Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Gabriel Jaime Franco

THE MEMORABLE EARTH (FRAGMENT II)

                                                                                                         “What’s the self amid this blaze?”
                                                                                                        Delmore Schwartz

Every poetics excludes
and endeavours to
construct an onanist paradise.

What my eyes did not see
other eyes saw.

Where my heart was not
another was elated with joy or pain.

Every poetics blinds itself,
breaks its sextant in pieces,
cuts itself down.

Where my reason bewildered by its obsession
about suns extracted nothing,
another drew his portion of light.

Every poetics builds a house
with bricks that are also mine.
Why then build it without windows?

What I was not able to dream others dreamt,
and my passion was not higher or lower,
it was just my passion.

Every poetics is dog’s piss,
a limit,
a fear of being what one was already.

Where my limited eye did not penetrate
others drew its flashing, its spark.

Where I did not think, others thought.

Someone who found out something informed me.
I never looked by myself. I never looked by myself
When your death approaches you
you will only see

your eye,
your eye,
your eye.

La tierra memorable (fragmento II)

La tierra memorable (fragmento II)

                                                                                                        “What’s the self amid this blaze?”
                                                                                                        Delmore Schwartz

Toda poética excluye e
intenta
construir su onanista paraíso.

Lo que mis ojos no vieron
lo vieron otros ojos.

Donde mi corazón no estuvo
otro se exaltó de dicha o de dolor.

Toda poética se ciega a sí misma,
despedaza su sextante,
a sí se siega.

De donde no extrajo nada
mi razón ofuscada por su obsesión de soles,
otro trajo su porción de luz.

Toda poética construye su casa
con ladrillos que también son míos.
Por qué entonces hacerla sin ventanas?

Lo que no alcancé a soñar otros lo soñaron,
y mi pasión no fue más alta ni más baja,
sino tan sólo mi pasión.

Toda poética es orín de perro,
límite,
miedo de ser lo que ya se era.

De donde no penetró mi ojo limitado
otros trajeron su fulguración, su chispa.

Allí donde no pensara otros pensaron.

Un alguien que algo supo a mí me hizo saber.
Yo nunca miré solo. Yo nunca miré solo
Cuando tu muerte se te acerque  
no veras sino

tu ojo,
tu ojo,
tu ojo.
Close

THE MEMORABLE EARTH (FRAGMENT II)

                                                                                                         “What’s the self amid this blaze?”
                                                                                                        Delmore Schwartz

Every poetics excludes
and endeavours to
construct an onanist paradise.

What my eyes did not see
other eyes saw.

Where my heart was not
another was elated with joy or pain.

Every poetics blinds itself,
breaks its sextant in pieces,
cuts itself down.

Where my reason bewildered by its obsession
about suns extracted nothing,
another drew his portion of light.

Every poetics builds a house
with bricks that are also mine.
Why then build it without windows?

What I was not able to dream others dreamt,
and my passion was not higher or lower,
it was just my passion.

Every poetics is dog’s piss,
a limit,
a fear of being what one was already.

Where my limited eye did not penetrate
others drew its flashing, its spark.

Where I did not think, others thought.

Someone who found out something informed me.
I never looked by myself. I never looked by myself
When your death approaches you
you will only see

your eye,
your eye,
your eye.

THE MEMORABLE EARTH (FRAGMENT II)

                                                                                                         “What’s the self amid this blaze?”
                                                                                                        Delmore Schwartz

Every poetics excludes
and endeavours to
construct an onanist paradise.

What my eyes did not see
other eyes saw.

Where my heart was not
another was elated with joy or pain.

Every poetics blinds itself,
breaks its sextant in pieces,
cuts itself down.

Where my reason bewildered by its obsession
about suns extracted nothing,
another drew his portion of light.

Every poetics builds a house
with bricks that are also mine.
Why then build it without windows?

What I was not able to dream others dreamt,
and my passion was not higher or lower,
it was just my passion.

Every poetics is dog’s piss,
a limit,
a fear of being what one was already.

Where my limited eye did not penetrate
others drew its flashing, its spark.

Where I did not think, others thought.

Someone who found out something informed me.
I never looked by myself. I never looked by myself
When your death approaches you
you will only see

your eye,
your eye,
your eye.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère