Tuesday, August 11, 2009

The melancholy of the possible text

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

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