Llamado a los tres reinos / César Moro

Call to the Three Kingdoms

I speak to the three kingdoms
to the tiger above all
more susceptible to hearing me
to the filings to the cinders
to the wind displaced from any of the three kingdoms
for earth one would have to use a silt language
for water a suction pad language
for fire squeeze poetry into a lathe and break the atrocious
         skull of the churches

I speak to the deaf with swollen ears
to the dumb more imbecile than their impotent silence
I flee from the blind since they will not understand me
the entire drama occurs in the eye and far from the brain

I speak of a certain incomprehensible enchantment
of an unknown and irreducible habit
of certain dry tears
that swarm over man’s face
of the silence the great scream of birth turns out to be
of this death instinct that incites us
for us the best among mankind
each morning becomes tangible beneath the form of a
         bleeding Medusa at the height of the heart

I speak of my distant friends whose confused image
behind a curtain of waterfall clash
delights me like an inaccessible hope
beneath a diver’s bell
simply in the solitude of a forest clearing.




Le château de grisou (1943)




{ César Moro | Peru, 1903-1956 }