Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Juan Cristóbal Romero

Huidobro’s death, death and resurrection

A year ago I visited the Cathedral of La Paz.
In my life I’d never seen an alterpiece with such a golden façade.

Admiring your image, Lord, by a baroque Aymara carved
I felt my soul as if from a rogue gust enlarged.

First it was like a breath into the depth of a hole
that emptied space and multiplied reality by null.

Then a faint sound like a gnashing of chains,
a cry without weeping, mourning the spreading of pains.

Pulled by a gravitational force my words escaped
and I sensed you like a wave imitating eternity.

Since that moment in my throat a bird’s been agonizing.
Yesterday it whistled innocently, today it’s barely singing.

At times it flies among my teeth then vanishes.
It’s been spotted sipping the water reflected in mirrors.

I feel such a profound exhaustion, Lord,
Not the weight of my body but the weight of the conscience of the world.

Monotonous bloody threads fall from the ceiling
their drops corroding my chest.

Make an angel descend today and with its sword embody me, Lord, with your calm.
Put my anxieties to rest on its silver palm.

I carry inside a longing for perfection like a small infinity.
I was born believing I was God and let loose my first furious cry.

He who lives as I lives not but becomes withered and misshapen,
opressed by an increasingly narrow space.

I am an atheist monk in a miserable cell writing paper psalms, Lord;
he who lives as I dies not; he’s emptied, untoward.

Muerte, muerte y resurrección de Huidobro

Muerte, muerte y resurrección de Huidobro

Hace un año visité la catedral de La Paz.
En mi vida vi un retablo cubierto de tan dorado disfraz.

Señor, al admirar tu imagen tallada por un aymará barroco
sentí el alma henchida por un viento loco.

Primero fue como un soplo hacia el fondo de un agujero
que vació el espacio y multiplicó la realidad por cero.

Luego vino un ruido sordo como un rechinar de esposas,
un llorar sin llanto ante el ensanchamiento de las cosas.

Mis palabras huyeron atraídas por una fuerza de gravedad
y sentí tu oído como un mar que imita la eternidad.

Desde entonces un pájaro agoniza en mi garganta.
Si ayer silbaba como un niño, hoy apenas canta.

A ratos vuela entre mis dientes y se pierde lejos.
Lo han visto sorbiendo el agua reflejada en los espejos.

Señor, siento un cansancio tan profundo
que no pesa como el cansancio del cuerpo sino como el peso de la conciencia del mundo.

Hilos monótonos de sangre que caen desde el techo
cuyas gotas parecen que mordieran el pecho.

Señor, haz que hoy mismo un ángel descienda y me traspase con una espada tu calma.
Haz descansar mis angustias sobre su plateada palma.

Hay un anhelo de perfección que llevo dentro como un pequeño infinito.
Nací creyendo ser dios y lancé con furia mi primer grito.

Quien vive como yo no vive, se marchita contrahecho,
oprimido en un espacio cada vez más estrecho.

Señor, soy un monje ateo en una mísera celda que escribe salmos de papel;
quien vive como yo no muere, se apaga, todo se vacía de él.
Close

Huidobro’s death, death and resurrection

A year ago I visited the Cathedral of La Paz.
In my life I’d never seen an alterpiece with such a golden façade.

Admiring your image, Lord, by a baroque Aymara carved
I felt my soul as if from a rogue gust enlarged.

First it was like a breath into the depth of a hole
that emptied space and multiplied reality by null.

Then a faint sound like a gnashing of chains,
a cry without weeping, mourning the spreading of pains.

Pulled by a gravitational force my words escaped
and I sensed you like a wave imitating eternity.

Since that moment in my throat a bird’s been agonizing.
Yesterday it whistled innocently, today it’s barely singing.

At times it flies among my teeth then vanishes.
It’s been spotted sipping the water reflected in mirrors.

I feel such a profound exhaustion, Lord,
Not the weight of my body but the weight of the conscience of the world.

Monotonous bloody threads fall from the ceiling
their drops corroding my chest.

Make an angel descend today and with its sword embody me, Lord, with your calm.
Put my anxieties to rest on its silver palm.

I carry inside a longing for perfection like a small infinity.
I was born believing I was God and let loose my first furious cry.

He who lives as I lives not but becomes withered and misshapen,
opressed by an increasingly narrow space.

I am an atheist monk in a miserable cell writing paper psalms, Lord;
he who lives as I dies not; he’s emptied, untoward.

Huidobro’s death, death and resurrection

A year ago I visited the Cathedral of La Paz.
In my life I’d never seen an alterpiece with such a golden façade.

Admiring your image, Lord, by a baroque Aymara carved
I felt my soul as if from a rogue gust enlarged.

First it was like a breath into the depth of a hole
that emptied space and multiplied reality by null.

Then a faint sound like a gnashing of chains,
a cry without weeping, mourning the spreading of pains.

Pulled by a gravitational force my words escaped
and I sensed you like a wave imitating eternity.

Since that moment in my throat a bird’s been agonizing.
Yesterday it whistled innocently, today it’s barely singing.

At times it flies among my teeth then vanishes.
It’s been spotted sipping the water reflected in mirrors.

I feel such a profound exhaustion, Lord,
Not the weight of my body but the weight of the conscience of the world.

Monotonous bloody threads fall from the ceiling
their drops corroding my chest.

Make an angel descend today and with its sword embody me, Lord, with your calm.
Put my anxieties to rest on its silver palm.

I carry inside a longing for perfection like a small infinity.
I was born believing I was God and let loose my first furious cry.

He who lives as I lives not but becomes withered and misshapen,
opressed by an increasingly narrow space.

I am an atheist monk in a miserable cell writing paper psalms, Lord;
he who lives as I dies not; he’s emptied, untoward.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère