Inesperada visita e inesperada salida de Panero:
Sólo
nos hemos visto dos veces amigo: la primera vez en la caseta de la feria del
libro donde firmabas a mi lado; tu manera de fumar y beber Coca Cola Zero me
impactó pero nada en comparación a tus versos. La segunda vez, fue hace poco más de una
semana cuando me visitaste con los copos que caían afuera, viniste para hablar,
hablar de Heroína y otros poemas, te
comenté que el ciervo ya no come mi hierba y que ahora hay demasiado ruido para
escuchar al sapo cantar. Al irte me dejaste un recado y hoy al enterarme que te
has ido, lo cumplo.
HEROIN (1992) Leopoldo
María Panero
(Traducción al inglés, inédito de Heroína. Para tí, amigo.)
I have my opium pipe next to
a book of German metaphysics.
Time, and not Spain, will say who I am.
HEROIN
A diamond is a
request
that you inject
in your flesh
the scared sun
flees
when this enters
into my vein.
Of only women
and saliva
is the world
made:
heroin is more
than being
and something
that exceeds life.
That I´m beaten
I know this
when the poison
enters my blood
the triumph is a
bubble
that will unmake
my morning.
If the scared
deer flees
it is that in
the forest its house is
so search in
your arm
a lake where to
hide.
To count deer on
the plain
is the sport of
poets
that of man is
to search for misery
pleasure in a
spoon,
gold in the
excrement
so that the
howling dies.
A faun and a
defeat
women and some
music
and the dream of
some ephebe
is all that I
know of myself
and that now the
heroin
changes into
nothing and into dust.
All deer know
how to die
but to man it is
hard
it is known by
the slow drawing
of the needle on
my vein.
Slow smoke from
roaches
like this pride
dies
pale because
amongst the dust
of the spoon my
future is read.
Ancient toads
I‘ve looked for
in the infinite
ocean
the needle bites
and damages
I have cactus in
my arms.
Smack is a whore
that whispers in
darkness
of my hands,
when I prick myself
the hair of a
woman falls.
Like the wings
of nothing that move amongst the forest
as the journey
of my teeth through the live bodies
and like the
whore that kneels in the night
the prayer of a
needle in the violence of the body.
The needle draws
slowly
some deer in my
veins
when the poison
enters my blood
my brain is a
rose.
Like an old man
sucking on a dry lemon
so is the poetic
act.
The horse with
its sword
divides life in
two:
at one side
pleasure with nothing
and the other,
like a defeated woman
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