The Hill

Do not slap me, destiny, 
Metres of smacks already cover my face.
Here I am, while the wind's blowing in the streets,
Charging out of books, dictionaries and taverns
The same way soldiers charge out of trenches.
O centuries, mean like an insect, 
You who seduced me with a fan instead of a storm, 
With matches instead of volcanos. 
I will never forgive you. 
I will return to my village, on foot if need be
I will spread, on my arrival, rumours about you. 
I will lie down on the grass and beside the ditches
Like a knight exhausted after battle.

Like trained dogs leaping circles of fire
I will cross these gates and windows, 
These sleeves and collars,
Flying like a hawk
Above the shyness of virgins 
And the suffering of workers
At twilight spreading my wings like a swallow
In search of a virgin land that at the lightest touch 
Of a cottage, a palace, an emir or a begger, 
Will leap in the air as a wild horse 
At the touch of a saddle, 
A land that has not existed and will never exist 
Except in my notebooks.

All right, century, you have defeated me, 
But I will not find in all the Orient
A summit where I can hoist 
The flag of my surrender.
 
 

Stars and rains

In my mouth another mouth
Between my teeth other teeth. 
O my parents . . . my people ! 
You who sent me into the world like a bullet, 
Hunger, as a fútus, palpitates in my guts.
I nibble my cheeks from inside. 
What I write in the morning
Repulses me in the evening. 
The one that I greet around nine o'clock
I want to kill at ten o'clock.
I'd like a flower as big as my face 
And a wide hole between my shoulders
to let all my memories burst out like a spring.

My fingers annoy each other
And my eyebrows are two confronting foes. 
I want to twist my body like a wire 
In a very desolate cemetery, 
And fall down a fathomless well 
Full of monsters, mothers and bracelets. 

I just forgot the shape of the spoon 
And the taste of the salt.
I forgot the moonlight 
And the smell of the children
My guts are full of cold coffee 
And blind water
My throat's crammed with scraps of paper 
And blocks of ice
And you, stale water, 
Fresh water . . . 
You don't know how much 
I love you.
With stiff collars up to the chin, 
And with sticky lips 
And strictly buttoned wrists, 
We eat standing up 
We stand too long
We strike the flies 
With poems and handkerchiefs
In order to see a tree or a bird passing by.
With merciless small feet we lean on the ground 
And we throw the ribs of the village 
From street to street.

I used to climb the spiral stairs
As clean as cotton, 
Lustrous as the leaves of the myrtle. 
I go up and down like a murderer's dagger
With shoes of fame and shoes of hate 
Hanging my misery on the nails of the wall, 
My eyes penetrating deeply 
Into distant balconies
And rivers returning from captivity.
I saw them all under the yellow sky.
The rich, the pacifists, 
The poor and the monstrous.
I saw millions of teeth clicking in the street, 
Millions of dim faces 
Lowering their eyes under the thunder. 
I saw hasty burials, 
And the reins of barbaric horses burning in the streets 
And workers falling from top floors
Buried carefully in the sad rain, 
With their tobacco, their clothes, 
And their mess tins. 
But nothing is moving in the desert. 
The wind whistles on the blood 
And small tombs fall like dew
On hats and coats.

I saw canned breeze 
And newspapers 
Flung against the rain
I drank dirty water 
And licked the foam wherein was the blood of the breast.
And I have never doubted this land 
Which sleeps like a child, 
This hunchbacked land, mounded like a butcher.
Through windows
And thousands of stars, corpses
And hammers of fire
I was looking for a mortal blow to my face
Looking for a small sea to use as shoes,
And an arrogant meal
Which I could fold under my arm like a scarf.
I got tired of the long stairs 
And the rooms of victory. 
I would like to roast the corn 
And in the sunset eat the stone and the pebble. 

I want to embrace anything distant 
Whether a wild flower 
Or a muddied shoe as large as an eagle. 
I want to eat, to drink, to die
And to sleep at the same moment. 
I am in a hurry, in a hurry
Like a mangy cloud,
Like a lonely wave chased in the sea.