Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Juan Manuel Roca

Capricorn

December and its red alcohols
Have brought to my window not a fuzz of oblivion.
Now I have
Such a desire to inhabit
the idiots’ white and slimy territories
Such a desire to be a beggar in Nepal
A bead stringer in Ancient Guatemala
Such a desire to lay amidst the grass.
I think in the best men of my country
Those who have gambled their skin
In the brinks and borders of the abyss
At this hour in which the jails
Are better inhabited than the clean dancehalls.
The flies that buzz into my dream
Or over the white paper
Where they draw up a mysterious calligraphy
Don’t call upon mild landscapes.
December and its red alcohols
Haven’t brought to my window not a fuzz of oblivion.

Capricornio

Capricornio

Diciembre y sus rojos alcoholes
No han traído a mi ventana una pelusa de olvido.
Ahora me dan
Unas ganas de habitar los territorios
Blancos y babosos del idiota
Unas ganas de ser mendigo en el Nepal
Ensartador de abalorios en la Antigua Guatemala
Unas ganas de acostarme entre la hierba.
Pienso en los mejores hombres de mi país
Los que han jugado su pellejo
En las lindes y en los bordes del abismo
En esta hora en que están mejor habitadas
Las cárceles que los limpios salones de baile.
Las moscas que zumban en torno de mi sueño
O sobre el blanco papel
Donde trazan una caligrafía misteriosa
No convocan paisajes apacibles.
Diciembre y sus rojos alcoholes
No han traído a mi ventana una pelusa de olvido.
Close

Capricorn

December and its red alcohols
Have brought to my window not a fuzz of oblivion.
Now I have
Such a desire to inhabit
the idiots’ white and slimy territories
Such a desire to be a beggar in Nepal
A bead stringer in Ancient Guatemala
Such a desire to lay amidst the grass.
I think in the best men of my country
Those who have gambled their skin
In the brinks and borders of the abyss
At this hour in which the jails
Are better inhabited than the clean dancehalls.
The flies that buzz into my dream
Or over the white paper
Where they draw up a mysterious calligraphy
Don’t call upon mild landscapes.
December and its red alcohols
Haven’t brought to my window not a fuzz of oblivion.

Capricorn

December and its red alcohols
Have brought to my window not a fuzz of oblivion.
Now I have
Such a desire to inhabit
the idiots’ white and slimy territories
Such a desire to be a beggar in Nepal
A bead stringer in Ancient Guatemala
Such a desire to lay amidst the grass.
I think in the best men of my country
Those who have gambled their skin
In the brinks and borders of the abyss
At this hour in which the jails
Are better inhabited than the clean dancehalls.
The flies that buzz into my dream
Or over the white paper
Where they draw up a mysterious calligraphy
Don’t call upon mild landscapes.
December and its red alcohols
Haven’t brought to my window not a fuzz of oblivion.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère