(To Pierre Jean Jouve)

Naked, destitute, fragile to the point of breaking,
recent and therefore immature for life
and yet mature for death.
Just come out
of a mysterious mouth, inside
which he heard a voice and howling,
and from where he asks,
in another language, without finding an answer:
what is that foreboding
of needles, eyes, ethers?

Carlos Barbarito

(Translated by Stefan Beyst)

Carlos Barbarito

Read poems about / on: death, life, howl

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12/5/2008 12:58:58 AM. You Are Here: Naked, destitute... by Carlos Barbarito