I saw the doors closing behind me: military green, school green, hospital green doors. My two friends stayed behind, smiling and wishing me good luck. If you had told me I’d never see the girl again, I wouldn’t have believed you.
Translation (WIP) of the Amanda Palmer song in memory of my German mom, Benita —the Anthony Martignetti of my life. She died last year.
My friend César sends me a chain of poems: OK. I chose one that his gorgeous wife discovered for me: Body, remember, by Kavafis. Today, with a hat-tip to Kirie Yanis Varoufakis. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fZ0kuabgIag Σώμα, θυμήσου όχι μόνο το πόσο αγαπήθηκες, όχι μονάχα τα κρεββάτια όπου πλάγιασες, αλλά κ’ εκείνες τες επιθυμίες που για σένα γυάλιζαν
We’re editing together, head to head. It’s a bio, a blurb, maybe something in between. He’s Neil Gaiman, (I know Amanda is behind me, reading something else) and he’s mumbling a bit, as he re-reads the text: words flow until they get stuck. I take it from the place he left off. —I think that what it
You were cold I blamed you You were dead I blamed me You looked mute I felt deaf I blamed her Or was I deaf? You were gone No one to blame I was alone With you still there. I went back home And you looked The other way.
Somebody makes a pseudo-stupid joke at my son Quique in the street —something I’ll never understand. Pablo looks at me with his best “what the hell just happened, did you get it?” and our telepathy fails for a moment, and I have to make do with expressing my thoughts with words, and in front of
A poem by Begoña Martínez. Am I a cat? / I bask in the sun, / I lay in your lap, / I find my own way, / I don’t like other cats.
César me manda una cadena de poemas: vale. Elijo uno que me descubrió su bella esposa María: Recuerda, cuerpo, de Kavafis. Hoy dedicado a Kirie Yanis Varoufakis. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fZ0kuabgIag Σώμα, θυμήσου όχι μόνο το πόσο αγαπήθηκες, όχι μονάχα τα κρεββάτια όπου πλάγιασες, αλλά κ’ εκείνες τες επιθυμίες που για σένα γυάλιζαν μες στα μάτια φανερά, κ’
Yesterday I visited the birthplace of Sandino in Nicaragua: Niquinohomo. Yo soy del pueblo que un niño en Niquinohomo soñó. Soy del pueblo de Sandino y Benjamín Zeledón —Yo soy de un pueblo sencillo, by Luis Enrique Mejía Godoy (see the complete lyrics and my translation below) Benjamín Zeledón’s fortress —the political prison We