Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Jotamario Arbeláez

THE POET\'S FRIEND

The poet\'s friend
has a wife whom the poet covets
she’s all eyes
and lives in an apartment with a view of the city
that blinds the poet
and he manoeuvers a car that roars swiftly up the pavement
making the poet bite the curves of envy

And to merit all of this
the poet\'s friend works in an oil company
where the poet would never poke in the drill of his nose
because not for the bard the sweat of his brow
nor the profit of black bread.

The poet is mad about having all hours of the day to himself
to ruminate the grass of his bad inclinations
and tortuous torments
to sin capital charms in his heart
and add to his diary the telephone numbers of the moon

Considering leisure as the most naked of women
the poet is satisfied removing the petals of the dictionary
and waits for the friend to pay for beers in the seedy café

The friend with a wife sheathed in fur shop mirrors
The friend who lives with the lit-up city at his feet
The friend who hides his lion in the parking bay

Time was never lost smoking cigars
Talking with anarchists about the politics of Aristotle
Going to the whorehouse at night

The poet is the same singing or not singing
The poets are the true friends

EL AMIGO DEL POETA

EL AMIGO DEL POETA

El amigo del poeta 
tiene una mujer que el poeta codicia
toda ojos
y vive en un departamento con miras a la ciudad
que ciega al poeta
y maniobra un automóvil que ruge por el pavimento veloz
haciendo morder al poeta las curvas de la envidia

Y para merecer todo esto
trabaja el amigo del poeta en una compañía petrolera
donde el poeta no metería nunca el taladro de la nariz
porque no es para bardos el sudor de la frente
ni la ganancia del pan negro

Le fascina al poeta contar con las completas horas del día
para rumiar la hierba de sus malas inclinaciones
y tortuosos tormentos
para pecar en su corazón dulzuras capitales
y sumar en su agenda los teléfonos de la luna

Considerando el ocio la más desnuda de las mujeres
se contenta el poeta deshojando las flores del diccionario
y esperando al amigo que paga la cerveza en el cafetín

El amigo de la mujer enfundada en espejos de peletería
El amigo que vive con la ciudad encendida a sus pies
El amigo que esconde su león en el parqueadero

Nunca se perdió el tiempo fumando tabaco
Discutiendo con anarquistas la política de Aristóteles
Yendo a las putas por la noche

El poeta es el mismo cante o no cante
Son los poetas los amigos
Close

THE POET\'S FRIEND

The poet\'s friend
has a wife whom the poet covets
she’s all eyes
and lives in an apartment with a view of the city
that blinds the poet
and he manoeuvers a car that roars swiftly up the pavement
making the poet bite the curves of envy

And to merit all of this
the poet\'s friend works in an oil company
where the poet would never poke in the drill of his nose
because not for the bard the sweat of his brow
nor the profit of black bread.

The poet is mad about having all hours of the day to himself
to ruminate the grass of his bad inclinations
and tortuous torments
to sin capital charms in his heart
and add to his diary the telephone numbers of the moon

Considering leisure as the most naked of women
the poet is satisfied removing the petals of the dictionary
and waits for the friend to pay for beers in the seedy café

The friend with a wife sheathed in fur shop mirrors
The friend who lives with the lit-up city at his feet
The friend who hides his lion in the parking bay

Time was never lost smoking cigars
Talking with anarchists about the politics of Aristotle
Going to the whorehouse at night

The poet is the same singing or not singing
The poets are the true friends

THE POET\'S FRIEND

The poet\'s friend
has a wife whom the poet covets
she’s all eyes
and lives in an apartment with a view of the city
that blinds the poet
and he manoeuvers a car that roars swiftly up the pavement
making the poet bite the curves of envy

And to merit all of this
the poet\'s friend works in an oil company
where the poet would never poke in the drill of his nose
because not for the bard the sweat of his brow
nor the profit of black bread.

The poet is mad about having all hours of the day to himself
to ruminate the grass of his bad inclinations
and tortuous torments
to sin capital charms in his heart
and add to his diary the telephone numbers of the moon

Considering leisure as the most naked of women
the poet is satisfied removing the petals of the dictionary
and waits for the friend to pay for beers in the seedy café

The friend with a wife sheathed in fur shop mirrors
The friend who lives with the lit-up city at his feet
The friend who hides his lion in the parking bay

Time was never lost smoking cigars
Talking with anarchists about the politics of Aristotle
Going to the whorehouse at night

The poet is the same singing or not singing
The poets are the true friends
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère