Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Henry Luque

BOOMERANG

I who have gone on the long Trans-Siberian trek,
I who have known the winds of Kabul,
the thick snow of Petersburg,
who have drunk the mare’s milk that bewitched Genghis Khan.
I who knocked on doors in Milos and Ischia,
I who have seen bats protecting
the library in Coimbra
and have climbed the Tikal pyramids right up to the clouds.
I who crawled along the Sahara after sunset,
who talked with the oracle in Delphi
and dreamt of vipers in the slender Sarajevo,
while on Tome Masaryka Street
my shadow denuded itself.
I who in Delhi saw the dead shake off the dust,
I who saw in the eyes the divinities of Nara
and breathed ashes in the Ganges
.
I who opposed the Chinese divinities
in subversive scrolls which since time inmemorial
have circulated in the Forbidden City,
I who caressed a virgin from the twelfth century
while biting on withered autumn leaves.
I who cradled my shyness in the throne of a king,
who made a mysterious flight to the paradise
of some embraces
,
what I truly remember is the neighbourhood I was born in.

BUMERÁN

BUMERÁN

Yo que hice el largo salto en el Transiberiano,
que conocí los vientos de Kabul,
la gruesa nieve de Petersburgo,
que bebí la salada leche de yegua en la cual se hechizó
Gengis Khan.
Yo que toqué a una puerta en Milos y en Isquia,
que he visto a los murciélagos proteger
the library of Coimbra
y ascendí las pirámides de Tikal hasta las nubes.
Yo que me arrastré por el Sahara hasta el atardecer,
que en Delfos hablé con el oráculo
y soñé víboras en la esbelta Sarajevo
mientras en la calle Tome Masarika
se desnudaba mi sombra.
Yo que en Delhi vi los muertos sacudirse el polvo,
que he mirado a los ojos a las divinidades de Nara
y respiré cenizas en el Ganges.
Yo que contrarié a las divinidades chinas
en subversivos papiros que de tiempo inmemorial
circularon en la Ciudad Prohibida,
que acaricié a una virgen del siglo XII
mientras mordía mustias hojas de otoño.
Yo que acumulé mi timidez en el trono de un rey,
que hice el misterioso vuelo hasta el paraíso
de unos abrazos
lo que de verdad recuerdo es el barrio en que nací.
Close

BOOMERANG

I who have gone on the long Trans-Siberian trek,
I who have known the winds of Kabul,
the thick snow of Petersburg,
who have drunk the mare’s milk that bewitched Genghis Khan.
I who knocked on doors in Milos and Ischia,
I who have seen bats protecting
the library in Coimbra
and have climbed the Tikal pyramids right up to the clouds.
I who crawled along the Sahara after sunset,
who talked with the oracle in Delphi
and dreamt of vipers in the slender Sarajevo,
while on Tome Masaryka Street
my shadow denuded itself.
I who in Delhi saw the dead shake off the dust,
I who saw in the eyes the divinities of Nara
and breathed ashes in the Ganges
.
I who opposed the Chinese divinities
in subversive scrolls which since time inmemorial
have circulated in the Forbidden City,
I who caressed a virgin from the twelfth century
while biting on withered autumn leaves.
I who cradled my shyness in the throne of a king,
who made a mysterious flight to the paradise
of some embraces
,
what I truly remember is the neighbourhood I was born in.

BOOMERANG

I who have gone on the long Trans-Siberian trek,
I who have known the winds of Kabul,
the thick snow of Petersburg,
who have drunk the mare’s milk that bewitched Genghis Khan.
I who knocked on doors in Milos and Ischia,
I who have seen bats protecting
the library in Coimbra
and have climbed the Tikal pyramids right up to the clouds.
I who crawled along the Sahara after sunset,
who talked with the oracle in Delphi
and dreamt of vipers in the slender Sarajevo,
while on Tome Masaryka Street
my shadow denuded itself.
I who in Delhi saw the dead shake off the dust,
I who saw in the eyes the divinities of Nara
and breathed ashes in the Ganges
.
I who opposed the Chinese divinities
in subversive scrolls which since time inmemorial
have circulated in the Forbidden City,
I who caressed a virgin from the twelfth century
while biting on withered autumn leaves.
I who cradled my shyness in the throne of a king,
who made a mysterious flight to the paradise
of some embraces
,
what I truly remember is the neighbourhood I was born in.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère