GERBASI, Vicente


In the Forest Depths of the Day

The simple act of the spider who spins a star in the Shade,

the elastic step of the cat towards the butterfly,

the hand that slips along the warm back of the horse,

the sideral smell of the coffee flower,

the blue taste of the vanilla,

hold me back in the depths of the day.

There is a concave brilliance of ferns,

a resonance of insects,

a fluctuating presence of water in the stony nooks.

Here I recognize my age built from rustic sounds,

from orchid light,

from hot forest space,

where the woodpecker sounds the hour.

Here the dusk invents a crimson jewellery,

a constellation of glow worms,

a tumbling of bright leaves upon the senses,

upon the depths of the day,

where my wild bones are spellbound.


Lausanne: Winter 1966

I speak of sadness

as of the fruit that in winter

has remained alone in a damp and mossy

tree of the mountains.

I speak of sadness

as of the girl

who passes crestfallen

through the city of the bright lit river

beneath the wind that carries off the whistle

of the trains.

My sadness is beneath the lamp

when, looking at my shoes,

I remember my torn shoes,

while I hear the wind of the snow

among the trees.

(Translation: John LYONS)