REMEMBRANCE

Nothing in eternity, a wandering ring,
nothing in time, circle, pretence and vertigo,
nothing in death, arteries of water and void.
The flower of oblivion is uprooted
and a lament sounds in the mist,
a hawk flies over the blue meadow,
in front of the immutable wall of remembrance
and the iridescent air pulls out a sordid song.

It does not venerate, it is irrelevant, it does not profane,
it does not limit, does not lock in, does not liberate,
it comes again and again to go round again,
it does not fall, does not rise up, it is not suspended,
it mutters, it stutters, it clamours,
its dark cloud crackles in the dark firmament
and a weak howl comes out of nothing
and from nothing, so fast, so slowly,
the white howl goes through the black tunnel
where a lizard throbs on the heart
of a flayed lamb,
the eyes do not close, do not open, do not beat,
they are not amazed.

Only the icy cold moan, the burning bush,
the shadow reclaimed by the tree,
the ashes that are scattered,
the abyss that sinks down,
the root that withstands.
From time to time in the eye of the stone,
nostalgia looks at itself face to face,
it does not remember, does not forget, does not withhold,
it only narrows the river it has crossed.

RECUERDO

RECUERDO

Nada en la eternidad, un aro errante,
nada en el tiempo, círculo, simulacro y vértigo,
nada en la muerte, arterias de agua y vacío.
Se arranca de raíz la flor del olvido
y un lamento grita en mitad de la bruma,
un halcón vuela en la pradera azul,
frente al muro inmutable del recuerdo
y el aire irisado arranca un sórdido canto.

No se venera, no viene al caso, no se profana,
no se limita, no se encierra, no se libera,
vuelve una y otra vez para girar de nuevo,
no se cae, no se levanta, no se suspende,
balbucea, tartamudea, vocifera,
su nube oscura restalla en el oscuro firmamento
y un pequeño aullido sale de la nada
y de la nada, tan rápido, tan lentamente,
el aullido blanco transita el túnel negro,
donde un lagarto palpita sobre el corazón
de un cordero desollado,
los ojos no se cierran, no se abren, no palpitan,
no se asombran.

Solamente el quejido gélido, la zarza ardiente,
la sombra que reclama el árbol,
la ceniza que se riega,
el abismo que se hunde
la raíz que se resiste.
De tanto en tanto en el ojo de la piedra,
se mira frente a frente la nostalgia,
no recuerda, no olvida, no retiene,
solo estrecha el río que ha cruzado.