Strange House: texts
Agna
To those who loath treason in a deliverance,
and find deliverance in a treason.
* * *
one thing
always follows another...
like a thread of pearls
promptly locked on a chain,
or like the rushing colors
on your silk scarf
where the peacock-blue
flows into the diamond-green...
or like the countries on your globe,
both attached
and disjoined
by the borders...
so they all:
the lands,
the pearls,
and the colors ---
they come,
and they rise,
and they reign,
ruling us
but eternal apprentices
of the ultimate,
treacherous art,
the art
of letting them go...
Agna, Jul'98
Before you know it...
life is a razor blade
cutting deep
through the flesh
that begs it not to...
but before you know it,
life is a mocking bird
flying fast
from the flesh
that begs it not to...
still, before you know it,
life is a mocking blade
and a razor bird
watching the flesh
that begs it not to...
not to cut
not to fly
not to watch
-- and all that
before you even know it
Alfter, Oct'97
The valley of death
In the valley of death,
on the sand,
there we stand
inclined
but not fallen
just yet --
there we stand
on the sand,
feeling slowly
that the sand is too quick --
there we stand...
and pretend
that we still have to speak
to the hole in the sky...
to the sand,
rich and yellow
like a lion skin,
though no lions
ever made it here,
leaving all that to us
as we stand
on the sand,
and imagine
that we are still alive
in the valley...
Alfter, Oct'97
The dance
shall we dance there, dear? --
with our eyes closed,
and our hands clenched
together --
where there's only a step
between us
and eternity;
where the expectation of pain
is twice as frightening
as the pain itself
could ever have been;
where stars are too heavy
to cling on to the heavenly spheres;
and they turn into
sudden snowflakes
on a chilled April night --
shall we dance there dear?
from the brink of this morning
till the end of the time
that has been foretold,
in your hand,
on a stiff motel card:
``just gone down
to make a phone call --
back in 10 min.''
Alfter, May'97
A great escape
it begins
with a soft tap
on the shoulder,
so sudden all the more
as it's been expected
for so long:
just like the feeling
of coming back to a place
or a time
you haven't visited yet;
just when it's a bit too strong
to resist
stepping into
an enchanted circle --
so it begins
San Francisco, Apr'97
Los sueños de la reina
otro tinto, por favor,
otro tinto --
while the queen is asleep,
fast and unalarmed,
in a slow awakening
of the streets
that came down with siesta --
treating a late fever
of the September sun
with the ruby blood
of tintos...
otro tinto, por favor,
otro tinto --
while the time has not yet
rushed to its end,
moving everything
beyond the simplicity
of afternoon dreams...
while the queen is asleep,
blessed
and forgetful
of all that has not,
and will never
come...
Toledo, Sep'97
Town clocks
what do you want?
tell me what do you want
now when it's midnight,
and all the town clocks
are ready to strike...
enshrouded in pain,
it sweams in your veins:
it's just a poisonous thorn
that you hide --
with every tide of your blood,
it goes deeper inside.
run through the streets;
tell me your dreams,
before the needles point to the sky,
before the tide returns,
and takes us inside...
hide me again:
such is the game
of silent strangers piercing your heart.
you see them coming for you from afar...
so, tell me what do you want,
what do you want
now when it's midnight
and all the town clocks
are ready to strike?
Alfter, Aug'97
Silence
the ninth wave has just kissed the shore,
and the sea knows i will beg for more,
tearing out the heart of my unconscious pride.
the sand strips will wrap it around,
with my soothing dreams and folly doubts --
but the sea today is too blunt to let me die.
and the castle stands, and its gates are sealed;
and nobody wins, and nobody will...
the prophets claim: it's written in the sky.
i confess my sins to the book of sand,
but the surf conceals all the words i've found,
leaving me to the muteness of my crimes.
and the ninth wave has just kissed the shore,
and the sea knows that i'll beg for more,
tearing out the heart of my unconscious pride.
and the sand strips will wrap it around,
with my soothing dreams and folly doubts --
but the sea today is too blunt to hear me die
Charlottesville, Jan'95
The void
Another sun will climb in vain
across the airless sky,
with nothing for the wings to play,
and nothing to defy...
I'm holding to my breath,
beyond the point --
what used to be a sacred faith
is just another void.
Your distant gods will cry no more
for all, who tried to breathe.
For all, who prayed to shut the door,
the distant gods will weep.
A desert rose has pierced
the faulty soil...
Where sands were drifting with the winds,
there's just another void.
And voices fall behind the words
that never meant to come...
Behind the eyelids, lights are blurred...
and wounds are getting numb.
The time has run its old
and cunning ploy...
And all we ever get to hold
is just another void.
Socorro, Feb'96
Jane
jane --
i wish i was your echo
to steal your words
and bring them back in speckles
just like the jigsaw puzzle
that we've made
of all those days
and fortunes and mistakes
remember, jane?
you thought i was a wizard
i took it on
just as my way to please you
and rocks had turned into the finest gold
but you were told
that all my books were sold
and jane --
you called me up that evening
you said i lied
you said i had deceived you
how could i raise my humble voice?
you'd made your choice
then jane --
i left your tiny town
i sought no one
and no one have i found
for there's no hope
i could escape this little truth:
that jane --
i wish i was your shadow
to cast myself
upon the roads you ramble
and when the night returns
i'd let it through
and from its gloom
i'd softly speak to you
i'd tell you, jane --
i'd seen all seven wonders
before i reached
a kingdom far beyond them
and there they taught me
all the sacred magic arts
but jane --
they wouldn't tell their secrets
unless i'd traded something
that was equal
i paid the price with my enchanted heart
'twas all i got
'twas all i truly got...
now jane --
i wish i was your echo
to steal your words
and bring them back in speckles
just like the jigsaw puzzle
that we've made
of all those days
and fortunes and mistakes
Charlottesville, Jan'95
Keeper of the Reunion Tower
As the distant world
spins around,
disinterested,
she passes the view
once in every forty and something
minutes...
And the water in your glass
dries but too fast
for you to hesitate
any longer.
And as the world
is readying itself
for yet another
revolution,
you ought to make up your mind...
For she's going to pass your view
once more
and forever.
...and then she would say
she was born in Arizona,
and was raised there
in a noname town,
just to make it
to the keeper
of the Reunion Tower,
for the summer
that has chanced you in.
And then she would tell you
she liked watching meteor showers,
from her noname town,
just where they were seen the best --
just where you're heading,
as you're heading West...
And then,
then she would say something else --
when it wouldn't be needed already --
at the dawn
that will part all of us:
her,
and you,
and me,
and the Tower.
Dallas, Aug'95
The taste of mate
In devotion,
this town keeps breathing
the air of the Christmas...
And so bitter to taste
is the mate
that's made after midnight...
In the chimes,
there's the winter wind
stuck in a hurry...
On the foothill of parting,
Canopus
burns down in transfixion...
Every road
leads so stubbornly southward,
till sunrise...
Argentinian zamba
stands still
on the whitened sand dunes...
And we dream
of a touch of our lips,
so forgetful...
Unfamiliar stars
shield ourselves
from the skywardly abyss...
An abandoned height
falls asleep,
midst the rustle of wingspans...
And the town keeps breathing
the air of the Christmas
devotion...
And the winter
has tangled the chimes with the wind,
in a hurry...
In the skywardly abyss,
the stars shield themselves
from the unknown...
Standing still on the sand
is the zamba
of white Argentina...
In transfixion of parting,
the foothills are burned
by Canopus...
Till the sunrise,
the southbound roads
will wait for the stubborn...
Yet, we dream
of a touch of our lips,
so forgetful...
And so bitter to taste
is the mate
that's made after midnight...
Socorro, Dec'95
Southern star
Foreseeing the rise of the southern star
swiftly disguised by the city flames,
there where nothing seems
to hold to its place,
holy men run in deserted streets,
leaving the churches unlocked,
hoping that this time around
they would never come home.
The wise ones shuffle their sacred scrolls;
the foolish have fallen in love;
the elders will never admit
that they've heard enough
of the chimes that are claiming their distant toll
of the sighted ones, who stand on guard
for the blind, who have gathered to hail
the southern star.
And I beg you to tell if I'll be this time
with the foolish, the blind, or the wise,
in the city of yours, where the southern star
does never rise...
Socorro, Dec'95
The land of drought
I want to tell a simple little fairy tale
about us walking slowly in the rain,
disguised behind the masks so innocently frail,
and followed by the shadows of the prey...
There where the streets are sinking
into the starving sea,
we would come like a sudden rainfall
that no one had foreseen...
El Universo tiende al olvido,
but leaves a trace in every broken stone,
in every word she spoke before the face of gold,
in every drop of rain she prayed to hold --
though rain does never come into the land of drought.
The rain does never come into her land...
The Universe extends into oblivion,
and takes away our mutual disguise.
She hides her cross among the stones she'll leave me on,
despite it can't be hidden in her eyes
that rain will never come into the land of drought.
The rain will never come into her land...
I want to tell a simple little fairy tale
about us walking slowly in the rain...
And there where the streets were sinking
into the starving sea,
we could have come like a sudden rainfall
that no one had foreseen...
Alfter, Nov'96
Tiles of Texas
... those marble tiles
flash back at me
hanging seemingly
amidst of nothingness
some five miles above them,
behind the three inches
of crystal clear,
feeling--proof glass
... those marble tiles
of Texan fields
turn themselves
gracefully
into a ballroom floor,
as I'm craving to dance out
the unspeakable yet...
that is:
after the glass has been molten,
and
each of the tiles
has exploded
into a plentiful,
irrigated
Universe --
will there be a home
in any one?
Albuquerque, May'95
Yucca
...remembering
a lonely spear of yucca
piercing its way
through the pale death
of gypsum sands --
mindlessly.
for you know:
from every single cosmic point of view,
and on each of the four hands of Vishnu,
and out of all sense that we've got in common,
there would hardly come any proof
in piercing --
not that there's ever arrived
much to be proven,
but...
Cincinnati, May'95
In the eyes of Ether
In the eyes of Ether,
painted shadows
listen in the moonlight
to the silence of the Vedas.
And as the wind dies out at night,
the pain stands still.
In the eyes of Ether,
nameless lovers
die of every poison
they had the courage to discover,
when across the bridge the shadows rise
and whisper their names.
In the eyes of Ether,
frozen fires
twine around the swift line
from obsession to defiance,
as the claws of stars are drawing blood
from the heart of the night.
In the eyes of Ether,
velvet curtains
descend upon the stage,
although nobody would be certain
if it is the time to die,
or give a round of applause.
Alfter, May'97
On the bank of Ebro
on the bank of Ebro,
plus thirty in the shadow
feels like a point of no return --
particularly so,
since there seems to be nowhere
to come to,
not to say that there is really no one
to cover the way...
Logroño, Sep'97
Goddess of laughter
...and i wish
i was living
in a strange looking house,
with all of its walls
facing South,
with an inward--bent roof
that prevents stars from drowning,
and with rainbow--shaped doors
all around --
so that the goddess of laughter
would come...
she would walk
through a door
of that strange looking house,
in a peacock--blue dress
and a crown;
then she'd sing
to herself
of the times we've forgot,
and i'd pray
all the rest
of my gods
that the goddess of laughter
would stay...
Alfter, Dec'97