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Quasipoem
From the poetry collection “Between Bars and Cobblestones: A Tourist Guide to Gyekill”
To speak of you as if I knew you,wanting to know you by asking:What will I write about you?Which one is your body?Made into the one who watches you and roams you like a lover/who is not in loveAnd if they ask me,/ you're good people.What are you:Places, only placesyou answer.What will I write about you:Poems, only poems.What would you be in poetry:Words, only words.As if words were only that,as if that weren't something.as if something were nothing,as if nothing is what you tell me.I stare at you because you're wearing me outYou are something.I am a ray of sun in a windowless room,you are the typical cinder-block house on the street,like a pricey garment of the moment,it covers the chest but bares the back.Wanting to draw you, pearl.What are you but something I don't know,if all I know are your painted nails,your running mascara,your colorful foundationand a familiar whistle.What will I write about youthat isn't noisewhispers hidden in cornersyour feet beneath the earthyour hands shielding your gaze from the sunYou who have been reborn so many timesAre you still yourself?Are you the child I see, or what he hides behind his back?Are you what they shout or what they shoot into your veins?Are you what I wrote or the very opposite?As if you could answer me,as if answering me were the solution,as if the solution were certain,as if you were the one holding certainty.
Original
Hablar de ti como si te conociera,queriendo conocerte preguntándote:¿Qué escribiré de ti?¿Cuál es tu cuerpo?Hecho el que te mira y te recorre cual amante,/que no está enamoradoY si me preguntan,/ eres buena gente.Qué eres tú:Lugares, sólo lugaresme respondes.Qué escribiré de ti:Poemas, sólo poemas.Cómo serías en poesía:Palabras, sólo palabras.Como si las palabras fueran solo eso,como si eso no fuera algo.como si algo fuera nada,como si nada me lo dices.Te miro fijamente pues me estás cansandoEres algo.Yo soy un rayo de sol en un cuarto sin ventanas,tú eres la casa típica de bloques de la cuadra,como una actual prenda cara,tapa los pechos pero muestra la espalda.Queriendo dibujarte, perla.Qué eres sino algo que no conozco,si sólo conozco tus uñas pintadas,tu rímel corrido,tu base coloriday un silbido conocido.Qué escribiré de tique no sea ruidosusurros escondidos en esquinastus pies bajo la tierratus manos tapando al sol de tu miradaTú que has reencarnado tantas veces¿Eres tú misma?¿Eres el niño que veo, o lo que esconde tras la espalda?¿Eres lo que gritan o lo que tiran en tus venas?¿Eres lo que escribí o todo lo contrario?Como si pudieras responderme,como si responderme fuera la solución,como si la solución fuera certera,como si la certeza la tuvieras tú.