Translation of the poem by David Leo García, from the Spanish as published at Tenían viente años y estaban locos.
Tell me a color. Green. Another. Green.
A part of a house. Air.
A question. The question. A writer.
Mystery. What do you associate with a bird?
Mystery. And with a bird?
Infancy. And with grass?
Infancy. Tell me a color.
I don’t know. A country. Almost all of them.
A disease. All of them but mine.
What it’s come to here. The…you know,
the…what am I going to tell you, you know,
the same thing as always.
A string instrument. The pentagram.
A part of the body. Lungs.
A part of a house. Deterioration.
A reason to live? One, desire.
A disease? Disease.
A famous quote? ‘Of course’.
A reason? To die. A reason
to die? Not one, maybe. Desire.
Just a personal note here. I think this might be one of my favorite poems ever. Every time I read it, my head generates two distinct voices, and it becomes this wonderful conversation and each member has a drastically different personality. I imagine the questioner’s facial expressions as the questioned rattles off his replies in a sardonic tone. Check out more of David Leo García’s poetry, I find it extremely rewarding.
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