In Each Thing There Is An Insinuation

I Was Lucky Enough To See With My Own Eyes The Recent Stock-market Crash, Where They Lost Several Million Dollars, A Rabble Of Dead Money That Went Sliding Off Into The Sea.

Variación / Variations El Remanso De Aire Bajo La Rama Del Eco. El Remanso Del Agua Bajo Fronda De Luceros. El Remanso De Tu Boca Bajo Espesura De Besos. * The Still Waters Of The Air Under The Bough Of The Echo. The Still Waters Of The Water Under A Frond Of Stars. The Still Waters Of Your Mouth Under A Thicket Of Kisses. Translated From The Spanish By Lysander Kemp

What Shall I Say About Poetry? What Shall I Say About Those Clouds, Or About The Sky? Look; Look At Them; Look At It! And Nothing More. Don't You Understand Anything About Poetry? Leave That To The Critics And The Professors. For Neither You, Nor I, Nor Any Poet Knows What Poetry Is.

I Sing Your Restless Longing For The Statue, Your Fear Of The Feelings That Await You In The Street. I Sing The Small Sea Siren Who Sings To You, Riding Her Bicycle Of Corals And Conches. But Above All I Sing A Common Thought That Joins Us In The Dark And Golden Hours. The Light That Blinds Our Eyes Is Not Art. Rather It Is Love, Friendship, Crossed Swords.

Just As The Light And Weightless Vegetation Of Saltpeter Floats Over The Old Walls Of Houses As Soon As The Owner Gets Careless, So The Literary Vocation Springs Up In You.