Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Fernando Charry Lara

TESTIMONY

The eve of the crime the cobbled paving was
The afternoon,
The sun violently fallen towards the west,
When, from the window facing the plaza,
You saw
Black riders crossing.

Remote, pale, silent
They went
At a slow, crimson pace,
In a procession of fugitive monsters,
Their hesitation the place in which
To bring bereavement.

Dusk falling about them,
With dry strides,
With bewilderment, in the dust,
You might think they were
Sleepwalkers crossing their shadows
With knives.

You remember them, brutal with cold
And at night, falling on
Fragile shacks,
Surrendered
Like the nakedness of virgins;
Breaking bodies, staining walls with blood
And then disappearing,
Tigers without nightmares,
After the howl of the air and the deaths.

In every place their solitary track.
The tatters, the sharp edge of their teeth, the darkness.

Testimonio

Testimonio

Eran vísperas del crimen el empedrado,
La tarde,
El sol caído violentamente hacia el oeste,
Cuando desde el balcón a la plaza,
Veías
Negros jinetes cruzar.

Remotos, pálidos, silenciosos,
Iban
En lento paso morado,
En procesión de monstruos fugitivos,
Y su vacilación el sitio a donde
Llevar duelo.

Cayendo crepúsculo a su alrededor,
Con pisadas secas,
Con aturdimiento entre el polvo,
Podías creerles
Sonámbulos que cruzaran con cuchillos
Su sombra.

Los recuerdos, atroces de frío
Y de noche, caer
Sobre frágiles chozas
Entregadas
Como el desnudo de sus vírgenes,
Quebrar cuerpos, manchar de sangre muros
Y luego perderse,
Tigres sin pesadillas
Tras el aullido del aire y las muertes.

En todo lugar la huella solitaria:
Los harapos, el filo de sus dientes, la tiniebla.
Close

TESTIMONY

The eve of the crime the cobbled paving was
The afternoon,
The sun violently fallen towards the west,
When, from the window facing the plaza,
You saw
Black riders crossing.

Remote, pale, silent
They went
At a slow, crimson pace,
In a procession of fugitive monsters,
Their hesitation the place in which
To bring bereavement.

Dusk falling about them,
With dry strides,
With bewilderment, in the dust,
You might think they were
Sleepwalkers crossing their shadows
With knives.

You remember them, brutal with cold
And at night, falling on
Fragile shacks,
Surrendered
Like the nakedness of virgins;
Breaking bodies, staining walls with blood
And then disappearing,
Tigers without nightmares,
After the howl of the air and the deaths.

In every place their solitary track.
The tatters, the sharp edge of their teeth, the darkness.

TESTIMONY

The eve of the crime the cobbled paving was
The afternoon,
The sun violently fallen towards the west,
When, from the window facing the plaza,
You saw
Black riders crossing.

Remote, pale, silent
They went
At a slow, crimson pace,
In a procession of fugitive monsters,
Their hesitation the place in which
To bring bereavement.

Dusk falling about them,
With dry strides,
With bewilderment, in the dust,
You might think they were
Sleepwalkers crossing their shadows
With knives.

You remember them, brutal with cold
And at night, falling on
Fragile shacks,
Surrendered
Like the nakedness of virgins;
Breaking bodies, staining walls with blood
And then disappearing,
Tigers without nightmares,
After the howl of the air and the deaths.

In every place their solitary track.
The tatters, the sharp edge of their teeth, the darkness.
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