From “from a red barn”
Translated By Katherine M. Hedeen
1
the weeds thick between sugar mill drums
without batting an eye
the moon strung
through the smokestack’s pupil
the connecting rod and piston
shameless before the cane gone to seed
rust scuffles with grease
the toadstool atop the heap of filings
in the smoke box to be shielded
from the abysmal ribbing
infinite nuts to throw
at the rustproof head of the enemy
Agabama spoon lunchless
oxidation’s honor
2
you know by name
every tool in the museum
of wood within reach of the waves
clamp brace brush set square
boathouse in Coconut Grove
withstood fourteen hurricanes
like the soul transpires
like the body transcends
even the seagull recognizes you
when you piss the sea three sheets to the wind
rasp box of miter joints socket chisel
the old cushionless rocking chairs
rising up in pieces
so you can spy on your childhood
3
they yell out but you don’t answer
you’re in the yolk of a marabu patch
no one looks for you where nothing can go
not even the guinea hens running wild
in secret you cleared a path
one evening with your plaid shirt
the only thing to get past the thorns
is the voice of your mother
meticulous like a hurricane
you spread out over the dry corollas
below a sky stripped of leaves by the clouds
like a string of ants
and you undress only for you
to await the Indians
5
at the crossroads there’s a smell of mother
crystallized sweat
shadows in simple syrup
an irrefutable knife
between encrusted cans
for coffee and lard
there’s a taste of mother at the crossroads
molasses in its light
rice pudding soul
a knife to cut everything but essence
Peruvian guava
ripened by flies
the sharp destiny of a mother
that can be wrapped in banana leaves
7
a dog facing a bookcase
in the middle of see-through ruins
the bookcase was the work of asthma
there was a spot for the old oilcan
the bunch of basil the goat tallow
still the house curdled with books
the dust’s bad temper
the prompt unforeseeable water leak
the dog was the work of no one
a good swimmer
did it all ’til its dying breath
his ear bitten in the backwoods
worms ate him alive
now you do whatever you can to stop from howling
Translated from the Spanish
Source: Poetry (November 2014)