Poetry Is A Heavenly Crime by Vincente Huidobro

huidobro

Poetry Is A Heavenly Crime by Vincente Huidobro

I am absent but deep in this absence
There is the waiting for myself
And this waiting is another form of presence
The waiting for my return
I am in other objects
I am always travelling giving a little of my life
To some trees and some stones
That have been waiting for me many years

They got tired of waiting for me and sat down

I’m not here and I’m here
I’m absent and I’m present in a state of waiting
They wanted my language so they could express themselves
And I wanted theirs to express them
This is the ambiguity, the horrible ambiguity

Tormented wretched
I’m moving inward on these soles
I’m leaving my clothes behind
My flesh is falling away on all sides
And my skeleton’s putting on bark

I’m turning into a tree How often I’ve turned into other things…
It’s painful and full of tenderness

I could cry out but it would scare away the transubstantiation
Must keep silence Wait in silence

Translated by W.S. Merwin

 

This poem was shared with me by Janice Koman Akers, and the message touched me as an artist, so I wanted to save it so I could return and read it over again any time I wish.

 

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