Escriba, escriba / Jesús Montoya

Write, Write

Write, write,
write and don’t be nervous, don’t get hung up,
without any hands.
Write from memory against the morning light,
write about the afternoon at night,
night is the mother of poetry,
of eyes.
Write where the moon would be in your poem.
Write the years and the shades that insist on bending
like smoke on the corners.
Write against sleep from sleep;
write a girl a kiss and a hug for your
Write because the mountains are also
falling from your eyes.
Write desperately,
write calmly,
Get moving with your legs.
Sit down and go and find yourself and tell me why
you still believe life ends where this poem begins.

{ Jesús Montoya, Las noches de mis años, Caracas: Monte Ávila Editores, 2016 }


richard lopez said...

great group of poems by montoya. thanks for translating them!

Guillermo Parra said...

Hi Richard, thanks for reading!
Yeah, Montoya is an incredible poet. The original Spanish version of his first book, Las noches de mis años, is available as a free PDF here: http://monteavila.gob.ve/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/LAS-NOCHES-revisado.pdf