Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Gonzalo Márquez Cristo

IN THE NAME OF THE SHOUT

You believe so much in the thirst: in life . . . In the invisible. You sleep facing the east. You purify yourself in danger. In books you denounce time as if it were a stuffed verb.

In the wood an oak follows you. Light names you. When you choose the course of pain someone gives you a sip of water.

You wish: you always expect to be mistaken. You assume the tyranny of the eye called voyage and sometimes you attain the cure of the cold you feel with a face.

You know of a paradise that will never be memory.

You attend a masquerade of survival even though a far-away and voracious equator attracts your flight. Thus you achieve persistence.

Your words fall like handfuls of earth on a naked body.

Here the instant begins. Who claims? Who answers in the blood? Who discovers his or her incandescent shadow?

Let the cry always stop the wound!

Let the language be enough not to die!

EN NOMBRE DEL GRITO

EN NOMBRE DEL GRITO

Crees tanto en la sed: en la vida . . . En lo invisible. Duermes de cara al oriente. Te purificas en el peligro. En los libros delatas al tiempo como a un pájaro disecado.

En el bosque una encina te sigue. La luz te nombra. Cuando eliges el rumbo del dolor alguien te da un sorbo de agua.

Deseas: esperas siempre equivocarte. Asumes la tiranía del ojo llamada viaje y a veces con un rostro logras curar tu frío.

Sabes de un paraíso que nunca será memoria.

Asistes a la mascarada de la sobrevivencia aunque un ecuador lejano y voraz atraiga tu vuelo. Así logras persistir.

Tus palabras caen como puñados de tierra sobre un cuerpo desnudo.

Aquí comienza el instante. ¿Quién clama? ¿Quién responde entre la sangre? ¿Quién descubre su sombra incandescente?

¡Que el grito siempre pueda detener la herida!

¡Que el lenguaje alcance para no morir!
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IN THE NAME OF THE SHOUT

You believe so much in the thirst: in life . . . In the invisible. You sleep facing the east. You purify yourself in danger. In books you denounce time as if it were a stuffed verb.

In the wood an oak follows you. Light names you. When you choose the course of pain someone gives you a sip of water.

You wish: you always expect to be mistaken. You assume the tyranny of the eye called voyage and sometimes you attain the cure of the cold you feel with a face.

You know of a paradise that will never be memory.

You attend a masquerade of survival even though a far-away and voracious equator attracts your flight. Thus you achieve persistence.

Your words fall like handfuls of earth on a naked body.

Here the instant begins. Who claims? Who answers in the blood? Who discovers his or her incandescent shadow?

Let the cry always stop the wound!

Let the language be enough not to die!

IN THE NAME OF THE SHOUT

You believe so much in the thirst: in life . . . In the invisible. You sleep facing the east. You purify yourself in danger. In books you denounce time as if it were a stuffed verb.

In the wood an oak follows you. Light names you. When you choose the course of pain someone gives you a sip of water.

You wish: you always expect to be mistaken. You assume the tyranny of the eye called voyage and sometimes you attain the cure of the cold you feel with a face.

You know of a paradise that will never be memory.

You attend a masquerade of survival even though a far-away and voracious equator attracts your flight. Thus you achieve persistence.

Your words fall like handfuls of earth on a naked body.

Here the instant begins. Who claims? Who answers in the blood? Who discovers his or her incandescent shadow?

Let the cry always stop the wound!

Let the language be enough not to die!
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère