Sunday, September 09, 2012

[Poem] Preguntas

If Neruda asks
This cloudy question
He is a poet, undisputed

A noble master of letters

When these words pass through
A Zen abbot’s lips
We hear a cryptic koan, impossible

A riddle to defy attachment

If lustrous Hồ Xuân Hương idly toys
With this conundrum upon
Her pliant ink-stained lap, inscrutable

She becomes an oral tradition
For romantic schoolboys in old Saigon

Should I dare repeat
Any of this aloud while still alive,
I am a fool to be buried in the cold grooves
Of Saint Cloud.

Now, how fair is that?

From BARROW, 2009

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