Monday, October 5, 2015

Jorge Eduardo Eielson (b.1924)

Prince of Oblivion

Am I, spinning sands, unbound stars,
caved-in sky, the one who leans
and kisses her pure face between veils and serpents?
A thousand years asleep beside a skull, I have kissed her.
Over my head her breathing goes forth,
Her deaf lips, like a noise of drums.
Unbreathable and holy is her punishment, her skeleton!
(Here, under the shadow, velvet crater,
Wisely furnished is the volcano, that which is hers
Like fire, forgotten halls of horrid lace,
Sofas where her body hoarsely cries, beheaded.)
Burial of the flesh, I ask of you,
Caged horses, unattainable dust,
Just one warm, perfect moment by her side,
Just one moment alive, and oblivion, the flow
Of a thousand years shattered by a kiss.
Her face adrift matters no more, illumined
And dripping with snails, the ten fingers
Of turquoise in which she dilutes the ages.
Her lighted lantern underground matters no more,
If before that she was to surround me tamely
With her eyes and her lips still living,
If before that she was to attend, like a shadow, the fall
Of the fruit on the world. Vitreous mansions
With lizard wings, amid the clouds,
Aerial lakes pass by before me, flapping their ashes.
I only know, my buried queen, unmoving gorgon,
Which is my chair and crown, which is my sadness. 

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