The first condition for whaling: to grab the harpoon at the center from chagrin’s center; assimilate the solitary nature of a giant squid. All depth is just inhospitable geography, given there’s nothing but iron in the flesh, trimming beards, assessing the fat. All delicacy is abandoned on this stage, this choreography of blood, its push and pull: the custom of tearing, uprooting oaks, clamoring to the sky: I am a man!
And the horror: horror goes by its own right.
Translated by Claudia Rojas
“Whaler” first appeared in the collection Tordo (Editorial Cuneta, 2014).
You can read and listen to the poem in the original Spanish here.