18 November 2009


This is actually a translation of the Lorca poem The Dawn.

Transpose (la aurora despues lorca) [11/18]

The dawn of New York has fourteen columns of dirt
            a hurricane of black doves that wade in rotted water

The dawn of New York moans on enormous stairwells
            searching between angles for relief from poverty

Dawn comes - no one takes it - it their mouths
            mourning and hope are impossible :

            Sometimes money clusters furiously
            drills - devours the homeless - the stray cats

Light is chained and buried in the white noise of cars
            a tantrum against science without root

Sleepless peoples wander through their lives
            it is like they have escaped a shipwreck of blood

No comments:

Post a Comment