T (no first name) Wignesan
T (no first name) Wignesan Poems
The Sensation Of Nothingness, Translation Of Carlos Bousono's Poem: Sensacion De La Nada
Consider, no matter what, even something agreeable
falls so low: in the pureness
of metaphysics, in the sublime
brightness of nothingness.
In the cubic emptiness, in the number
of fire. It’s the bonfire
which causes inanity to burn. In the centre
no wind whatsoever blows. It is the fire
pure, pure nothingness. No being inhabited by faith,
there is no extension. The reduction of the world
to a point, to a number which suffers.
Because it is hideous, a symbolical endurance,
without the uncertain material which enlivens it.
Is it the unwaveringness of ...
I am the prize catch
I live in an artificial lake
fed by a nappe phréatique
I was put there to keep
lesser fish: carp
from taking up too much space
I live to be caught
and caught again
and be let loose as rain