Jaime Priede

Todo lo que veo me sobrevivirá.

ANNA AJMÁTOVA

¿Quién no se sintió alguna vez desarmado ante la poesía que exige mucho menos de lo que nos entrega con absoluta generosidad?

celebrar la cotidiana inmediatez de sentirse vivo.

YOUR DOG DIES

it gets run over by a van. / you find it at the side of the road / and bury it. / you feel bad about it. / you feel bad personally, / but you feel bad for your daughter / because it was her pet, / and she loved it so. / she used to croon to it / and let it sleep in her bed. / you write a poem about it. / you call it a poem for your daughter, / about the dog getting run over by a van / and how you looked after it, / took it out into the woods / and buried it deep, deep, / and that poem turns out so good / you’re almost glad the little dog / was run over, or else you’d never / have written that good poem. / then you sit down to write / a poem about writing a poem / about the death of that dog, / but while you’re writing you / hear a woman scream / your name, your first name, / both syllables, / and your heart stops. / after a minute, you continue writing. / she screams again. // you wonder how long this can go.

YOUR DOG DIES

it gets run over by a van. / you find it at the side of the road / and bury it. / you feel bad about it. / you feel bad personally, / but you feel bad for your daughter / because it was her pet, / and she loved it so. / she used to croon to it / and let it sleep in her bed. / you write a poem about it. / you call it a poem for your daughter, / about the dog getting run over by a van / and how you looked after it, / took it out into the woods / and buried it deep, deep, / and that poem turns out so good / you’re almost glad the little dog / was run over, or else you’d never / have written that good poem. / then you sit down to write / a poem about writing a poem / about the death of that dog, / but while you’re writing you / hear a woman scream / your name, your first name, / both syllables, / and your heart stops. / after a minute, you continue writing. / she screams again. // you wonder how long this can go

Cada mañana es una decepción.

la destreza no debe confundirse

con la virtud.

Me casé con la chica que quería y le envenené la vida.

Días de lluvia y aguas altas.

Hojas que golpea la lluvia en el suelo.

En mi corazón, esta porción de la tierra

que la tormenta ilumina.

Todos nosotros, todos nosotros, todos nosotros

intentando salvar

nuestras almas inmortales por caminos

en algún caso más sinuosos y misteriosos

aparentemente

que otros.