Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Álvaro Marín

NEVER A BALM

Night: sex of the earth
jet-black black night.
We drift into silence
falling like a leaf in the void
we descend into a deep
and noiseless wound
in the cavern of night
looking for ourselves, caressing
as if our bodies were light.
Hidden under the skin in the waters
of a dark ocean.
We fall continually
like the leaves of an old tree
continuity of the bodies
always wound and glow, never balm.

We wound ourselves with our thirst
love, you still say, in the wound
how much war for a bit of light
how many days running away? 

We listen to our voices
but what are our names
in the void?
Come she says going again into the moss
and she moistens the dust of my bones
I am thirsty too.

JAMÁS BÁLSAMO

JAMÁS BÁLSAMO

Noche: sexo de la tierra
negra negrísima noche.
Arribamos al silencio
a su caída de hoja al vacío
descendemos a una profunda
y silenciosa herida
en el socavón de la noche
buscándonos, acariciantes
como si fueran luz nuestros cuerpos.
Ocultos bajo la piel entre las aguas
de un negro océano.
Continuamente caemos
como las hojas del viejo árbol
continuidad de los cuerpos
siempre herida y fulgor jamás bálsamo.

Nos herimos con nuestra sed
amor dices aún en la herida
¿ cuánta guerra por un poco de luz
cuántos días huyendo?

Escuchamos nuestras voces
¿ pero cuáles son nuestros nombres
en el vacío?
Ven dice ella entra de nuevo al musgo
y humedece el polvo de mis huesos
yo también tengo sed.
Close

NEVER A BALM

Night: sex of the earth
jet-black black night.
We drift into silence
falling like a leaf in the void
we descend into a deep
and noiseless wound
in the cavern of night
looking for ourselves, caressing
as if our bodies were light.
Hidden under the skin in the waters
of a dark ocean.
We fall continually
like the leaves of an old tree
continuity of the bodies
always wound and glow, never balm.

We wound ourselves with our thirst
love, you still say, in the wound
how much war for a bit of light
how many days running away? 

We listen to our voices
but what are our names
in the void?
Come she says going again into the moss
and she moistens the dust of my bones
I am thirsty too.

NEVER A BALM

Night: sex of the earth
jet-black black night.
We drift into silence
falling like a leaf in the void
we descend into a deep
and noiseless wound
in the cavern of night
looking for ourselves, caressing
as if our bodies were light.
Hidden under the skin in the waters
of a dark ocean.
We fall continually
like the leaves of an old tree
continuity of the bodies
always wound and glow, never balm.

We wound ourselves with our thirst
love, you still say, in the wound
how much war for a bit of light
how many days running away? 

We listen to our voices
but what are our names
in the void?
Come she says going again into the moss
and she moistens the dust of my bones
I am thirsty too.
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