Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Héctor Rojas Herazo

The gymnast

In the brief fortune
the myth of your wings
the order, the grace and the energy of your limbs.
Oh, you solar one!
the toughest and most elastic
the one in whom beauty moans
prisoner of the tendon and the torso
and the sea on the cheek like a symbol.
You concentrate in yourself
the nettle that crushes the impetus of the bull
and the air that has feasted the bunch of grapes
and relaxes the lips and the hip of a god
menaced in the joy of your arm.
Now you raise up time in the arrow
you breathe in time
you steal the blood from the marble
and you waste the blue like a bird flying.

El Gimnasta

El Gimnasta

En la breve fortuna
el mito de tus alas
el orden, la gracia y la energía de tus miembros.
¡Oh solar!
el más duro y elástico
el que en belleza gime
prisionero del tendón y del torso
y el mar en la mejilla como un símbolo.
Concentras en ti
la ortiga que aniquila el ímpetu del toro
y el aire que ha festejado el racimo
y distiende los labios y la cadera del dios
amenazados en la alegría de tu brazo.
Ahora empinas el tiempo en el venablo
respiras a compás
hurtas la sangre al mármol
y derrochas azul como un pájaro en vuelo.
Close

The gymnast

In the brief fortune
the myth of your wings
the order, the grace and the energy of your limbs.
Oh, you solar one!
the toughest and most elastic
the one in whom beauty moans
prisoner of the tendon and the torso
and the sea on the cheek like a symbol.
You concentrate in yourself
the nettle that crushes the impetus of the bull
and the air that has feasted the bunch of grapes
and relaxes the lips and the hip of a god
menaced in the joy of your arm.
Now you raise up time in the arrow
you breathe in time
you steal the blood from the marble
and you waste the blue like a bird flying.

The gymnast

In the brief fortune
the myth of your wings
the order, the grace and the energy of your limbs.
Oh, you solar one!
the toughest and most elastic
the one in whom beauty moans
prisoner of the tendon and the torso
and the sea on the cheek like a symbol.
You concentrate in yourself
the nettle that crushes the impetus of the bull
and the air that has feasted the bunch of grapes
and relaxes the lips and the hip of a god
menaced in the joy of your arm.
Now you raise up time in the arrow
you breathe in time
you steal the blood from the marble
and you waste the blue like a bird flying.
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