Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Santiago Barcaza

The journey

Call it a tree
And in doing so describe
Whatever

What you see
Nothing if you prefer
Or the vague idea that one holds

Of the unplanted tree
That grew and came to know
The weight of the Earth

Much earlier than the Earth

Nothing if you like
But nothing has an end

In the idea of the tree
Lips reduce the eye
That can no longer see anything
That isn’t itself
And at the same time
Your voice
Comes undone between leaves and branches

The white rocks of the moon
Appear on the west

You must go
As wisdom has gone
Time defeated your ancestors
As the image and the voice
That described that image have gone
Call it a tree
In your leaving
That if the end arrives
It also shall pass.

El viaje

El viaje

Llámalo árbol
Y así describir
No importa

Lo que ves
Nada si prefieres
O la vaga idea que se tiene

Del árbol no plantado
Que creció y conoció
El peso de la Tierra

Mucho antes de la Tierra

Nada si prefieres
Pero nada tiene fin

En la idea del árbol
Los labios reducen al ojo
Que ya no puede ver nada
Que no sea lo que es
Y al mismo tiempo
Tu voz
Se deshace entre hojas y ramas

La piedra blanca de la luna
Surge en occidente

Debes irte
Como se ha ido la sabiduría
Que el tiempo arrebató
A tus antepasados
Como se ha ido la imagen
Y la voz que describió esa imagen
Llámalo árbol
En tu despedida
Que si el final llega
También pasará.
Close

The journey

Call it a tree
And in doing so describe
Whatever

What you see
Nothing if you prefer
Or the vague idea that one holds

Of the unplanted tree
That grew and came to know
The weight of the Earth

Much earlier than the Earth

Nothing if you like
But nothing has an end

In the idea of the tree
Lips reduce the eye
That can no longer see anything
That isn’t itself
And at the same time
Your voice
Comes undone between leaves and branches

The white rocks of the moon
Appear on the west

You must go
As wisdom has gone
Time defeated your ancestors
As the image and the voice
That described that image have gone
Call it a tree
In your leaving
That if the end arrives
It also shall pass.

The journey

Call it a tree
And in doing so describe
Whatever

What you see
Nothing if you prefer
Or the vague idea that one holds

Of the unplanted tree
That grew and came to know
The weight of the Earth

Much earlier than the Earth

Nothing if you like
But nothing has an end

In the idea of the tree
Lips reduce the eye
That can no longer see anything
That isn’t itself
And at the same time
Your voice
Comes undone between leaves and branches

The white rocks of the moon
Appear on the west

You must go
As wisdom has gone
Time defeated your ancestors
As the image and the voice
That described that image have gone
Call it a tree
In your leaving
That if the end arrives
It also shall pass.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
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