Poem
Andrea Cote
INTOLERANCES
It is not the same thing to say I forgivethe long wait,
the quiet,
the grief,
the oak sadness of the rooms
and of things there weighing down.
It is not the same thing to say
that I forgive that,
or that I do not see
importance
or excess
in the happy unconsciousness of trees
but I do see it
instead
in saying
that the world thus
– hard-fought or razed –
sometimes was
an awkward voice,
unincitable,
that thinks stones are immobile
and that their stillness
of time and sorrow
and your own eyes
are what there is
and nothing more.
For I forgive
because the unconscious beauty of things
is beautiful
as is the ungovernable
breeze
but also
as is sad,
unforgivable
and grey
the appearance
of the men without faith
and the muffled stillness
that intact beings
and things have.
© Translation: 2005, Nicolás Suescún
INTOLERANCIAS
INTOLERANCIAS
No es lo mismo decir que yo perdonola larga espera,
la quietud,
la pesadumbre,
la tristeza de roble de los cuartos
y de las cosas por ahí pasando.
No es lo mismo decir
que yo perdono eso,
o que no veo,
importancia
o desmesura
en la feliz inconsciencia de los árboles
pero si la veo
a cambio
en decir
que el mundo así
– reñido o arrasado –
a veces era
una voz torpe,
insublevable,
que cree que las piedras son inmóviles
y que su quietud
de tiempo y pesadumbre
y que tus propios ojos
son lo que hay
y no son más.
Pues yo perdono
porque es bella
la inconsciente belleza de las cosas
como lo es la brisa
ingobernable
pero también
como triste
imperdonable,
y gris
es la estampa
de los hombres sin fe
y la quietud sorda
que tienen los seres
y las cosas intactas.
© 2005, Andrea Cote Botero
Poems
Poems of Andrea Cote
Close
INTOLERANCES
It is not the same thing to say I forgivethe long wait,
the quiet,
the grief,
the oak sadness of the rooms
and of things there weighing down.
It is not the same thing to say
that I forgive that,
or that I do not see
importance
or excess
in the happy unconsciousness of trees
but I do see it
instead
in saying
that the world thus
– hard-fought or razed –
sometimes was
an awkward voice,
unincitable,
that thinks stones are immobile
and that their stillness
of time and sorrow
and your own eyes
are what there is
and nothing more.
For I forgive
because the unconscious beauty of things
is beautiful
as is the ungovernable
breeze
but also
as is sad,
unforgivable
and grey
the appearance
of the men without faith
and the muffled stillness
that intact beings
and things have.
© 2005, Nicolás Suescún
INTOLERANCES
It is not the same thing to say I forgivethe long wait,
the quiet,
the grief,
the oak sadness of the rooms
and of things there weighing down.
It is not the same thing to say
that I forgive that,
or that I do not see
importance
or excess
in the happy unconsciousness of trees
but I do see it
instead
in saying
that the world thus
– hard-fought or razed –
sometimes was
an awkward voice,
unincitable,
that thinks stones are immobile
and that their stillness
of time and sorrow
and your own eyes
are what there is
and nothing more.
For I forgive
because the unconscious beauty of things
is beautiful
as is the ungovernable
breeze
but also
as is sad,
unforgivable
and grey
the appearance
of the men without faith
and the muffled stillness
that intact beings
and things have.
© 2005, Nicolás Suescún
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