Illusion Come to Naught
For the text I'm pursuing firs and enchanted trees for the text, as also for the text the subtle, ironical smile of a frozen void. But this, this work, would only become tangible if I were able, I, to reach the surface of a sibylline verbal cunning.
But, in truth, I haven't taken my weariness into account. Because of which, given my present situation, I won't head for my desk, I'll keep traveling with the real dew, among these firs and real trees I've come upon in this evening's walk. So it's about how tired I am and although the melancholy of the possible text keeps pursuing me, I seriously doubt that I can reach, with words, this that's like light sparks, this that illusion come to naught consists of.
-- Lorenzo García Vega, translated by Christopher Winks, in the new anthology, The Whole Island: Six Decades of Cuban Poetry, edited by Mark Weiss