On Litmus Paper

 

There are no more wild geese there are no more

fairies with the golden curls the gingerbread house

collapsed in the atomic bombing during

the Punic Wars according to the celebrated chronicles

where are our visionaries instead everywhere there are

official press statements suave butterfly massacres

where are our visionaries weep children not before long you will

find out your parents’ message was committed to

to litmus paper there are no more wild geese

weep and for ever weep children the night’s

horns are drawing near weep

 

 

Ars poetica

 

Drop your in the grass

not to be taken for a pacifist

and set the rabbits free fraternising with the flayers

go down to the river and cut thin twigs

weave them into the words of the drastic poem

for a stone pump heart

drained sit at the table of abundance

eat the crumbs drink mineral water

brimming and drunken go outside your sweetheart’s window

by night and sing her the ballad of the meek atomic

wake up at lunchtime and stop having your hair cut

the banished crows are also in want of a nest

be generous to the bitter end bestow

measures and the rules of the game upon everyone

and after a lengthy initiation with St John’s Wort tea

patch up your moth-eaten coat

 

 

Astrophiloscoporos

 

Open the book at page eighty-nine

it is about growing pelargoniums and venison

cooking below you’ll find and extremely accurate definition

of genuine literature at page one hundred and five

you are offered aphorisms instructions for your daily gymnastics

or for inviting your bashful bride to bed at the bottom

of the page you’ll find the slippers and an asterisk for translating

the word astrophiloscoporos and before going to bed

do read the final page where you are given directions

which way to pick after death

 

 

After the Rainfall

 

After the rainfall we ripen into prophets and we chorus

we shall relish more glucose more stinging nettles

the squares will be more than square and the pious fingers

will be more violet while they are holding the pen writing

about love after the rainfall we unfailingly

feel more suave more humane more magnanimous

we never remain indifferent like the Japanese fish

claustrated in the smoky aquarium after the rainfall

all of us ripen into prophets and have blind faith

in the beards of the gypsum plaster dwarfs of our parents’ garden

as for the rest we cogitate

 

English version by Gabriela PACHIA