Se afișează postări din noiembrie, 2016

vers 12, Angela de Hoyos

How to paint
         on this page
                  the enigma
that furrows
       your sensitive
               brown face
- a sadness,
         porque te llamas
            Juan  y no John
as the laws
         of assimilation

[...] I was too late
or perhaps I was born too soon;
It is not yet my time;
this is not yet my home.
I must wait for the conquering barbarian
to learn the Spanish word for love:

Arise, Chicano! 
In your migrant's world of hand-to-mouth days,
your children go smileless to a cold bed;
the bare walls rockaby the same wry song,
a ragged dirge, thin as the air...

I have seen you go down
under the shrewd heel of exploit -
your long suns of brutal sweat
with ignoble pittance crowned.

Trapped in the never-ending fields
where you stoop, dreaming of sweeter dawns,
while the mocking whip of slavehood
confiscates your moment of reverie.

Or beneath the stars - offende…

vers 11, Emil Brumaru

Apocrifă I 
Timpul ceasurile-şi plimbă Îmbrăcate în civil. Dintr-un câine curge-o limbă. Apoi trece-o săptămână. Cuiul intră în perete Şi găleata în fântână. Şi-n bucătăria pură Cănile se coc şi-aşteaptă Atârnând cu apa-n gură.