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Fernando Iturburu

Alexis Levitin

Maritza Cino





© 2005 - 2008 Per Contra: The International Journal of the Arts, Literature and Ideas. 





Play of Shadows




I awoke with my skin

papered in words,

I opened the envelope stuck

to my thigh

my fingertips trembled

as I separated irony and poster.

Confused in my speech

squeezed by routine

I didn´t give a name to morning,

I gathered myself in the abbreviation

of my shoulders

and I slowly started to read myself.




My origins are in the renaissance

painted for five centuries

I reincarnate

faces without smiles

similarities encircle me…

an illusion of Botticelli.

A collector of metaphors

healed in springs

ironic invisible

daring in my oddity

I paint myself this very moment.




Art saved me

Prestidigitator of instincts

It redeemed my fears

with its concupiscent humor.

Lethal shell

slash my roots

make moist the specters

of the sun against my bones.




Pilgrim pleasure

join me to your pulse

reenact in this medulla

parapet of black swans.

Illimitable satisfaction

Free me from my limits

Spread wide my fountain.




See me otherwise

mint draping your slope

play with the balm

of my forked mist

lose yourself in unison

multiply me in your ivy

stagger the essence

of this diluting crystal

take refuge in my hair

coppery in its thickness

astonish me and do not stop

until my fissure

is dispersed.





Faith in your malice

packtrain of drizzle and entrails

refuge of lascivious pacts

carnal ambush.

Banquet of sentences

lair or roar

in the catharsis of the game.





of other centuries

cross paths within the Word.



turbulent memory

of the duendes.




In the epigraphs of books

and in the spasms of my flesh,

Live the designs 

of this irreverent exercise.





I stopped writing

with the precision of the calendar

after they embalmed me

their texts

and I changed to a  pyramid.


Now I know

by its mortal smells

signs of mourning

that ferment the tombs...

while I

travel upside-down

with another voice that comes to me

from a ghost asleep

mummified in cruelties.


Improper allegory

Desacrilizing silence

engraving in my mouth

the festivity of his death

in the scripture of a God

who is not the God of the dead.



I don’t hear voices

or silences

just the spectacle

of making love

with Death.



Play of Shadows by Maritza Cino translated by Alexis Levitin and Fernando Iturburu



Read the poem in Spanish