We present this work in honor of the 55th anniversary of the poet’s death.

 

To Winett

Oh, peoples! I am like the total fuck up of the world.
The song face to face with Satan himself,
dialogues with the tremendous science of the dead,
and my pain spurts blood at the city.

Even my days are what remains of enormous antiques,
Baby, last night “God” cried between worlds that go
like this, alone, and you say: “I love you”,
when you talk with “your” Pablo, without ever hearing me.
The man and the woman reek of tomb;
my body crumples onto the brute earth
the same as the red coffin of the wretched.

A total enemy, I howl through the streets,
A horror more barbarous, more barbarous, more barbarous
than the baying of a hundred dogs left to die.

Translation by Sebastián Sánchez