CIRCLING BEACONS
Translation: John Oliver Simon
Suns
PAPER TRAILS
High
on the mountain
among tireless pines
There
where silence
turns to snow among branches
Lives
a species of
crow that flies like a man.
Its wings
are a hope
of seeing the signs of time,
Its cries
white pages
on black scree of dream.
INTERIOR CITY
Dawn.
Light’s mossy silence
sprouts by tkhe tombstones.
Now rooftops
first touched by sun
seem to wake from slumber.
Shadows
slip away, barely
any trace of night remains…
Birds
shatter the last stars
with their cries.
Death
sings when she wants to
make things clear in her dominion.
ROOSTER IN SHOP-WINDOW
Stopped
in full battle-cry
by a challenge of fire,
The rooster
displays flowers — red,
purple, yellow — on his comb.
He spreads
his wings as if to
fly with a gleam of glance,
While
his feet rest solemnly
in the mom-and-pop shop window.
Waiting,
holding on. The form
itself retains the gift of song.
ERODING TIGER
By day
he sleeps, by night
he roars, pacing his cell.
Shadows.
Time’s imperceptible
passage puts on a circus:
A sea
of abandoned chairs
stained by a few faces.
The clear
eyes of the tiger
see one cage inside another.
Life.
Beyond bars
blazes the true sun.
THE FINAL GUESTS
A party
for knowing eyes:
bonfires of glass in store-windows.
Billboards
call from the path,
each cardboard gesture a mannequin.
Howls
of smoke, burning
mouthfuls light up the lungs,
The street-
dogs carefully inspect
each bag of garbage,
While
a man spits
fire: bones the sun loves.
CONQUEST OF IDENTITY
A sheaf
of silence shines
on earth, defeated weapons,
Helmets,
the table sprinkled
with ashes, stained with wine.
Once
the enemy’s markets
blossomed on this red and white plain.
Deep
silence, the siege
finally has been lifted…
Dawn.
All that’s left of these warriors
is a victory of dream.
Earth
SEASONS
Autumn’s resting
on a basket of fruit,
Sound of footsteps climbing
and descending stairs:
Tower of clean dishes.
In the midst of leaves
a sun’s thinking
about which way to fly.
Winter,
silent fog
Sleepers fly
with eyes burning:
They seek the earth no more.
The edges of night
get thinner and thinner
pouring out wine.
Spring,
cage of stars
Hide the seed
in a woman’s house:
Deep source of mystery.
Under the moon
voices extend their ancient
spout of shadows.
Tone of summer
subtle for everything.
Mask of love
on flowered walls:
Join up in open air.
Blue instruments
for bodies
that know how to listen.
THERE IS NO PARADISE WITHOUT ANIMALS
Transparent cages: a monkey climbs
nimbly, looks, whirls, leaps…
Breaks lenses with its tail,
perspective of the man of words.
Laughs and laughs at the owls
as the seal laughs, as the camel
Ruminates the grass of the just
to compensate pale horizons.
Turning and turning in cages,
it’s a sad life in the zoo:
The egg cracked by artificial light
wants to be a turtle at all costs.
Goodbye, friend lion, friend zebra,
goodbye to the whole exotic party:
The bear swims, the parrots whistle…
the man struggles behind bars.
FIREFLY
A firefly describes
inexact orbits
in the darkness.
Life is only apparently
symmetrical.
Perfection
is not on life’s side.
TEACHINGS OF ATLIHUAYAN
Sitting under the trees we let the wine flow.
Crows sway back and forth in our glasses
and frogs practice oratoriso down by the pond.
The oldest eucalyptus carries the tune
as its fronds move gently: silence
is doubtless the most difficult art.
While light holds on and years are graceful,
the world shows us only its brightest leaves.
So we all believe that time never passes
because the grass is green.
But night falls
and it starts to rain
under the weight of fruits.
Hurting
we start back home
while the frogs still singing
summer’s tunes
remind us sadly
there’s no place to which we can return.
THE BEETLE’S HOUSE
Little buddy, fondle
the earth with your feet.
carry your house beyond
its dark beginning.
You’re about to find
in some waiting hollow
that eternity which shines
blindingly, everywhere.
So close your wings,
roll up your house
in the world’s ball
so light doesn’t burn your eyes.
You’ll see that your inside
is only what was always
outside, and that the world
was because you were.
KNIGHT FOR ROOK
Windows open the solitude
Of men forever exchanging
Queens, bishops and pawns
Till the king’s dead. Hid
By lager’s familiar logic
They don’t sense darkness
Biding the knight’s steed
The castle’s white glance
Night
BERENICES
Carry me to peaceful isles
of uncomplaining death,
Berenice, your starry braid
shows the path to climb.
Open your wings,
the ocean’s a geranium
that lifts up seven
stairways of stone.
Labyrinths, portals,
mattresses of earth:
promises of light
bathe in the vault.
A cobbler sleeps
by his sickle,
child of the lion
who harvests stars.
From the near shore
you can see the summit
rippling at noon
through distances of air.
Carry me away, break
the palate of glass:
leaves are trembling
with sparkles of salt.
Shining by night
dressed as a child,
you hurl down leaves,
green lips of future.
DANCER OF SIGIRI
Temple of pleasure, light
devoted to beauty:
softness of shoulders
and the course of two rivers
sustain a medallion.
Jade moon, garlands:
transparent cymbal
and love’s nostalgia
sleeping among pearls
of the arm-ring.
Flowers, living jewels:
diamond of fatigue
running down her cheeks
to corners of her mouth
leaping into emptiness.
A starry sky
at the song’s height
rattles, the smile
of a girl who dances
in the presence of death.
CHINESE CHECKERS
Peel your eyes and take your chances
tracing an uneven path
across the darkened checkerboard.
This game kills a little time
out there where every evening
fragile constellations glow.
Sailor-girl without a ship,
farmer-girl in the Milky Way,
your dream sings us to sleep.
Unmoving amid spinning time
that celebrates your silver heart
you’re getting closer and closer.
Below the depth of thunderclouds
you journey to inner earth:
blue meadows and tents of skin.
Figures human and divine,
gold nuggets of scarlet horses,
the moon above the mountains.
NOCTURNE
Witness to stations and seasons
the train on which I travel
has been left all alone
lost in the sleepiness
of this little town.
Looking out my window
I see shadows growing
projected by the moon
on the stone head
of a statue.
The cool of night
pervades the empty cars,
wipes my forehead clean,
carries away memories.
The moon
makes her nest,
a house of salt
among naked
branches.
TS’I SMILING
Rooster-clouds,
power flooding the earth.
Her voice keeps watch.
Lying down in dreams
she listens to blue flies buzz.
The curtain shines,
a prisoner of power.
The only light’s the moon
launching gossamer boats.
The flies
soar high, teetering,
begging for water in shrill voices.
They say:
“If anyone loves, it brings wrath.”
TWELFTH NIGHT
Waiting in the café
cutting with his finger
slices of heaven
hoping to find her
Little doll, little girl
baked into the loaf
memory of ocean
the all-seeing knife
©
An island of sugar
in a sea of coffee
©
Children’s laughter
Water
ENDURES LIKE WATER
The window detains lyrics
of a song that makes me sad:
a voice awakens, rises, fills with light…
barely touching the cross of guitars
disappears at last into a chorus.
Even though it doesn’t last,
despite the moment.
Poured out into horizon’s cradle:
a white raft on the high sea;
here too there’s light for lovers,
for their clean game of mirrors.
I’ve wanted to believe,
always wanted to believe.
Down from the flagship’s rail they throw
a shadow-ladder to those who know nothing;
in a movie a door opens…
Everything revolves and changes,
everything endures.
Gigantic cupola stuffed with memories,
from room to room I follow that perfume.
Unmistakable odor,
falling rain.
How can I forget you if the music goes on?
CHANGE OF TONE
Offer the harvest, try one more octave,
suffer so much to take our pulse.
Sick men stay far away
with obsessions and false vigor.
Where sky and water split apart
an amazing instrument is growing.
Some aspect of ourselves
goes to war on the usual front.
Uniformed in skin, the truth
is an officer barking commands.
Ladies of the house protect
our courage in a compass rose.
Life has nothing she can wear
to walk out on the street.
CHAMBER MUSIC
Alone.
Not even six a.m.
I walk
to produce time
waiting for the sun to rise.
Hands in my pockets
birds in the meadow
shivering with cold.
I tell them good morning.
My breath’s a braid
of golden steam.
I’ve touched it with my lips.
INVADERS
Black rump, wheat-colored mane,
water canters down window pane.
Gray drops gathering
surging hordes
a rider in every saddle
inky hooves reflecting:
What a huge world — he’s thinking —
to go on falling forever…
I see forgotten worlds
backlit in the window:
Life is water cantering
always black night outside.
A LITTLE MESSAGE
That pigeon
whose shadow sways
on the red tile roof
From a distance
she looks a lot
like Lady Death
She lands and preens
folding her wings
Then she looks at you:
she knows the time has come.
CODA
We have loved silence so much
that we use it to speak.
We’ll see in justice of words
and fullness of their members.
Strength to stop pretending
and walk upright into an embrace.