Poem
Gonzalo Márquez Cristo
DESCENT TO THE LIGHT
The night is my return. I go over the museum of absence.All suffering is useless for those who do not pursue poetry, for those who do not feed eagles with their eyes.
I exercise thirst. I only love those whom I could not save.
There is no longer a darkness to guide our dreams or the phantoms of inconclusive desire; only the abject exchange that has replaced ritual.
I do not seek, I lose . . .
And I don’t even find a place for astonishment.
I can no longer forget. Nor do I pretend to know the three answers hidden by death.
Here nobody lacks the necessary hatred to recover paradise, or confess its rude fall during the day.
It must be shadow or shout. Return or birth.
Every origin will decree the abolition of the ego.
It is then that breathing will be green.
And even though I owe everything to pain . . . I advance, I fall. I choose the ways that have no end. Voices burn out darkness. The poem.
You know it, quivering body:
It is not in time where I have put my words.
© Translation: 2008, Nicolás Suescún
DESCENSO A LA LUZ
DESCENSO A LA LUZ
La noche es mi regreso. Transito el museo de la ausencia.Todo sufrimiento es inútil para quien no persigue la poesía, para quien no alimenta con sus ojos a las águilas.
Ejercito la sed. Amo tan sólo a quienes no pude salvar.
Ya no existe una oscuridad que guíe nuestros sueños ni los fantasmas del deseo inconcluso; sólo el abyecto intercambio que ha remplazado al rito.
Ya no busco, pierdo . . .
Y ni siquiera encuentro lugar en el asombro.
No puedo olvidar más. Ni pretendo saber las tres respuestas ocultas por la muerte.
Aquí nadie carece del odio necesario para recobrar el paraíso, ni confiesa su ruda caída en el día.
Debo ser sombra o grito. Retorno o nacimiento.
Cada origen decretará la abolición del yo.
Es entonces cuando la respiración será verde.
Y aunque todo se lo deba al dolor . . . Avanzo: caigo. Elijo los caminos que no tienen final. Las voces que incendian las tinieblas. El poema.
Tú lo sabes, cuerpo estremecido:
No es en el tiempo donde he puesto mis palabras.
© 2005, Gonzalo Márquez Cristo
From: Oscuro Nacimiento
Publisher: Los Conjurados, Bogotá
From: Oscuro Nacimiento
Publisher: Los Conjurados, Bogotá
Poems
Poems of Gonzalo Márquez Cristo
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DESCENT TO THE LIGHT
The night is my return. I go over the museum of absence.All suffering is useless for those who do not pursue poetry, for those who do not feed eagles with their eyes.
I exercise thirst. I only love those whom I could not save.
There is no longer a darkness to guide our dreams or the phantoms of inconclusive desire; only the abject exchange that has replaced ritual.
I do not seek, I lose . . .
And I don’t even find a place for astonishment.
I can no longer forget. Nor do I pretend to know the three answers hidden by death.
Here nobody lacks the necessary hatred to recover paradise, or confess its rude fall during the day.
It must be shadow or shout. Return or birth.
Every origin will decree the abolition of the ego.
It is then that breathing will be green.
And even though I owe everything to pain . . . I advance, I fall. I choose the ways that have no end. Voices burn out darkness. The poem.
You know it, quivering body:
It is not in time where I have put my words.
© 2008, Nicolás Suescún
From: Oscuro Nacimiento
From: Oscuro Nacimiento
DESCENT TO THE LIGHT
The night is my return. I go over the museum of absence.All suffering is useless for those who do not pursue poetry, for those who do not feed eagles with their eyes.
I exercise thirst. I only love those whom I could not save.
There is no longer a darkness to guide our dreams or the phantoms of inconclusive desire; only the abject exchange that has replaced ritual.
I do not seek, I lose . . .
And I don’t even find a place for astonishment.
I can no longer forget. Nor do I pretend to know the three answers hidden by death.
Here nobody lacks the necessary hatred to recover paradise, or confess its rude fall during the day.
It must be shadow or shout. Return or birth.
Every origin will decree the abolition of the ego.
It is then that breathing will be green.
And even though I owe everything to pain . . . I advance, I fall. I choose the ways that have no end. Voices burn out darkness. The poem.
You know it, quivering body:
It is not in time where I have put my words.
© 2008, Nicolás Suescún
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