veins, you will sink in
when the human dust that terrifies the mud
and see the beach from that sudden
nightmare that
Dog Dog bones
bit you
and screamed with rage in your room dark. Search your hands
shadows you saw
and will be relentless emptiness
those eyes that wept with rage one morning. Then someone will
their work, children away
play hide and seek,
and when the sun sets in the cities end up in the woods
your own hunt.
And it was a corpse lying on the beach
and fear.
They found him in the back of my water fall-
do not get wet, do not
my fire burning. I'm on the road
and away from it all without time-
I saw Him away, and the dunes are no longer
moved because he had spoken to his eternal language.
City South,
forget all you traveled. Horror
beach, however
's body was lying
your profile one day
was the day that looked
night stranded in the most terrible dawn of the Cosmos. Overseas
But this
in the eyes of the corpse
had already sung her share of terrible fear in his nostalgia
meridian.
The saddest eyes I will come like a thief
shadow-dawn hours
sword in the sackcloth-
hidden between the black eyed initiated.
(The Saints
night had melted in the keywords
when it closed in the afternoon)
Hear, hear
how dumb bell,
how sound the bugles of the dawn
green and the voice never heard of lightning. Ah
posthumous guest-Uriel between centuries-
and your free word archangel. Waiting
from dark design,
desert waiting in his eyes that devour
forms of stone, almost ghost
world on the face of sand. Ah
hermit forgetfulness of a time that despises stable
voyage
not smile or words from the mouth,
no soul, no touch of the homies, never-
piedra piedra-arena
espejo un día
piedra.
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