Jorge Palma






Jorge Palma

translated by Peter Boyle


I haven’t put on

my ears this morning


the world is stunning me,

its multitude of chairs

tied together,

its stock market crashes,

that grinding of teeth

amid new shoes

and banknotes.


I think, with bullish insistence,

on what side of life

has life ended up?


The leopard skin

is trading on the market

at the price of a diamond.


Down the helter-skelter of fire

slide the passionate kisses

of lovers

falling into the spell of dark stars

with the cold days that wander

without a motherland

through tense cities

crammed with rubble.


No one whistles on the streets anymore.

And it seems embarrassing to long

for the calm blue sky

the yellow sound of wheat

the movement of water

in perfect circles

when a pebble

is thrown by a child

from the brightly-lit window of his room.


The pigeon returning

to the laid table

brings in its bloodied beak

a slap from the world.


How will I know from which direction

death will come.








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