Homenaje a Vallejo / José Barroeta

Homage to Vallejo

I wanted to write but I wasn’t able to
my voice was closed VALLEJO. I had gone into
a cantina dirty as a mother
nothing not even the heart or bones could say.
They’d ask me and I’d answer with tears
with red, celestial heads.
I wanted to give and play and dream a hand to hand
with death
and I liked nothingness more than oblivion.
I don’t ask you what your poet death might be like
buried among us.
I can’t and I lock myself in the bones of that woman
so long
so extensive and so old in one’s skies.
The earth has not yet begun, POET,
you look like death and what I lived.

Culpas de juglar (1996)

{ José Barroeta, Todos han muerto: Poesía completa (1971-2006), Barcelona: Editorial Candaya, 2006 }

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