Clavé una cruz plena de clavos
Y cada uno llevaba tu nombre.
Clavé luego una espina de silencio
Para no volver a decirlo.
Más tarde me di cuenta,
Iluso, ignorante,
De que la cruz era yo,
De que los clavos,
De que la espina,
Eran cobardes insultos
Dirigidos contra mí mismo,
Contra esa parte de mí
Imanadora hacia la desgracia.
Desclavé la cruz,
Retiré los clavos,
Arranqué la espina:
Por eso hablo,
Por eso te nombro,
Por eso tu nombre,
Por eso y porque maté al cobarde,
Rompí el imán
Y pude musitar,
Al fin,
Un verso de amor
Que llevaba tu nombre.
Un verso de amor:
Tu verso.
posted by Carlos | 1:16 AM
1 Comments:
Re-re-re-reading you and, no matter how much I try, I can't understand your image of the Cross -with initial capital letter. You exceed the limits- you are far from identifying yourself with Jesuschrist, yet, the wole poem evokes Him, His crucifixion.
I feel that your ambiguity in un-poetic in this particular case. The idea of someone (a possible lover, maybe someone who the speaker loves or at least loves the speaker) being his nails, his horns... Jesus! It semms madness.
God! Your two poems about crucifixion makes me use such Christian ejaculations as never have before.
Dear Carlos, you're really provokative -which is really good. And I cannot but break my word -which I don't know if it is alright- Your poems can't leave anyone cold.
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