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Category Poets

The Night In Isla Negra

Ancient night and the unruly salt beat at the walls of my house. The shadow is all one, the sky throbs now along with the ocean, and sky and shadow erupt in the crash of their vast conflict. All night…

The Men

I’m Ramón González Barbagelata from anywhere, from Cucuy, from Paraná, from Rio Turbio, from Oruro, from Maracaibo, from Parral, from Ovalle, from Loconmilla, I’m the poor devil from the poor Third World, I’m the third-class passenger installed, good God! in…

The Light Wraps You

The light wraps you in its mortal flame. Abstracted pale mourner, standing that way against the old propellers of the twighlight that revolves around you. Speechless, my friend, alone in the loneliness of this hour of the dead and filled…

The Insect

From your hips down to your feet I want to make a long journey. I am smaller than an insect. Over these hills I pass, hills the colour of oats, crossed with faint tracks that only I know, scorched centimetres,…

The House Of Odes

Writing these odes in this year nineteen hundred and fifty-five, readying and tuning my demanding, murmuring lyre, I know who I am and where my song is going. I understand that the shopper for myths and mysteries may enter my…

The Fickle One

My eyes went away from me Following a dark girl who went by. She was made of black motherofpearl Made of darkpurple grapes, And she lashed my blood With her tail of fire. After them all I go. A pale…

The Fear

They all ask me to jump to invigorate and to play soccer, to run, to swim and to fly. Very well. They all advise me rest, they all send me to the doctor, looking at me a certain way. What…

The Eighth Of September

This day, Today, was a brimming glass. This day, Today, was an immense wave. This day was all the Earth. This day, the storm-driven ocean lifted us up in a kiss so exalted we trembled at the lightning flash and…

The Dictators

An odor has remained among the sugarcane: a mixture of blood and body, a penetrating petal that brings nausea. Between the coconut palms the graves are full of ruined bones, of speechless death-rattles. The delicate dictator is talking with top…

The Dead Woman

If suddenly you do not exist, if suddenly you no longer live, I shall live on. I do not dare, I do not dare to write it, if you die. I shall live on. For where a man has no…