Poem
Fernando Rendón
From Prometeida
Delegates of the centuries arranged to meet around the ruined table, and at cards – withcontrary sentiments – they play the destiny of the kingdoms of life.
The magician has made himself invisible. The lovers have a good star even though they
are trapped. It is the Devil with the cards of the crown and death who has engendered
anxiety in the game. Outside, the tower is still crumbling down. Not one civilization
could have raised itself up without the obstinate vision of madness.
Time advances toward its end. The players look at each other, hostile. There is a mortal
struggle for, at cards – with contrary sentiments – they play the destiny of the kingdoms
of life.
And the emperor and death again take all the chips by the side of their owner.
However there are reserves left. Nature sings its deposits. The moon becomes bigger.
The hanged man smiles, always invulnerable. The trial goes on transforming the solar
province into a universe without restrictions. The constellations descend near the heads
of the players.
Poetry takes out the events from the sleeve of its tunic. The world thus understands it.
And it gets ready to purify itself for the demanding activity of resurrection.
© Translation: 2005, Nicolás Suescún
De Prometeida
De Prometeida
Delegados de los siglos se han dado cita alrededor de la mesa arruinada, y a las cartas –con sentimientos contrarios – se juegan el destino de los reinos de la vida.
El mago se ha hecho invisible. Los amantes tienen buena estrella aunque estén
acorralados. Es el diablo con la baza de corona y muerte quien ha engendrado la
zozobra en el juego. Afuera, la torre sigue derrumbándose. Ninguna civilización podía
haberse levantado sin la obstinada visión de la locura.
El tiempo avanza a su fin. Los jugadores se miran hostiles. Hay una pugna mortal pues,
a las cartas – con sentimientos contrarios – se juegan el destino de los reinos de la vida.
Y el emperador y la muerte de nuevo se llevan todas las fichas al lado de su dueño.
No obstante quedan reservas. La naturaleza canta sus depósitos. La luna crece. El
ahorcado sonríe siempre invulnerable. El juicio prosigue transformando la provincia
solar en universo sin trabas. Las constelaciones descienden cerca de las cabezas de los
jugadores.
La poesía extrae de la manga de su túnica los acontecimientos. El mundo así lo
entiende. Y se apresta a purificarse para la exigente actividad de la resurrección.
© 1989, Fernando Rendón
From: Bajo otros soles
Publisher: Ojo Editorial, Medellín
From: Bajo otros soles
Publisher: Ojo Editorial, Medellín
Poems
Poems of Fernando Rendón
Close
From Prometeida
Delegates of the centuries arranged to meet around the ruined table, and at cards – withcontrary sentiments – they play the destiny of the kingdoms of life.
The magician has made himself invisible. The lovers have a good star even though they
are trapped. It is the Devil with the cards of the crown and death who has engendered
anxiety in the game. Outside, the tower is still crumbling down. Not one civilization
could have raised itself up without the obstinate vision of madness.
Time advances toward its end. The players look at each other, hostile. There is a mortal
struggle for, at cards – with contrary sentiments – they play the destiny of the kingdoms
of life.
And the emperor and death again take all the chips by the side of their owner.
However there are reserves left. Nature sings its deposits. The moon becomes bigger.
The hanged man smiles, always invulnerable. The trial goes on transforming the solar
province into a universe without restrictions. The constellations descend near the heads
of the players.
Poetry takes out the events from the sleeve of its tunic. The world thus understands it.
And it gets ready to purify itself for the demanding activity of resurrection.
© 2005, Nicolás Suescún
From: Bajo otros soles
From: Bajo otros soles
From Prometeida
Delegates of the centuries arranged to meet around the ruined table, and at cards – withcontrary sentiments – they play the destiny of the kingdoms of life.
The magician has made himself invisible. The lovers have a good star even though they
are trapped. It is the Devil with the cards of the crown and death who has engendered
anxiety in the game. Outside, the tower is still crumbling down. Not one civilization
could have raised itself up without the obstinate vision of madness.
Time advances toward its end. The players look at each other, hostile. There is a mortal
struggle for, at cards – with contrary sentiments – they play the destiny of the kingdoms
of life.
And the emperor and death again take all the chips by the side of their owner.
However there are reserves left. Nature sings its deposits. The moon becomes bigger.
The hanged man smiles, always invulnerable. The trial goes on transforming the solar
province into a universe without restrictions. The constellations descend near the heads
of the players.
Poetry takes out the events from the sleeve of its tunic. The world thus understands it.
And it gets ready to purify itself for the demanding activity of resurrection.
© 2005, Nicolás Suescún
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