Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Tallulah Flores

POEM

And this longing to reach the book
Following the transmutable rhythm of its signs
Leaving an almost imperceptible signal
In the figures that run through everything
Revealing the unstitched fragments of this tree
Planning a disorderly escape.

Itinerant leaves floating in the air!
They do not know the games of space
That are softened and recede between the lines
Letting them fall into the flow of rivers.

They do not know it
                                And drunken
Each sign moves
Mounting the street steps one by one
And the footprints of the reader on the road
Candidly awaiting the closure of the poem.

POEMA

POEMA

Y estas ganas de alcanzar el libro
Siguiendo el ritmo siempre alterado de sus signos
Que dejan una señal apenas perceptible
En las figuras que todo lo atraviesan
Revelando los fragmentos descosidos de este árbol
Que planea en desorden una fuga.

¡Itinerantes hojas sueltas en el aire!
No conocen los juegos del espacio
Que entre líneas se ablanda y retrocede
Dejándolas caer en la corriente de los ríos.

No lo saben
                     Y embriagado
Cada signo se desplaza
Ascendiendo uno a uno los peldaños en la calle
Y la huella del lector en el camino
A la espera ingenua del cierre del poema.
Close

POEM

And this longing to reach the book
Following the transmutable rhythm of its signs
Leaving an almost imperceptible signal
In the figures that run through everything
Revealing the unstitched fragments of this tree
Planning a disorderly escape.

Itinerant leaves floating in the air!
They do not know the games of space
That are softened and recede between the lines
Letting them fall into the flow of rivers.

They do not know it
                                And drunken
Each sign moves
Mounting the street steps one by one
And the footprints of the reader on the road
Candidly awaiting the closure of the poem.

POEM

And this longing to reach the book
Following the transmutable rhythm of its signs
Leaving an almost imperceptible signal
In the figures that run through everything
Revealing the unstitched fragments of this tree
Planning a disorderly escape.

Itinerant leaves floating in the air!
They do not know the games of space
That are softened and recede between the lines
Letting them fall into the flow of rivers.

They do not know it
                                And drunken
Each sign moves
Mounting the street steps one by one
And the footprints of the reader on the road
Candidly awaiting the closure of the poem.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère