miércoles, 3 de febrero de 2016

Intermezzo - (Translation)

From Cuaderno de Belfast - Dublín

You have come to the city
inhabited by gutters
fed with street sweepers
while we sleep

You bring the slumber
of Southern nights
when window sills
fill up with geraniums (and staircases)

And this poem is breaking apart
like a freshly poured pint
and women embracing
in the face of incomprehension
from the lips shadowing
the malted hops

Shhh, the words you do not utter,
I will die tomorrow,
but you should revive that window sill,
that tear Boabdil
did not shed
for your dream
                   (you do not dream on the window sill)
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