Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Samuel Jaramillo

Between rock and sky

                  Barely dragging myself along,
painfully hauling with me the burden
of my wounds, I have reached these parts
which not even the remembrance of God inhabits.

                  There is nothing here
but solitary stones and an endless
horizon line where sky and rock
sob quietly.

                   This corner
is an error of creation. God did not finish it.
No longer was he alone in his paradise. Man,
that  uneasy tenant, was peering
over his shoulder.

                    Poor God.
                    Poor man.
                    Poor me
.

                     A faint sigh could be
what occupies the empty spaces in the air.
And that horizon line, unending and weeping,
weeping between rock and sky.

Entre la roca y el cielo

Entre la roca y el cielo

                       Arrastrándome
apenas, cargando difícilmente el fardo
de mis heridas, he llegado a este paraje
ni el recuerdo de Dios.  

                        Aquí sólo
hay piedras solitarias y una línea interminable
del horizonte donde el cielo y la roca
sollozan calladamente.
                
                 Este rincón
es un extravío de la creación. Dios no lo terminó.
Ya no estaba solo en su paraíso. El hombre,
ese incómodo inquilino, espiaba
por encima de su hombro.

                        Pobre Dios.
                        Pobre hombre.
                        Pobre de mí.

        
                        Tal vez sea un suspiro
delgado lo que ocupa los intersticios del aire.
Y esa línea del horizonte que no termina y llora,
llora entre la roca y el cielo.
Close

Between rock and sky

                  Barely dragging myself along,
painfully hauling with me the burden
of my wounds, I have reached these parts
which not even the remembrance of God inhabits.

                  There is nothing here
but solitary stones and an endless
horizon line where sky and rock
sob quietly.

                   This corner
is an error of creation. God did not finish it.
No longer was he alone in his paradise. Man,
that  uneasy tenant, was peering
over his shoulder.

                    Poor God.
                    Poor man.
                    Poor me
.

                     A faint sigh could be
what occupies the empty spaces in the air.
And that horizon line, unending and weeping,
weeping between rock and sky.

Between rock and sky

                  Barely dragging myself along,
painfully hauling with me the burden
of my wounds, I have reached these parts
which not even the remembrance of God inhabits.

                  There is nothing here
but solitary stones and an endless
horizon line where sky and rock
sob quietly.

                   This corner
is an error of creation. God did not finish it.
No longer was he alone in his paradise. Man,
that  uneasy tenant, was peering
over his shoulder.

                    Poor God.
                    Poor man.
                    Poor me
.

                     A faint sigh could be
what occupies the empty spaces in the air.
And that horizon line, unending and weeping,
weeping between rock and sky.
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