Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Jairo Guzmán

A DEAD FISH ON THE BEACH

You seem like a Buddhist monk
listening to the gong of the galaxies

Were you perhaps once terrestrial
and the delirium of your ancestors’ woods
made you faint in this spot?

Perhaps you were a gazelle?
What thunderbolt will strike you when you become a bird?

You were drunk with the sun
and already it seemed to me a fish
getting suntanned on the beach was absurd

When you become a bird
big and blue-ish like the bird of solitude
I will listen to the psalm to joy
before the splendor that serves
in the amphora of the pelican
the wine of the white ray

Bird of the waters
your thirst of flowering honeysuckles and dandelions
was not sated

When you become a bird
on the branches of a guaiacum
grant me the key to the winds

UN PEZ MUERTO EN LA PLAYA

UN PEZ MUERTO EN LA PLAYA

Pareces un monje budista
escuchando el gong de las galaxias

¿Será que alguna vez fuiste terrestre
y el delirio de boscaje de tus ancestros
te hizo desmayar en este paraje?

¿Acaso fuiste gacela?
¿Qué rayo te fulminará cuando seas ave?

Estabas ebrio de sol
y ya se me hacía absurdo
un pez bronceándose en la playa

Cuando seas un pájaro
grande y azulenco como el pájaro de la soledad
te escucharé la salmodia a la alegría
ante el esplendor que sirve
en la crátera del pelícano
el vino del rayo blanco

Pájaro de las aguas
tu sed de madreselvas y dientes de león florecidos
no fue saciada

Cuando seas ave
en el ramaje de un guayacán
concédeme la clave de los vientos
Close

A DEAD FISH ON THE BEACH

You seem like a Buddhist monk
listening to the gong of the galaxies

Were you perhaps once terrestrial
and the delirium of your ancestors’ woods
made you faint in this spot?

Perhaps you were a gazelle?
What thunderbolt will strike you when you become a bird?

You were drunk with the sun
and already it seemed to me a fish
getting suntanned on the beach was absurd

When you become a bird
big and blue-ish like the bird of solitude
I will listen to the psalm to joy
before the splendor that serves
in the amphora of the pelican
the wine of the white ray

Bird of the waters
your thirst of flowering honeysuckles and dandelions
was not sated

When you become a bird
on the branches of a guaiacum
grant me the key to the winds

A DEAD FISH ON THE BEACH

You seem like a Buddhist monk
listening to the gong of the galaxies

Were you perhaps once terrestrial
and the delirium of your ancestors’ woods
made you faint in this spot?

Perhaps you were a gazelle?
What thunderbolt will strike you when you become a bird?

You were drunk with the sun
and already it seemed to me a fish
getting suntanned on the beach was absurd

When you become a bird
big and blue-ish like the bird of solitude
I will listen to the psalm to joy
before the splendor that serves
in the amphora of the pelican
the wine of the white ray

Bird of the waters
your thirst of flowering honeysuckles and dandelions
was not sated

When you become a bird
on the branches of a guaiacum
grant me the key to the winds
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère