Do I know you? by Michael Rosen

 

Illustration by Enki Bilal

¿Te conozco?

Por Michael Rosen

Estoy perdido,
estoy perdido,
no sé dónde estoy.
Soy un calcetín en una lavadora,
una fresa en mermelada,
soy una carta en un libro,
soy la burbuja en una bebida efervescente,
soy un guijarro en la playa,
soy una pregunta en un concurso.
No sé dónde estás,
no sabes dónde estás,
no sabes cuándo estoy,
no sé cómo estabas,
no sabes a quién me refiero.

Así que encuéntrame
Encuéntrame
Pregúntame quién soy
Sácame de la lavadora
Sácame de la mermelada
Abre el libro
Deja salir toda la efervescencia
Caminemos por la playa
Y responderé a tu cuestionario
Entonces sabré dónde estás
Sabrás cuándo estoy
Sabré cómo estabas
Y sabrás a quién admiro.

Mark Strand / Eating Poetry

by Sergei Sarakhanov

EATING POETRY

by Mark Strand

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth. 
There is no happiness like mine. 
I have been eating poetry. 

The librarian does not believe what she sees. 
Her eyes are sad 
and she walks with her hands in her dress. 

The poems are gone. 
The light is dim. 
The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up. 

Their eyeballs roll, 
their blond legs burn like brush. 
The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.
 
She does not understand. 
When I get on my knees and lick her hand, 
she screams. 

I am a new man. 
I snarl at her and bark. 
I romp with joy in the bookish dark. 

Read also
BIOGRAPHY OF MARK STRAND
Mark Strand / With Only the Stars to Guide Us
Mark Strand at John Cabot University
Mark Strand / The Art of Poetry
Mark Strand / The Everyday Enchantment of Music
Mark Strand / The Coming of Light
Mark Strand / Eating Poetry
Mark Strand / From the Long Sad Party
Mark Strand / My Mother on an Evening in Late Summer

Mark Strand / Always

Gift by Leonard Cohen

 

Gift

by Leonard Cohen

 

You tell me that silence
is nearer to peace than poems
but if for my gift
I brought you silence
(for I know silence)
you would say
This is not silence
this is another poem
and you would hand it back to me.

Mark Strand / Giving myself up

Giving myself up

By Mark Strand
BIOGRAPHY

Mark Strand / Renunciar a mí mismo

I give up my eyes which are glass eggs.

I give up my tongue.

I give up my mouth which is the constant dream of my tongue.

I give up my throat which is the sleeve of my voice.

I give up my heart which is a burning apple.

I give up my lungs which are trees that have never seen the moon.

I give up my smell which is that of a stone traveling through rain.

I give up my hands which are ten wishes.

I give up my arms which have wanted to leave me anyway.

I give up my legs which are lovers only at night.

I give up my buttocks which are the moons of childhood.

I give up my penis which whispers encouragement to my thighs.

I give up my clothes which are walls that blow in the wind

and I give up the ghost that lives in them.

I give up. I give up.

And you will have none of it because already I am beginning

again without anything.