for M
the blurs
'everything is descending,
even the scholarship of the
ancient adverbs'
process of seeing
crease from
eyebrow
to temple
into hairline
crease from
too narrow
sense
O see (sings
eyes)
how
diminutive
Golondrina (swallow)
dimming
dips
lands
alights
little feet
wires
talons
of tin
standard
paramount
in the jardin
blue walls the
infolded cloak
of the Virgin
A task for daylight -
separating mad boys from
shadows -
an un-ordinary one
'shrugs its
shoulders like a girl.'
An ordinary gesture
the mad boys may
be taken into arms
or dressed in strange
garb maybe all in the
gesture beyond
ordinary remains
remains
always becoming
image such as are
a gesture's embrace
bruised
dressings
undressings
ventures for affection.
But from whom?
The mad boy
writes feeble colors
for love
the halt the lame
the mute which
within around
which intends
bends distorts
(in your glass
case) twists
takes traps light
to separate
the mad world
from shadow
Both
we are
contortionists
thus take our
place with clowns who
know tomatoes thrown
and juggler's (bare necked)
necessary concentration
You are the maestro here
whom I trail behind at respectful
distance
murdered by the too ordinary
controllers
So long
So long
to image
to suffer on dear
bruised M the
void of course
o bring me
beauty no matter
how terrible
created by His
own opening
which makes
Him forever
'a pomegranate
biggish
and green'
a girl
You, dear, will read
of my heterosexual shadow
a great lover who serenades
her in the terrible contradiction
of the moon caught
in bare tree limbs/strophes
just outside Her window
the fool below in rouge
head hung, singing
O hurt
heart's tin can tied
to belt loop behind
of his ragged pants
pants
waits
to be filled with
whatever flows
in the dirty lane
he leans his
love against
*
Imagine
this asterisk
which contains an aster
yet a rose it transforms
again because it can
because
Lorca
has willed it obediently into being
letter by letter, petal by petal
bee kissed by brazen bees
a clutch of stamens
assassin's ink
out flowing
*
>>>>><<<<<
The first quotation is by Richard Tagett, from 'Triptych For Believers'. All other quotes are lines from the poetry Federico Garcia Lorca.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem