A poem by Elsa Cross from Ultramar

The sun crackles naked on the marbles

The inscriptions

hide and shine their messages:

letters as porches,

triglyphs,

vibrant propylaea-

and there, where the name of the things collides

veins grow in the marble

                                                               as entries to another dreams.

It crumbles the temples of words,

the sense turns into

                                                               an incoherent sketch,

particle that marries the dust.

Full darkness under the sun,

complete ignorance.

There are not road marks.

The god open and close the destinies

just as the wind whips the shutters

until breaking them.

The steps repeat themselves.

And the blind questions,

the babbling,

the shake,

the bird’s fear-

                                               waiting for something.

The words fall

                               as coins:

 Its reflection shines in these stones,

that used to exist in here,

                               before us,

and they will continue to exist after-

                               as the gods.

Transversal cut of the sense.

The oracle is seen without understanding.

Everything starts where the eyes close.

*English translation by Marjha Paulino

                   

El sol restalla en los mármoles desnudo.

Las inscripciones

ocultan y alumbran sus mensajes:

letras como pórticos,

tríglifos,

                               propileos vibrantes-

y allí donde chocan los nombres con las cosas

se abren vetas en mármol

                                               como entradas a otros sueños.

Se desmoronan los templos de palabras,

el sentido se vuelve       

                               un trazo incoherente,

partícula que casa con el polvo.

Oscuridad completa bajo el sol,

ignorancia completa.

No hay marcas de la vía.

El dios abre y cierra los destinos

igual que el viento azota los postigos

                                                               hasta romperlos.

Los pasos se repiten.

Y las preguntas ciegas,

el balbuceo,

el tumbo,

el azoro de pájaro-

                                               en espera de algo.

Caen palabras

                               como monedas:

fulgura su reflejo en estas piedras

que existían aquí,

                               antes de nosotros,

y seguirán después-

                                               como los dioses.

Corte transverso del sentido.

Se mira el oráculo sin comprender.

Todo comienza donde se cierran los ojos.

Image: "Down" - Alphonse Mucha

Elsa Cross (1946) is contemporary Spanish-language Mexican writer best known for her poetry. She has won the Jaime Sabines National Poetry Award in 1992. She has also published translations, philosophical essays and is known as an authority on Indian philosophy.