vain compliments
A crouching mist below us
live in the fog and teeming with dragons
In the mist of stars are born and reborn.
That's the background to the outside I'm nothing more than an automaton
no rivers or
darkness rather than an automaton without dreams or hopes.
And if not for the darkness of the night
And your cat's body crouched
I believe to be truly that.
and believe in everything I say
And believe in all I think
vain compliments, vain dreams
to reach beyond the stars
to reach the near side of the everyday.
But there is no longer attainable, all is vain unless the song
beyond thought
least your body
cat crouching in the darkness of night and dreams. Isabel Sabogal
Lima, 1984
The poems "Requiebros vain"
Lima, Editor Ignacio Prado Pastor, 1988
Link to the translation of this poem Polish made by the same author
Poetry Poetry
A crouching mist below us
live in the fog and teeming with dragons
In the mist of stars are born and reborn.
That's the background to the outside I'm nothing more than an automaton
no rivers or
darkness rather than an automaton without dreams or hopes.
And if not for the darkness of the night
And your cat's body crouched
I believe to be truly that.
and believe in everything I say
And believe in all I think
vain compliments, vain dreams
to reach beyond the stars
to reach the near side of the everyday.
But there is no longer attainable, all is vain unless the song
beyond thought
least your body
cat crouching in the darkness of night and dreams. Isabel Sabogal
Lima, 1984
The poems "Requiebros vain"
Lima, Editor Ignacio Prado Pastor, 1988
Link to the translation of this poem Polish made by the same author
Poetry Poetry
verb
sweet piercing into the depths of the human. Poetry
plying the gulf arrow to nowhere. Poetry
name gold missed by the wise. Poetry
immense gift gift, rain gods and music. Poetry
piercing light sleep in the depths of the human. Isabel Sabogal
Lima, 1986
The poems "Requiebros vain"
Lima, Editor Ignacio Prado Pastor, 1988
Link to the translation of this poem Polish made by the author.
Everything is tailored about yourself ...
Everything is done to suit yourself,
The soul is soul and body, a sweet tangle woven
In the darkness of night and dreams.
Everything is done to suit yourself,
That street, that garden, that memory,
Those leaves that are lost in the air,
Those books that bar and those kisses.
Everything is done to suit yourself,
As much as we push the dead and the living,
As much as we pursue what we are saying,
What we were not, what ever will be,
one body a name, a smile,
A look that is lost with the wind ... Isabel Sabogal
Krakow, 1990
The unpublished poems: "Everything is done to suit yourself"
Published in the newspaper "El Sol, Cusco, 2002 and in the anthology" Poetry Peru Siglo XXI " ,
Yacana Foundation, Lima, 2007
Link to the translation of this poem Polish made by the author.
Cayara
In memory of my father
There is much bitterness in the back of us,
When we are killing with rifle butts,
And they say that ours is already dead,
we do not live, we have ever lived,
That we are alive, that we have never died.
That the pain we exist Creek is a pain, crying
We live in a world of ghosts, bulls
That regime, gaps do not live,
heads do not fly and the hills do not speak;
That there witches or huacos or Greeks or ichiqolqos,
That there herbs that cure, no coca or tables, not rainbow
sing ...
That we are not already one, our language is not language,
Our race is not race, your body is no body. Poem
crazy and weird, like it's crazy world,
As has been written in the language they hate us ...
Isabel Sabogal
Lima, 1988
The unpublished poems "Everything is done to suit yourself"
Published in "American Fact Sheet", Uppsala, Sweden, 1993
in the newspaper "El Sol, Cusco, July 2002
and in the anthology "Poetry Peru Siglo XXI",
Yacana Foundation, Lima, 2007
Everything is tailored about yourself ...
Everything is done to suit yourself,
The soul is soul and body, a sweet tangle woven
In the darkness of night and dreams.
Everything is done to suit yourself,
That street, that garden, that memory,
Those leaves that are lost in the air,
Those books that bar and those kisses.
Everything is done to suit yourself,
As much as we push the dead and the living,
As much as we pursue what we are saying,
What we were not, what ever will be,
one body a name, a smile,
A look that is lost with the wind ... Isabel Sabogal
Krakow, 1990
The unpublished poems: "Everything is done to suit yourself"
Published in the newspaper "El Sol, Cusco, 2002 and in the anthology" Poetry Peru Siglo XXI " ,
Yacana Foundation, Lima, 2007
Link to the translation of this poem Polish made by the author.
Cayara
In memory of my father
There is much bitterness in the back of us,
When we are killing with rifle butts,
And they say that ours is already dead,
we do not live, we have ever lived,
That we are alive, that we have never died.
That the pain we exist Creek is a pain, crying
We live in a world of ghosts, bulls
That regime, gaps do not live,
heads do not fly and the hills do not speak;
That there witches or huacos or Greeks or ichiqolqos,
That there herbs that cure, no coca or tables, not rainbow
sing ...
That we are not already one, our language is not language,
Our race is not race, your body is no body. Poem
crazy and weird, like it's crazy world,
As has been written in the language they hate us ...
Isabel Sabogal
Lima, 1988
The unpublished poems "Everything is done to suit yourself"
Published in "American Fact Sheet", Uppsala, Sweden, 1993
in the newspaper "El Sol, Cusco, July 2002
and in the anthology "Poetry Peru Siglo XXI",
Yacana Foundation, Lima, 2007
