El Grito de la Tortuga
Creía que era mudo,
dije que era mudo,
mas lo he oído gritar.
El primer débil alarido,
viniendo de la insondable alborada de la vida,
remoto, tan lejano, como una demencia, bajo el borde floreciente del horizonte,
lejos, remoto, lejano alarido.
Tortuga in extremis.
¿Por qué fuimos crucificados en el sexo?
¿Por qué no nos dejaron plenos, y finales en nosotros mismos,
así como empezamos,
así como de por cierto él empezó, tan perfectamente solo?
¿Un lejano grito que pudo oírse,
o es que sonó directamente en el plasma?
Peor que el llanto de un recién nacido,
un grito,
un alarido,
un lamento,
un himno,
una agonía de muerte,
un chillido al nacer,
un someterse,
todos débiles, débiles, lejanos, reptiles en el primer amanecer.
Grito de guerra, triunfante, placer agudo, estertor de muerte reptiliano,
¿por qué se rasgó el velo?
¿el sedoso alarido en la membrana rasgada del alma?
La membrana del alma del macho
rasgada por un aullido mitad música, mitad horror.
Crucifixión.
Tortuga macho, hendiéndose a través de la maltrecha pared de la densa hembra,
montándola tenso, despatarrado, estirándose fuera del caparazón con desnudez de tortuga,
el cuello largo, y los largos miembros vulnerables forzados, despatarrados sobre su tejado,
y el profundo y secreto rabo que todo lo penetra, curvado bajo sus paredes,
desplegándose y agarrando fuerte, más angustia inminente en suma tensión
hasta que de repente, en el espasmo del coito, penetrándola con una sacudida y ¡oh!
Abriendo su apretado rostro desde el cuello estirado
y dando su frágil alarido, ese rugido,
tan audible,
de su rosada, agrietada, boca de viejo,
entregando el espíritu,
o gritando en Pentecostés, recibiendo el espíritu.
Su grito, y el hundimiento del instante,
el momento de eterno silencio,
mas inédito, y después del momento, la súbita, alarmante sacudida del coito y una vez más
el inexpresable débil quejido-
y demás, hasta que el último plasma de mi cuerpo se volvió a fundir
hasta los primigenios rudimentos de la vida, y del secreto.
Y así penetra, y gime
una y otra vez ese quebradizo y roto alarido
tras cada sacudida, el como largo intervalo,
la eternidad de la tortuga,
antigua, persistencia reptiliana,
latido de corazón, lento latido de corazón, persistente hacia el siguiente espasmo.
Recuerdo, cuando era un chico,
oí el croar de una rana, atrapada con su pata en la boca de una serpiente que se alza;
recuerdo cuando oí por primera vez a las ranas toro estallando en el sonido de la primavera;
recuerdo oír el fuerte graznido de una oca salvaje saliendo desde dentro de la garganta de la noche,
más allá del lago de las aguas;
recuerdo la primera vez, saliendo de un arbusto en la oscuridad,
los penetrantes silbidos y gorjeos de un ruiseñor agitaron las profundidades de mi alma;
recuerdo el chillido de un conejo al atravesar un bosque a medianoche;
recuerdo a la vaquilla en su acaloramiento, mugiendo y mugiendo
a través de las horas, persistente e irreprimible;
recuerdo mi primer susto al oír el primer maullar de extraños gatos amorosos;
recuerdo el grito de un caballo aterrorizado y herido,
el fucilazo,
y escapar del sonido de una mujer parturienta,
algo así como el ulular de un búho,
y escuchar en silencio el primer balido de un cordero,
el primer vagido de un niño,
y mi madre cantando para sí misma,
y la primera voz de tenor saliendo de la pasional garganta
de un joven minero, que desde entonces ha bebido hasta matarse,
los primeros elementos del lenguaje foráneo
en salvajes labios negros,
y más que todo esto,
y menos que todo esto,
este último,
extraño, débil alarido coital
del macho de la tortuga en lo extremo,
empequeñecido bajo el mismo borde del más lejano horizonte de la vida.
La cruz,
la rueda donde nuestro silencio fue en un principio roto,
el sexo, que rompe nuestra integridad, nuestra singular inviolabilidad, nuestro profundo silencio
sonsacándonos un aullido.
El sexo, que nos rompe en distintas voces, nos lleva a buscar a través
de las profundidades, a buscar, a buscar al complemento,
cantando, y llamando, y cantando otra vez, siendo oídos,
habiendo encontrado.
Deshechos, para volver a ser plenos otra vez, después de un largo tiempo buscando lo que se perdió
el mismo grito de la tortuga como de Cristo, el grito de Osiris abandonado,
aquello que es pleno, dividido en dos,
aquello que es parte, encontrando su plenitud otra vez a lo largo del universo.
TORTOISE SHOUT
I thought he was dumb,
I said he was dumb,
Yet I've heard him cry.
First faint scream,
Out of life's unfathomable dawn,
Far off, so far, like a madness, under the horizon's dawning rim,
Far, far off, far scream.
Tortoise in extremis.
Why were we crucified into sex?
Why were we not left rounded off, and finished in ourselves,
As we began,
As he certainly began, so perfectly alone?
A far, was-it-audible scream,
Or did it sound on the plasm direct?
Worse than the cry of the new-born,
A scream,
A yell,
A shout,
A pæan,
A death-agony,
A birth-cry,
A submission,
All tiny, tiny, far away, reptile under the first dawn.
War-cry, triumph, acute-delight, death-scream reptilian,
Why was the veil torn?
The silken shriek of the soul's torn membrane?
The male soul's membrane
Torn with a shriek half music, half horror.
Crucifixion.
Male tortoise, cleaving behind the hovel-wall of that dense female,
Mounted and tense, spread-eagle, out-reaching out of the shell
In tortoise-nakedness,
Long neck, and long vulnerable limbs extruded, spread-eagle over her house-roof,
And the deep, secret, all-penetrating tail curved beneath her walls,
Reaching and gripping tense, more reaching anguish in uttermost tension
Till suddenly, in the spasm of coition, tupping like a jerking leap, and oh!
Opening its clenched face from his outstretched neck
And giving that fragile yell, that scream,
Super-audible,
From his pink, cleft, old-man's mouth,
Giving up the ghost,
Or screaming in Pentecost, receiving the ghost.
His scream, and his moment's subsidence,
The moment of eternal silence,
Yet unreleased, and after the moment, the sudden, startling jerk of coition, and at once
The inexpressible faint yell
And so on, till the last plasm of my body was melted back
To the primeval rudiments of life, and the secret.
So he tups, and screams
Time after time that frail, torn scream
After each jerk, the longish interval,
The tortoise eternity,
Agelong, reptilian persistence,
Heart-throb, slow heart-throb, persistent for the next spasm.
I remember, when I was a boy,
I heard the scream of a frog, which was caught with his foot in the mouth of an up-starting snake;
I remember when I first heard bull-frogs break into sound in the spring;
I remember hearing a wild goose out of the throat of night
Cry loudly, beyond the lake of waters;
I remember the first time, out of a bush in the darkness, a nightingale's piercing cries and gurgles startled the depths of my soul;
I remember the scream of a rabbit as I went through a wood at midnight;
I remember the heifer in her heat, blorting and blorting through the hours, persistent and irrepressible;
I remember my first terror hearing the howl of weird, amorous cats;
I remember the scream of a terrified, injured horse, the sheet-lightning
And running away from the sound of a woman in labor, something like an owl whooing,
And listening inwardly to the first bleat of a lamb,
The first wail of an infant,
And my mother singing to herself,
And the first tenor singing of the passionate throat of a young collier, who has long since drunk himself to death,
The first elements of foreign speech
On wild dark lips.
And more than all these,
And less than all these,
This last,
Strange, faint coition yell
Of the male tortoise at extremity,
Tiny from under the very edge of the farthest far-off horizon of life.
The cross,
The wheel on which our silence first is broken,
Sex, which breaks up our integrity, our single inviolability, our deep silence
Tearing a cry from us.
Sex, which breaks us into voice, sets us calling across the deeps, calling, calling for the complement,
Singing, and calling, and singing again, being answered, having found.
Torn, to become whole again, after long seeking for what is lost,
The same cry from the tortoise as from Christ, the Osiris-cry of abandonment,
That which is whole, torn asunder,
That which is in part, finding its whole again throughout the universe.
I thought he was dumb,
I said he was dumb,
Yet I've heard him cry.
First faint scream,
Out of life's unfathomable dawn,
Far off, so far, like a madness, under the horizon's dawning rim,
Far, far off, far scream.
Tortoise in extremis.
Why were we crucified into sex?
Why were we not left rounded off, and finished in ourselves,
As we began,
As he certainly began, so perfectly alone?
A far, was-it-audible scream,
Or did it sound on the plasm direct?
Worse than the cry of the new-born,
A scream,
A yell,
A shout,
A pæan,
A death-agony,
A birth-cry,
A submission,
All tiny, tiny, far away, reptile under the first dawn.
War-cry, triumph, acute-delight, death-scream reptilian,
Why was the veil torn?
The silken shriek of the soul's torn membrane?
The male soul's membrane
Torn with a shriek half music, half horror.
Crucifixion.
Male tortoise, cleaving behind the hovel-wall of that dense female,
Mounted and tense, spread-eagle, out-reaching out of the shell
In tortoise-nakedness,
Long neck, and long vulnerable limbs extruded, spread-eagle over her house-roof,
And the deep, secret, all-penetrating tail curved beneath her walls,
Reaching and gripping tense, more reaching anguish in uttermost tension
Till suddenly, in the spasm of coition, tupping like a jerking leap, and oh!
Opening its clenched face from his outstretched neck
And giving that fragile yell, that scream,
Super-audible,
From his pink, cleft, old-man's mouth,
Giving up the ghost,
Or screaming in Pentecost, receiving the ghost.
His scream, and his moment's subsidence,
The moment of eternal silence,
Yet unreleased, and after the moment, the sudden, startling jerk of coition, and at once
The inexpressible faint yell
And so on, till the last plasm of my body was melted back
To the primeval rudiments of life, and the secret.
So he tups, and screams
Time after time that frail, torn scream
After each jerk, the longish interval,
The tortoise eternity,
Agelong, reptilian persistence,
Heart-throb, slow heart-throb, persistent for the next spasm.
I remember, when I was a boy,
I heard the scream of a frog, which was caught with his foot in the mouth of an up-starting snake;
I remember when I first heard bull-frogs break into sound in the spring;
I remember hearing a wild goose out of the throat of night
Cry loudly, beyond the lake of waters;
I remember the first time, out of a bush in the darkness, a nightingale's piercing cries and gurgles startled the depths of my soul;
I remember the scream of a rabbit as I went through a wood at midnight;
I remember the heifer in her heat, blorting and blorting through the hours, persistent and irrepressible;
I remember my first terror hearing the howl of weird, amorous cats;
I remember the scream of a terrified, injured horse, the sheet-lightning
And running away from the sound of a woman in labor, something like an owl whooing,
And listening inwardly to the first bleat of a lamb,
The first wail of an infant,
And my mother singing to herself,
And the first tenor singing of the passionate throat of a young collier, who has long since drunk himself to death,
The first elements of foreign speech
On wild dark lips.
And more than all these,
And less than all these,
This last,
Strange, faint coition yell
Of the male tortoise at extremity,
Tiny from under the very edge of the farthest far-off horizon of life.
The cross,
The wheel on which our silence first is broken,
Sex, which breaks up our integrity, our single inviolability, our deep silence
Tearing a cry from us.
Sex, which breaks us into voice, sets us calling across the deeps, calling, calling for the complement,
Singing, and calling, and singing again, being answered, having found.
Torn, to become whole again, after long seeking for what is lost,
The same cry from the tortoise as from Christ, the Osiris-cry of abandonment,
That which is whole, torn asunder,
That which is in part, finding its whole again throughout the universe.
...traigo
ResponderEliminarsangre
de
la
tarde
herida
en
la
mano
y
una
vela
de
mi
corazón
para
invitarte
y
darte
este
alma
que
viene
para
compartir
contigo
tu
bello
blog
con
un
ramillete
de
oro
y
claveles
dentro...
desde mis
HORAS ROTAS
Y AULA DE PAZ
COMPARTIENDO ILUSION
BORJA
CON saludos de la luna al
reflejarse en el mar de la
poesía...
ESPERO SEAN DE VUESTRO AGRADO EL POST POETIZADO DE CARROS DE FUEGO, MEMORIAS DE AFRICA , CHAPLIN MONOCULO NOMBRE DE LA ROSA, ALBATROS GLADIATOR, ACEBO CUMBRES BORRASCOSAS, ENEMIGO A LAS PUERTAS, CACHORRO, FANTASMA DE LA OPERA, BLADE RUUNER ,CHOCOLATE Y CREPUSCULO 1 Y2.
José
Ramón...