Poem
Mario Rivero
Words for a friend called God
1962a day like any other day
men have put into orbit
another capsule
the astronaut said that the earth
was a little blue ball with storms
and that You were not on it or out of it
The day grows
strontium 90 is in our breathing
in the light
it falls on the donkeys with their load of flowers
The day grows
the sun stretches out in sweet tongues
on the field
it burns the skin of water and of lovers
and a vapour of fornication rises
The day grows
One becomes tired of being alive
even though one goes on tying the knot of one’s tie
even though one hears the rattling
of the machine guns
even though death falls fattening the earth
Finally my friend God
it’s 1962
in every calendar
and dark peoples go around still wrapped in their fever
we build houses and bombers
cities we don’t know
spread out under their wings
I have nothing else to tell You
I am alone like someone that has just arrived
Maybe I’ll buy myself a toy elephant
to give to somebody
and even though You are neither inside nor outside
I ask you from my teeth of wheat
that no one should go away in the summer.
My friend God
You who made the world in seven days
and from whose hand emerged
peaceful valleys and lean hills
I ask you in the name of all
those who say nothing
I tell you from this wood
of glass and cement
that none of them seem evil
when crossing the street
or thinking of themselves as children
I have seen them my friend God consuming
themselves and descending like an avalanche
when the sunset takes possession of the city
chasing the days
that left them one by one
making love and then smiling
as they dried their organs with a paper towel
innocent and hostile toward the dampness of their bodies
Begging for constellations and summers
without knowing that the world is already old
under its appeasement of eternity
and that the bomb will fall
Will the bomb fall on the little blue ball?
© Translation: 2004, Nicolás Suescún
Translated with the collaboration of Wendy Davies
Translated with the collaboration of Wendy Davies
Palabras para un amigo que se llama Dios
Palabras para un amigo que se llama Dios
1962un día cualquiera
los hombres han puesto en órbita
otra cápsula
el astronauta dijo que la tierra
era una bolita azul con tempestades
y que Tú no estabas ni dentro ni fuera
Crece el día
el estroncio 90 está en la respiración
está en la luz
cae sobre los burros y su carga de flores
Crece el día
el sol se estira en lenguas dulces
sobre el campo
quema la piel del agua y de los amantes
y un vaho de fornicación asciende
Crece el día
Uno se cansa de estar vivo
aunque se siga anudando la corbata
aunque se siente el tableteo
de las ametralladoras
aunque la muerte siga engordando la tierra
En fin amigo Dios
es 1962
en todos los almanaques
y pueblos oscuros siguen envueltos en su fiebre
construímos casas y bombarderos
que tienen extendidas bajo las alas
las ciudades que no conocemos
No tengo más que contarte
Estoy solo como un recién llegado
Tal vez me compre un elefantico
para regalarle a alguien
y aunque Tú no estés ni dentro ni fuera
te pido desde mis dientes de maíz
que nadie se vaya en el verano
Amigo Dios
Tú que hiciste el mundo en siete días
que de tu mano salieron
mansos valles y delgadas colinas
yo te pido por todos
los que no dicen nada
Te cuento desde este bosque
de cemento y cristal
que nadie parece malo
cuando atraviesa una avenida
o piensa que fue niño
Yo los he visto amigo Dios corroerse
y descender como una avalancha
cuando el crepúsculo toma posesión de la ciudad
persiguiendo los días
que se les fueron uno tras otro
hacer el amor y luego sonreir
al secarse los órganos con una toallita de papel
inocentes y hostiles a la humedad de sus cuerpos
Limosnear constelaciones y veranos
sin saber que el mundo ya está viejo
bajo su apaciguamiento de eternidad
y que la bomba caerá
Caerá la bomba sobre la bolita azul?
© 1963, Mario Rivero
From: Poemas urbanos
Publisher: Antares-Tercer Mundo, Bogotá
From: Poemas urbanos
Publisher: Antares-Tercer Mundo, Bogotá
Poems
Poems of Mario Rivero
Close
Words for a friend called God
1962a day like any other day
men have put into orbit
another capsule
the astronaut said that the earth
was a little blue ball with storms
and that You were not on it or out of it
The day grows
strontium 90 is in our breathing
in the light
it falls on the donkeys with their load of flowers
The day grows
the sun stretches out in sweet tongues
on the field
it burns the skin of water and of lovers
and a vapour of fornication rises
The day grows
One becomes tired of being alive
even though one goes on tying the knot of one’s tie
even though one hears the rattling
of the machine guns
even though death falls fattening the earth
Finally my friend God
it’s 1962
in every calendar
and dark peoples go around still wrapped in their fever
we build houses and bombers
cities we don’t know
spread out under their wings
I have nothing else to tell You
I am alone like someone that has just arrived
Maybe I’ll buy myself a toy elephant
to give to somebody
and even though You are neither inside nor outside
I ask you from my teeth of wheat
that no one should go away in the summer.
My friend God
You who made the world in seven days
and from whose hand emerged
peaceful valleys and lean hills
I ask you in the name of all
those who say nothing
I tell you from this wood
of glass and cement
that none of them seem evil
when crossing the street
or thinking of themselves as children
I have seen them my friend God consuming
themselves and descending like an avalanche
when the sunset takes possession of the city
chasing the days
that left them one by one
making love and then smiling
as they dried their organs with a paper towel
innocent and hostile toward the dampness of their bodies
Begging for constellations and summers
without knowing that the world is already old
under its appeasement of eternity
and that the bomb will fall
Will the bomb fall on the little blue ball?
© 2004, Nicolás Suescún
Translated with the collaboration of Wendy Davies
From: Poemas urbanos
Translated with the collaboration of Wendy Davies
From: Poemas urbanos
Words for a friend called God
1962a day like any other day
men have put into orbit
another capsule
the astronaut said that the earth
was a little blue ball with storms
and that You were not on it or out of it
The day grows
strontium 90 is in our breathing
in the light
it falls on the donkeys with their load of flowers
The day grows
the sun stretches out in sweet tongues
on the field
it burns the skin of water and of lovers
and a vapour of fornication rises
The day grows
One becomes tired of being alive
even though one goes on tying the knot of one’s tie
even though one hears the rattling
of the machine guns
even though death falls fattening the earth
Finally my friend God
it’s 1962
in every calendar
and dark peoples go around still wrapped in their fever
we build houses and bombers
cities we don’t know
spread out under their wings
I have nothing else to tell You
I am alone like someone that has just arrived
Maybe I’ll buy myself a toy elephant
to give to somebody
and even though You are neither inside nor outside
I ask you from my teeth of wheat
that no one should go away in the summer.
My friend God
You who made the world in seven days
and from whose hand emerged
peaceful valleys and lean hills
I ask you in the name of all
those who say nothing
I tell you from this wood
of glass and cement
that none of them seem evil
when crossing the street
or thinking of themselves as children
I have seen them my friend God consuming
themselves and descending like an avalanche
when the sunset takes possession of the city
chasing the days
that left them one by one
making love and then smiling
as they dried their organs with a paper towel
innocent and hostile toward the dampness of their bodies
Begging for constellations and summers
without knowing that the world is already old
under its appeasement of eternity
and that the bomb will fall
Will the bomb fall on the little blue ball?
© 2004, Nicolás Suescún
Translated with the collaboration of Wendy Davies
Translated with the collaboration of Wendy Davies
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