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Poem

Washington Cucurto

Some Dollars

Today I went to Lavalle Street to exchange some dollars.
Or, better said, “I went to exchange some dollars on Lavalle.”
It could be the same sentence, but it isn’t,
whenever dollars get in front of something,
they can’t be equal.

How Lavalle street had changed!
No longer was the straight-edge guy
who would sunbathe in the Mac Donalds
on the 900 block of Avenida Florida all aflower.

I hate dollars and that’s why I exchange them.
I don’t want them with me at home,
feeding into my saver’s fantasies that don’t mean
a damn thing. Watching over my kids’ sleep
by night and early mornings. Dollars are monsters-
a plague that’s no good to have in your house.
This is why I exchange them!

Spring is coming soon, Ramoncito,
we’ll have a few dollars-turned-pesos
to spend together on Lavalle Street.

I hadn’t ever seen Lavalle so jammed with poor people and beggars, with pale tourists
       sick with money.
No one loves money more than tourists - that’s why I hate them, Ramoncito!

We’ll eat an ice cream, we’ll go to the pizzerias
and in the used bookstores we’ll buy a best-seller from the past.
Ramoncito, Spring is at the door,
but you don’t see it. You’re in your mothers’ belly.
Soon, as we know, your brothers and sisters will come out
and I remember you and I adore you, Ramon Vega!

We’ll go pee in the bars:
The pathological liar anthropologist guy
with the gelled back hair, reading a Sur edition
in Alberto Girri’s Cafe wasn’t there anymore.
Ramoncito, this is Alberto Girri!
Ramón, this is Arturo Carrera drinking his gin and tonic!
The national poet gifts us a beautiful little book:
Telones zurcidos para títeres con hímen!

Unos Dolares

Unos Dolares

Hoy fui a la calle Lavalle a cambiar unos dólares
o mejor dicho, “fui a cambiar unos dólares a la calle Lavalle”,
Podría ser una misma oración pero no lo es,
siempre que unos dólares estén adelante las cosas
no pueden ser iguales.

¡Que cambiada estaba la calle Lavalle!
Ya no florecía el muchacho abstemio que solía
tomar sol en el Mac Donalds de Florida al 900.

Odio los dólares y por eso los cambio
no los quiero conmigo en casa,
alimentando mis sueños de ahorrista que,
de nada valen. Velando el sueño de mis hijos
por las noches y las madrugadas.
Los dólares son monstruos, una plaga que no
es bueno tener en casa. ¡Por eso los cambio!

Ya se acerca la primavera, Ramoncito,
tendremos unos dólares convertidos en pesos
para gastar juntos por la calle Lavalle.

Nunca había visto a la calle Lavalle tan atestada de pobres y de mendigos, de pálidos   
            turistas enfermos por el dinero.
Nadie ama más al dinero que los turistas, por eso ¡los odio!, Ramoncito.

Tomaremos un helado, iremos a las pizzerías
y en las librerías de usados compraremos un best seller del pasado.
Ramoncito, la primavera está a un punto
pero vos no la ves, estás en la panza de tu madre.
Pronto saldrán como sabemos, tus hermanitos
y te recuerdo y te adoro, ¡Ramon Vega!

Iremos a orinar a los bares:
ya no está el muchachito antropológico y mitómano
peinado a la gomina, leyendo un libro de Sur,
en la cafetería de Alberto Girri.
¡Ramoncito éste es Alberto Girri!
¡Ramón éste es Arturo Carrera tomando su gin tonic!
El poeta nacional nos regaló un bello librito:
¡Telones zurcidos para títeres con hímen!
Close

Some Dollars

Today I went to Lavalle Street to exchange some dollars.
Or, better said, “I went to exchange some dollars on Lavalle.”
It could be the same sentence, but it isn’t,
whenever dollars get in front of something,
they can’t be equal.

How Lavalle street had changed!
No longer was the straight-edge guy
who would sunbathe in the Mac Donalds
on the 900 block of Avenida Florida all aflower.

I hate dollars and that’s why I exchange them.
I don’t want them with me at home,
feeding into my saver’s fantasies that don’t mean
a damn thing. Watching over my kids’ sleep
by night and early mornings. Dollars are monsters-
a plague that’s no good to have in your house.
This is why I exchange them!

Spring is coming soon, Ramoncito,
we’ll have a few dollars-turned-pesos
to spend together on Lavalle Street.

I hadn’t ever seen Lavalle so jammed with poor people and beggars, with pale tourists
       sick with money.
No one loves money more than tourists - that’s why I hate them, Ramoncito!

We’ll eat an ice cream, we’ll go to the pizzerias
and in the used bookstores we’ll buy a best-seller from the past.
Ramoncito, Spring is at the door,
but you don’t see it. You’re in your mothers’ belly.
Soon, as we know, your brothers and sisters will come out
and I remember you and I adore you, Ramon Vega!

We’ll go pee in the bars:
The pathological liar anthropologist guy
with the gelled back hair, reading a Sur edition
in Alberto Girri’s Cafe wasn’t there anymore.
Ramoncito, this is Alberto Girri!
Ramón, this is Arturo Carrera drinking his gin and tonic!
The national poet gifts us a beautiful little book:
Telones zurcidos para títeres con hímen!

Some Dollars

Today I went to Lavalle Street to exchange some dollars.
Or, better said, “I went to exchange some dollars on Lavalle.”
It could be the same sentence, but it isn’t,
whenever dollars get in front of something,
they can’t be equal.

How Lavalle street had changed!
No longer was the straight-edge guy
who would sunbathe in the Mac Donalds
on the 900 block of Avenida Florida all aflower.

I hate dollars and that’s why I exchange them.
I don’t want them with me at home,
feeding into my saver’s fantasies that don’t mean
a damn thing. Watching over my kids’ sleep
by night and early mornings. Dollars are monsters-
a plague that’s no good to have in your house.
This is why I exchange them!

Spring is coming soon, Ramoncito,
we’ll have a few dollars-turned-pesos
to spend together on Lavalle Street.

I hadn’t ever seen Lavalle so jammed with poor people and beggars, with pale tourists
       sick with money.
No one loves money more than tourists - that’s why I hate them, Ramoncito!

We’ll eat an ice cream, we’ll go to the pizzerias
and in the used bookstores we’ll buy a best-seller from the past.
Ramoncito, Spring is at the door,
but you don’t see it. You’re in your mothers’ belly.
Soon, as we know, your brothers and sisters will come out
and I remember you and I adore you, Ramon Vega!

We’ll go pee in the bars:
The pathological liar anthropologist guy
with the gelled back hair, reading a Sur edition
in Alberto Girri’s Cafe wasn’t there anymore.
Ramoncito, this is Alberto Girri!
Ramón, this is Arturo Carrera drinking his gin and tonic!
The national poet gifts us a beautiful little book:
Telones zurcidos para títeres con hímen!
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