Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Gabriel Jaime Franco

THE CLEFT VOICES (FRAGMENT XI)

And there were those who fell on themselves,
hoping that reality was only some inner thing,
that the world was a disease of the eye.

There were those who considered the transition pointless,
an accidental form of the living,
those who believed that death justified any action,
any obscurity and any treason,
and that only the present existed
with a shadow widening on its belly.

Others went to provisional advance posts,
feverish, full of hope
where the hope of a continent
was reduced to an insular victory.

We were all looking for a place.

Las voces escindidas (fragmento XI)

Las voces escindidas (fragmento XI)

Y hubo quienes cayeran sobre sí mismos,
confiando en que la realidad no era más que interior,
que el mundo era una enfermedad del ojo.

Estaban quienes se juzgaron tránsito sin fruto,
accidental forma de lo vivo,
quien creyera que la muerte justificaba toda acción,
todo olvido y toda traición,
y que no existía más que el presente
con una sombra ensanchándose en su vientre.

Otros fueron a puestos de avanzada provisionales,
febriles,  llenos de esperanza
donde la esperanza de un continente
hervía de un triunfo insular.

Todos buscábamos un sitio.
Close

THE CLEFT VOICES (FRAGMENT XI)

And there were those who fell on themselves,
hoping that reality was only some inner thing,
that the world was a disease of the eye.

There were those who considered the transition pointless,
an accidental form of the living,
those who believed that death justified any action,
any obscurity and any treason,
and that only the present existed
with a shadow widening on its belly.

Others went to provisional advance posts,
feverish, full of hope
where the hope of a continent
was reduced to an insular victory.

We were all looking for a place.

THE CLEFT VOICES (FRAGMENT XI)

And there were those who fell on themselves,
hoping that reality was only some inner thing,
that the world was a disease of the eye.

There were those who considered the transition pointless,
an accidental form of the living,
those who believed that death justified any action,
any obscurity and any treason,
and that only the present existed
with a shadow widening on its belly.

Others went to provisional advance posts,
feverish, full of hope
where the hope of a continent
was reduced to an insular victory.

We were all looking for a place.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère