[Out Of Anonymity]

I.

Mass at eight in the provinces, the parishioners

cooperate obediently. The sun shines on the plate

glass windows and a palmiped

umbrella

curves the wind that inclines the palms toward the South.

Lightning: my natural shadow,

my electric shadow. It’s the right time.

In a meeting with few people

I hum fever like one of Bergman’s

nurses: relax, dizziness is normal…

A flash. A waving piece of fabric. Flowerpots

with primroses. Now the students

look at me

with kind eyes

to be drawn by an apprentice

sword-swallower… Is

wisdom the gossip shop

of the soul?

I have talked a plenty and bad, although I bring

a memorized cough, cold hands,

a happy heart

and tobacco spittle

everywhere.

II.

I watch the audience change

the atmosphere of the place with their applause.

I am an aesthetic worm embryo

in their midst, a boy about to

lift something that’s too big

or enter their lives like a meteorite

and sing about

their exploits

within. Your podium is comfortable

but I don’t need to know precisely

where the poem ends

and the apple begins

but go back home and find a message

in the kitchen: Arrived yesterday from your south. What are you up to?

Translated by Curtis Bauer

[Out Of Anonymity] is from Un huésped panorámico [A Panoramic Guest] (Barcelona, DVD Ediciones, 2010).

You can read and listen to the poem in the original Spanish here.