8.14.2016

Ya uno sólo tiene derecho a muy pocas cosas / Guillermo Sucre

You barely have any right to anything anymore

You barely have any right to anything anymore
     I know or something lets me know that I can’t speak about happiness

     I abandoned my house and I haven’t gone back
now it’ll be covered in vines and in that patio no fire or hand to light it
one day it’ll be erased by the rains and I won’t be there to pick it up again
     (what makes us leave and how can we leave)

     How could you even mention the word that needs shelter fidelity
to be real
     But I know or think I know that happiness exists right there
where it doesn’t exist
     that keeping the warmth of its absence prepares (if) not its gleam
its limpidness
     This is how I can’t speak about happiness but I can be quiet
in it
     travel its silence the vast memory of not having it

     Happiness I now realize isn’t a topic for a speech
but rather the speech itself
     a speech that always separates itself from its topic or that after
being written discovers
               reasons
it has to be written again




En el verano cada palabra respira en el verano (1976)




{ Guillermo Sucre, Conversación con la intemperie. Seis poetas venezolanos, selección y prólogo de Gustavo Guerrero, Barcelona, España: Galaxia Gutenberg/Círculo de Lectores, 2008 }

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