Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Julián Malatesta

THE MANNERS OF FIRE

The house of the poet Matsuo burnt down
In far away Edo, several centuries ago.
A plane tree he lovingly tended to
Survived the fire.
From then on the Buddhist monk
Went by its name on all the roads of Japan,
Basho he used to be called.

In Twis, Arkansas, in 1949,
Two men who were fighting for a woman
Died in a bar consumed by fire.
The woman’s name was Lucille.
In the bar an old tractor driver from Indianola sang,
The old B.B. King
Who could only rescue his guitar,
He called it Lucille and made it famous in the Blues.

Maybe Time is that fire that merges memory
From which we only rescue love.

Los modales del fuego

Los modales del fuego

Al poeta Matsuo se le quemó su casa
En la lejana Edo, hace ya varios siglos.
Sobrevivió al incendio un árbol de banano
Que cuidaba con esmero.
Desde entonces el monje budista
Llevó su nombre por todos los caminos del Japón,
Basho solía llamarse.

En Twis, Arkansas, en 1949
Dos hombres que se peleaban por una mujer
Mueren dentro de un establecimiento consumido por el fuego.
La mujer se llamaba Lucille.
En el establecimiento cantaba el tractorista de Indianola,
el viejo B.B. King
Quien sólo pudo poner a salvo su guitarra,
La llamo Lucille y la hizo célebre en el Blues.

Quizá el tiempo sea ese fuego que une la memoria
Donde sólo ponemos a salvo el amor.
Close

THE MANNERS OF FIRE

The house of the poet Matsuo burnt down
In far away Edo, several centuries ago.
A plane tree he lovingly tended to
Survived the fire.
From then on the Buddhist monk
Went by its name on all the roads of Japan,
Basho he used to be called.

In Twis, Arkansas, in 1949,
Two men who were fighting for a woman
Died in a bar consumed by fire.
The woman’s name was Lucille.
In the bar an old tractor driver from Indianola sang,
The old B.B. King
Who could only rescue his guitar,
He called it Lucille and made it famous in the Blues.

Maybe Time is that fire that merges memory
From which we only rescue love.

THE MANNERS OF FIRE

The house of the poet Matsuo burnt down
In far away Edo, several centuries ago.
A plane tree he lovingly tended to
Survived the fire.
From then on the Buddhist monk
Went by its name on all the roads of Japan,
Basho he used to be called.

In Twis, Arkansas, in 1949,
Two men who were fighting for a woman
Died in a bar consumed by fire.
The woman’s name was Lucille.
In the bar an old tractor driver from Indianola sang,
The old B.B. King
Who could only rescue his guitar,
He called it Lucille and made it famous in the Blues.

Maybe Time is that fire that merges memory
From which we only rescue love.
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