de muerte en muerte me sostengo
puro y sin aliento.
y con el azar hablo de hermano a hermano
y el viento me mantiene
seco y sin desmanes,
yo no fui al mercado
a comprar el pájaro.
yo fui al mercado
a comprar la jaula
para que el pájaro
se hiciera cielo.
yo no fui a tu casa
para acariciar tus sábanas
y olvidarte.
yo no fui al mar
para pintarlo.
yo fui al mar
para bebérmelo
poco a poco,
sorbo a sorbo,
con humildad
y con ternura.
y yo no fui a mi muerte
para llorarme.
yo fui a mi muerte
para besar a quienes no me quieren.
de muerte en muerte me sostengo
y caigo cuando sea
y cuando menos se lo esperen me levanto
y aplasto a aquel que me falsea, aquel que me odia tanto
que cambia su oído por mi abrazo.
yo no fui a la vida
para vivirla ni gozarla.
yo fui a la vida
para darle la reverencia de unas sílabas
que con sangre peinan
este silencio mío
que ahora descansa
bajo tierra.
yo no fui al canto
para desparramar mármol por el globo.
yo fui al canto
para callar la insolencia del lodo.
y aquel que me ignoró
espero escuche
este silencio mío
que ahora retumba
bajo tierra.
I keep on living from death to death (trans.)
pure and without breath.
and with fortune speak brother to brother,
and the wind keeps me going
dry and not too showy.
I never went to barter
at the market,
I never went to buy a parrot.
I went to market
to buy a cage so the parrot
could change to sky.
I never went to your place
to say hi
or see your shadow’s face.
I went to your place
to stroke your sheets, their lace,
and to forget we ever met.
I never went to sea
to paint.
I went to sea
so I could slowly,
sip by sip, leave nothing left,
with humility
and tenderness.
I did not go to my death
to cry for myself, to kiss
those for whom I’m less than less.
I keep on living from death to death,
and I fall whenever,
and when I least expect I find a lever
and rise and crush the false, he who hates me with such fervor
that he exchanges his ears for my caress.
I did not go to life
to live it or live joyous.
I went to life
to pay reverence to some syllables
with blood that combs
this my silence
that now rests
down below.
I did not go
to song to spread my marble far and long.
I went to song
to quiet the insolence of clay.
as for he who looked away,
I hope he hears my silence grow,
which now kicks and bellows
down below.