Disposition

And I tried to name the nameless

describe it to the beasts with images

of my kin and they laughed at my expense

so cheap was the guilt those days

that I bought a lot with my tears

and I devoted my energy to reach

the unreachable, dreamer that I was

trying to unclasp my innocence

from the talons of the void

the sweet voice of the poet yelled

from deep within my essence what

you save during the length of a lightning bolt

diaphanous it will remain forever

I stood speechless before the wise statue

and pondered on the meaning of little

whitewashed houses by the bay

and the metal cross of the little chapel

that crucified my inheritance

black stigmata and my disposition

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BKHW4B4S

With Eyes Closed
Beautiful as the wilderness
is tamed by pagodas
as the fourth eye weeps the nectar,
as on the artificial turf
the boy is dribbling between two lightning bolts
Here swallows guard the summer,
our fading, lean summer.
They zigzag tirelessly and
and as long as they are here, they don’t let
the molecules of summer disintegrate.
Reading cloud-books
the unflappable windmill,
grinding its letters into flour
that the bread may not be only earth and water,
but blue sky too.
Today I have no reason to flee,
yet I remember. Somewhere
there’s a hidden door, I’ll smoothen
the wall. I close my eyes,
to make it easier to find.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763645

[Mario Vargas Llosa: Για τον Γκυστάβ Φλωμπέρ

Robert Creeley, Μια μορφή προσαρμογής