Poem
Carlos Vásquez
There is only one place where the house stops
There is only one place where the house stops.The house is a walking temple.
A place in which God persists in turning his back upon us.
Even though there is nothing different he can give us.
To talk about that we should have gone out of the house.
How to go in if not through the torn-down door?
Our God is made up of walled up windows.
What waits for us inside is this outside, even more alone.
We carry this desert beyond thirst.
And its promise of water without shores.
Why then so much horror in place of a look?
© Translation: 2005, Nicolás Suescún
There is only one place where the house stops
No hay un solo lugar donde la casa se detenga.
La casa es el templo que camina.
Un lugar en que Dios persiste en darnos la espalda.
Aunque no hay nada distinto que pueda darnos.
Para hablar de eso debimos salir de la casa.
¿Cómo entrar sino por la puerta derribada?
Nuestro Dios está hecho de ventanas tapiadas.
Lo que nos espera dentro es este afuera, aún más solo.
Llevamos este desierto más allá de la sed.
Y su promesa de agua sin orilla.
¿Por qué entonces tanto horror en lugar de mirada?
La casa es el templo que camina.
Un lugar en que Dios persiste en darnos la espalda.
Aunque no hay nada distinto que pueda darnos.
Para hablar de eso debimos salir de la casa.
¿Cómo entrar sino por la puerta derribada?
Nuestro Dios está hecho de ventanas tapiadas.
Lo que nos espera dentro es este afuera, aún más solo.
Llevamos este desierto más allá de la sed.
Y su promesa de agua sin orilla.
¿Por qué entonces tanto horror en lugar de mirada?
© 1994, Carlos Vásquez
From: El oscuro alimento
Publisher: Ediciones Bolsillo Roto, Medellín
From: El oscuro alimento
Publisher: Ediciones Bolsillo Roto, Medellín
Poems
Poems of Carlos Vásquez
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There is only one place where the house stops
There is only one place where the house stops.The house is a walking temple.
A place in which God persists in turning his back upon us.
Even though there is nothing different he can give us.
To talk about that we should have gone out of the house.
How to go in if not through the torn-down door?
Our God is made up of walled up windows.
What waits for us inside is this outside, even more alone.
We carry this desert beyond thirst.
And its promise of water without shores.
Why then so much horror in place of a look?
© 2005, Nicolás Suescún
From: El oscuro alimento
From: El oscuro alimento
There is only one place where the house stops
There is only one place where the house stops.The house is a walking temple.
A place in which God persists in turning his back upon us.
Even though there is nothing different he can give us.
To talk about that we should have gone out of the house.
How to go in if not through the torn-down door?
Our God is made up of walled up windows.
What waits for us inside is this outside, even more alone.
We carry this desert beyond thirst.
And its promise of water without shores.
Why then so much horror in place of a look?
© 2005, Nicolás Suescún
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