Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Antonio Gamoneda

THE INFECTION is larger than sadness

THE INFECTION is larger than sadness; it licks the tortured parietal bones, it penetrates the bedrooms of sweat and laudanum and later it trembles like a cold wing: it is the moisture of people who are dying.

Slowly the impure dove approaches, approaches cups full of shadow

and capillaries of ash spread over remnants of mercury and tears.

The lens reveals mendacity but its light comes from the abyss. In front of scorched corneas hang threads of silence. Later

the disappearances depress the heart.

DE INFECTIE is groter dan de droefheid

DE INFECTIE is groter dan de droefheid; ze likt de gemartelde wandbeenderen, dringt door in de slaapkamers van zweet en laudanum en trilt dan als een koude vleugel: de vochtigheid van de stervenden.
 
Langzaam nadert de onzuivere duif, ze nadert de glazen vol schaduw
 
en de as van het haar gaat over resten mercurium en tranen liggen.
 
De lens nodigt de bedelstaf aan maar haar licht komt voort uit de afgrond.Voor de verschroeide hoornvliezen hangen de draden van de stilte. Daarna
 
dalen de verdwijningen af naar het hart.

LA INFECCIÓN es más grande que la tristeza; lame los parietales torturados, entra en los dormitorios del sudor y el láudano y luego tiembla como un ala fría: es la humedad de los agonizantes.

Viene despacio la paloma impura, viene a los vasos llenos de sombra

y la ceniza capilar se extiende sobre vestigios de mercurio y llanto.

La lente anuncia la mendicidad pero su luz procede del abismo. Ante las córneas abrasadas penden los hilos del silencio. Luego

las desapariciones bajan al corazón.
Close

THE INFECTION is larger than sadness

THE INFECTION is larger than sadness; it licks the tortured parietal bones, it penetrates the bedrooms of sweat and laudanum and later it trembles like a cold wing: it is the moisture of people who are dying.

Slowly the impure dove approaches, approaches cups full of shadow

and capillaries of ash spread over remnants of mercury and tears.

The lens reveals mendacity but its light comes from the abyss. In front of scorched corneas hang threads of silence. Later

the disappearances depress the heart.

THE INFECTION is larger than sadness

THE INFECTION is larger than sadness; it licks the tortured parietal bones, it penetrates the bedrooms of sweat and laudanum and later it trembles like a cold wing: it is the moisture of people who are dying.

Slowly the impure dove approaches, approaches cups full of shadow

and capillaries of ash spread over remnants of mercury and tears.

The lens reveals mendacity but its light comes from the abyss. In front of scorched corneas hang threads of silence. Later

the disappearances depress the heart.
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