Резултати претраге

The Goal Area

What could clarify better to me
That my coat and my jumper don't match,
That sometimes I cause people to laugh
Because I get so scared?
 
That I love you backwards and forwards,
That I've lost my spectacles in the train,
That if you look at me thus,
I want to cups of broth...
 
According to the studies
Of a very wise gentleman,
We are what we love.
You have a little wine mustache
On top of your lip:
Maybe now is the right moment!
 
For I know that I'm getting old,
That I don't sleep and then, I am tired,
And that cloud
Has the shape of your thighs...
 
That I'm homesick for places where I've never been
And I miss lips that I've never kissed

The Town Under a Mushroom Cloud

Too big for those who have been born here,
To small for those who have arrived:
No one can find the right measure...
I want iron, you wish you had wood.
 
Amidst allotments and warehouses,
Under the stare of capital cities,
A small village cannot be preyed by
Those who've always considered subdued.
 
A church like the ,
Social housing tower blocks,
Clean air is a fallacy:
A procession of corpses to the pharmacy!
 
[Chorus:]
When you drive down the motorway
That runs parallel to the sea,
If it's at night, do lift your eyes:
You shall see a bright red sky
And you'll find, under the stench,
The town under...
The town under a mushroom cloud!
 
The chimneys spit out poison,
Immigrants fight for their destiny

Loving Each Other A Lot Is Not Enough

From the tobacconist's,
Where I was buying
A packet of tar and nicotine,
I suddenly heard
A voice that I know well
And, upon turning,
I saw you very far away...
 
I could have
Greeted you, stubbornly,
And know whether I hurt you
Whenever you look at me.
I didn't do anything:
With time, I have learned
That loving each other a lot is not enough...
Loving each other is not enough...
 
You're still asleep
By the building's entrance, while I
Have double-parked my car.
It's your birthday today,
And I've wanted to gift you
That record
That we used to listen, together.
 
I've left it
Right next to that sleeping bag,
Which now shelters you
From the cold of these days.
And, upon bidding you farewell,
I have sung to you very softly
That loving each other a lot is not enough...
Loving each other is not enough...
 
And some who's known us
For a long time,
Paints with invisible ink
Places and words
That only you and I can detect.
 
Right in front
Of that bank's cashier,
Who grabs me inappropriately
With his best smile,
I pay, absent-mindedly,
For my whole-wheat bread, sandwich
To a waiter whose wife is far away.
 
From the other end of the bar
Some well-ff person's voice
Says 'less ragheads
And more policemen',
And, at the same time,
A plane writes across the sky
That loving each other a lot is not enough...
Loving each other is not enough...
 

Better

And even though it's only
Temporarily useful,
To mask the eternal
Expression of anger that I carry around,
I've decided to dress myself up
With one of those smiles
That I keep stealing from you!
 
I promise you that I've promised,
While making an oath that's re-consecrated once again,
I'd escape from those 'I can't do this anymore',
And I'll enjoy the present time in front of me
While I lick my wounds
With your saliva,
Which is so very healing...
 
I know that I am what I am:
Cowardly and weak!
And I'm telling you, without any margin for error
That today I'll be better!
That today I'll be better!
 
I clamour up to the heavens
That, from now on, I won't complain so much

You Won’t Come Back

The ants that live under the fridge,
that door handle that needs adjusting,
a piece of sausage1 that wasn’t too dry
and a notice from the post-office that always comes late.
 
Withered plastic flowers, old notebooks,
the dim, red light of the answerphone,
an old skirt that looked too tight for you
and has been hanging on the balcony for over 20 days.
 
The flowerpot where we used to plant weed
and, as a cover,
a bunch of camomile,
now is sleeping wearily
full of cigarette butts
that don’t need watering.
 
You won’t come back, won’t come back, won’t come back.
 
Drawers full of cruel photos that give us away,
that poster from Holland that should be framed,
the toilet lid that’s always left up
and a toothpaste, dry and with its cap taken off.
 
Old books full of dedications
that now hurt so much,
socks that are dirty or, even worse,
that have lost their pair,
and, together with it,
all their usefulness.
 
You won’t come back, won’t come back, won’t come back.
 

• 1. Dried Catalan sausage like this one:

Happy

Since the beginning of the day
until the time you go to sleep
may a tender, clear voice
smooth1 your way.
 
In spite of a crazy desire
to call you that I feel now,
may no word, no longing,
obstruct your destination.
 
May the fate that now turns its back on you,
pay you back the love that you’ve given so far.
 
May the hours we shared
bring a smile to your face.
Now that you no longer love me,
I wish you to be happy.
 
Now that you no longer love me,
please be happy.
 

• 1. lit. 'sweeten'

Dishclothes

With the blue apron that you’ve never given me,
I tidy up the house in the morning
and, opening the windows of the living room,
I air out the longing that remains.
 
From the pockets of my trousers I take out
the sound of your words
and I dust off the pillows on which I used to kiss you
while you, asleep, were dreaming of an escape.
 
Only yesterday I decided
to make dishclothes out of that dress
that I dared not throw away
so that I could smell you.
 
With the pages of a daily I made a covering
to go from the hall to the bathroom
without a fear of falling or slipping
on the tears that I’ve hidden from you.
 
And, although everything looks soaked and drenched,
outside the wind plays hide and seek with me
and, before you think twice, it will have dried
the tone of goodbye from your voice.
 
Only yesterday I decided
to make dishclothes out of that dress
which decorated your knees
with branches full of flowers.
And, with a program for delicate fabrics,
I will calmly dispose of the stains that you've left,
the stains that you've left.
 
Only yesterday I decided
to make dishclothes out of that dress
that I dared not throw away
so that I could smell you,
that I will try to tear up
maybe tomorrow.
 

Corvus

I was very sleepy with my eyes wide open like apples,
Since that night I only slept at intervals.
A figure in the dark, I was scared to death.
'Tuck yourself in, boy, it gets chilly at night'.
 
Like a fallen angel reigning in darkness,
He came out at sunset from a rocky sky,
Showing off the wings of the sin over the black valley,
Staying hidden, silent in the foliage.
 
By what right did you take us that summer
Plenty of smell of peaches, bicycles near the river,
Dancing on the dance floor, country afternoons and hazel trees?
We were kids chasing life through the streets.
 
'Forgive them, for they know not what they do',
Said Jesus when he was dying on the cross.
A great thunder tore the clouds,
The stare of a child was broken.
 
Where was your God when you touched my skin?
And where was mine when, frightened, I kept silent?
I still feel that smell of consecrated bread and sweet wine,
Cassocks, sermons, crosses covered in dust.
 
An obituary in the paper brings me back
To an old mountain refuge many years ago,
Your blemish in the coffin for all eternity,
If only the memories could be taken by the wind too.
 
'Forgive them, for they know not what they do',
Said Jesus when he was dying on the cross.
A great thunder tore the clouds,
The stare of a child was broken.
 

Piecework

The golden round shapes
Of the dots in your Is,
Compared to an e-mail filled with errors
That you read and delete...
By piecework...
 
The ripped out conversation
In which we solve everything in the word for a few minutes,
Compared to the false promises
Of meeting one of these days...
Of meeting one of these days...
 
I allow the mid-morning sun
To burn my cheeks.
My cafe-au-lait goes cold:
I don't care, I just drink it as it is.
 
I won't drink by piecework!
By piecework!
For I feel stressed
By all the things that are done in a rush
And by piecework...
 
The wrinkles earned...
 
The wrinkles we've earned
Through suffering, but also thanks to bouts of laughter
Compared to the vulgar rigidity of
Lips filled with plasticine...
Lips filled with plasticine...
 
You show the tip of your tongue between your lips whenever
You've concentrated.
It is so comical and so very you!
I have seen you doing it for such a long time...
It is so comical and so very you
This gesture that erases this absurd world
Made by piecework...
 
By piecework!
I don't trust
All these excesses
Devoid of words and indigestible,
Badly created and upside down
And always... Made by piecework!