The origin of all things…when was it?
It must have been that night. Night is the great machine.
Now it’s time to invent a soul for them, a word,
now one must make a pact of motherhood.
Or maybe it’s the other way around: maybe each word
is a search for the thing that names.
Juan Andrés García Román,
The Splintered Match (DVD, 2008)
We are against a wall here but I have to tell you if the night is on full blast with its air of
Italian wine and its late nights you and I you ask aloud you and I you ask you ask perhaps if
there can be a
if there can be an
We are here looking at each other’s belly buttons einander looking at our nocturnal selves
looking at our nervous selves and I would like to ask you yes it’s ok if you spend the night
with me but to ask you
to ask you
to wake up
and not only the inconclusive windmills of the night.
You can call me whatever you want you have my permission but
tomorrow is too clear
and my retinas are sensitive are too sensitive in the dark and your eyes are footsteps of owls
and they have squirrel feet the word
you can change my name
to call me squirrel
or deserver of light
or suicidal butterfly
you can call me
animal or waist
wake up wherever you are
the light is not only yours
wake up this time.
Translated by Heath Wing
“Nighthawks” is from the book Epidermia, (El Gaviero Ediciones, 2011).
You can read and listen to the poem in the original Spanish here.