Poem
Gonzalo Márquez Cristo
RESTITUTIONS
I pretend that everything lost becomes a poem.Wounds like hurricanes have a name. And even though I ignore that around me abysses are born, I was originally blemished by happiness, by its inclement summit.
The invading substractions of memory. The struggle of the root. The antiquity of silence . . .
I don’t put flowers in the cemetery of dreams, but I go on in spite of all the quicksands of the spirit.
The guilt that does not allow you to leave is love.
And now fog, rain, absence . . .
The unbalance called beauty, the terrible abandonment of the sacred, the igneous rose guiding me in desperation . . .
I know the path will end up finding me.
As all that becomes visible to die.
© Translation: 2008, Nicolás Suescún
RESTITUCIONES
RESTITUCIONES
Pretendo que todo lo perdido se convierta en poema.Las heridas como los huracanes tienen nombre. Y aunque ignoro por qué a mi alrededor nacen los abismos, desde el origen fui mancillado por la felicidad, por su cima inclemente.
Las invasoras restas del recuerdo. La pugna de la raíz. La antigüedad del silencio . . .
No pongo flores en el cementerio del sueño, pero continúo a pesar de todas las arenas movedizas del espíritu.
La culpa que no te deja partir es el amor.
Y ahora la niebla, la lluvia, la ausencia . . .
El desequilibrio llamado belleza, la terrible orfandad de lo sagrado, la rosa ígnea que me guía en la desesperación . . .
Sé que el camino terminará por encontrarme.
Como todo lo que se hace visible para morir.
© 2005, Gonzalo Márquez Cristo
From: Oscuro Nacimiento
Publisher: Los Conjurados, Bogotá
From: Oscuro Nacimiento
Publisher: Los Conjurados, Bogotá
Poems
Poems of Gonzalo Márquez Cristo
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RESTITUTIONS
I pretend that everything lost becomes a poem.Wounds like hurricanes have a name. And even though I ignore that around me abysses are born, I was originally blemished by happiness, by its inclement summit.
The invading substractions of memory. The struggle of the root. The antiquity of silence . . .
I don’t put flowers in the cemetery of dreams, but I go on in spite of all the quicksands of the spirit.
The guilt that does not allow you to leave is love.
And now fog, rain, absence . . .
The unbalance called beauty, the terrible abandonment of the sacred, the igneous rose guiding me in desperation . . .
I know the path will end up finding me.
As all that becomes visible to die.
© 2008, Nicolás Suescún
From: Oscuro Nacimiento
From: Oscuro Nacimiento
RESTITUTIONS
I pretend that everything lost becomes a poem.Wounds like hurricanes have a name. And even though I ignore that around me abysses are born, I was originally blemished by happiness, by its inclement summit.
The invading substractions of memory. The struggle of the root. The antiquity of silence . . .
I don’t put flowers in the cemetery of dreams, but I go on in spite of all the quicksands of the spirit.
The guilt that does not allow you to leave is love.
And now fog, rain, absence . . .
The unbalance called beauty, the terrible abandonment of the sacred, the igneous rose guiding me in desperation . . .
I know the path will end up finding me.
As all that becomes visible to die.
© 2008, Nicolás Suescún
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