Saturday, August 5, 2017

I take out this poem and I play this song

and though you have spoken
they have not listened to you

nor have they obeyed your sacred laws
instead they have turned away like dogs barking for bones 

you have put down the footsteps as evidence
in the forest     where the aspens have repeated your lessons

you have made a path of water so as to be sure 
where the river turns over in her bed of cattails

you have printed the future   in the clouds that have been ripped away
like notes from a tablet     to tell the omens of the next days

but there are none who  have believed in the stories
you have left in the weeds and stones of the route 

I guess until they come to the door of the last day
that will not open       they will not hear what you have said

over and over in the wind's last laments
one day the world will crack open     and the people will be spent

their curiosities in the shops will end       and there will be time
to slip off their masks and see themselves as they are

I wonder what will happen then
will they be different than they are now?           or will the stories like rain

fall over their bodies          and their feathers of pride
be as they were before    when they were hidden inside their masks?

I take out this poem and I play this song
I wait for them to listen to you    and I work in my room

without any sort of reluctance     for I am doing the work
I have been given   like a child with her blocks I build these visions

one day the walls will crack     and the flying machine will take
the inhabitant       far away to the landscape of thorns far from this room

I doubt not that this day is coming
for the ice breaks    and the climate changes  chaos reigns like a dust storm

in the land that is being fried  
the dust rises to fill the air and choke us with ashes

one day the world will be a desert filled with thorns   the waters will rise
and the fragile buildings will be punctured without resistance from within

what was before will vanish as if it never was
one day this happen   the words have been laid down in tombs for centuries

and the time is now
yes the time is now

Remedios Varo

La torre. Remedios Varo

Amelia Curran- Tiny Glass Houses (with lyrics)

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