Poem
Samuel Jaramillo
WE NEED TO OPEN A SPACE FOR THE NIGHT
and its vegetable breathing.Nonetheless, what concerns me is desire.
A woman’s body burns slowly
in the horizontal twilight
where dark grass
grows boldly.
The trembling
of the branches in the trees
is not only because of the wind
of this equatorial night
that sands things down
until nothing but the bones are left:
it speaks that, against all discretion
I wanted to kiss her once again
in the garden of the Moon.
I’m going. But now I know
that behind me
I leave a door ajar.
Like a red-hot coal,
desire slumbers.
It purrs with its retractile claws
in the estival night.
© Translation: 2003, Tjebbe Donner
HAY QUE ABRIRLE UN LUGAR A LA NOCHE
HAY QUE ABRIRLE UN LUGAR A LA NOCHE
y a su respiración vegetal.Igual, lo que me corresponde es el deseo.
Un cuerpo de mujer arde lentamente
en la penumbra horizontal
donde una hierba oscura
crece con denuedo.
El estremecimiento
de las ramas de los árboles
no responde solamente al viento
de esta noche ecuatorial
que lija las cosas
hasta dejar de ellas tan solo el hueso:
habla de que, contra toda prudencia,
quise besarla una vez más
en el jardín lunar.
Me voy. Pero ahora sé
que a mi espalda
dejo una puerta entornada.
Como una brasa,
el deseo dormita.
Ronronea con sus uñas retráctiles
en la noche estival.
© 1998, Samuel Jaramillo
Poems
Poems of Samuel Jaramillo
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WE NEED TO OPEN A SPACE FOR THE NIGHT
and its vegetable breathing.Nonetheless, what concerns me is desire.
A woman’s body burns slowly
in the horizontal twilight
where dark grass
grows boldly.
The trembling
of the branches in the trees
is not only because of the wind
of this equatorial night
that sands things down
until nothing but the bones are left:
it speaks that, against all discretion
I wanted to kiss her once again
in the garden of the Moon.
I’m going. But now I know
that behind me
I leave a door ajar.
Like a red-hot coal,
desire slumbers.
It purrs with its retractile claws
in the estival night.
© 2003, Tjebbe Donner
WE NEED TO OPEN A SPACE FOR THE NIGHT
and its vegetable breathing.Nonetheless, what concerns me is desire.
A woman’s body burns slowly
in the horizontal twilight
where dark grass
grows boldly.
The trembling
of the branches in the trees
is not only because of the wind
of this equatorial night
that sands things down
until nothing but the bones are left:
it speaks that, against all discretion
I wanted to kiss her once again
in the garden of the Moon.
I’m going. But now I know
that behind me
I leave a door ajar.
Like a red-hot coal,
desire slumbers.
It purrs with its retractile claws
in the estival night.
© 2003, Tjebbe Donner
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