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Cover Library Poetry A Hot January

Poems of Exile I

E. Murray
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I shall write this poem until you get naked
and hold it
in the middle of the night laughing:
       what am I doing here
I will keep going going with the verses
until you say hang on
and you can not do anything else but feel
the starving flavors
of foods and fruits that stuff
every space in
this ancient body
I will sing without mercy from the balcony
until you ask me please
give me a cigarette
I don’t want to leave
the apples and the coffee were delicious
and the moon is already hiding inside your pillow
I will keep goingkeep        going and
when I fall worn out
in the daybreak I will
silence the darkness
of this clean bed
       full of sun
sweat        hunger
and void
I still have five francs
shabby photocopies and some trips.
What can I do?
with a coin
big        silent / I have
to think think
think and decide what
I’m going to do.
I still have five francs and your picture
bored and tired
so much laughing so much anxiety
like an old auntie
unable to speak
a silence in the morning.
I still
five francs and a laugh and
a big mountain where
whitman borges and neruda
wilde and manuel puig slide
depraved flowers
that baudelaire throws
over conrad’s rigid corpse.
still have
second-hand clothes and a wild cousin
that loves and cries about her life
and laughs
during the morning
and laughs
when a joy
weights one kilo less
and when she dies
she revives through laugh.
I still have 5
new obsessions and old poems
that say nothing just
to the last god of the old gods
and smell like wine
crying for nothing
and loving within nothingness.
I still have and times goes on
who cares
I stand up and go for another beer
and keep on lying down thinking
with my hand into the pocket
what I am going to do with five francs
nothing remains
of this empty bedroom
the smell of my body
of my voice
       a verse.
I do not write for you to answer
I do not write
for you to laugh or just
smile about light metaphors
true things
or intelligent expressions.
I do not write to turn you
the skin more brilliant
your eyes dull your hands soft
or for you to choke
on wild emotions
and relentless lights.
I do not write for you to say
oh beautiful
I do not write for you to read
or for the delight of ladies
guys               sad girls
I do not write for you to write
or for you to improve yourself. nope.
I do not even write
for you to say stop it
enough with that shit just leave it there
come over here
let’s write together
other story.
I do not write because
it makes me good
I do not write just in case I die
I do not write to inspire you
or for you to hate me
or for you to feel good
self-fulfilled or
so so.
I do not write to
express myself
I do not write as a therapy
I do not write to show you
love / ideals
          passion / grieves
. no.
I do not write to fill
       a sheet of paper with ideas
       diskettes garbage cans
       printers dead photocopies
       mails publishers computers
       translators shareholders proofreaders
       guerrillas. no. no.
I do not write for you to undress
I do not write for you to sigh
looking for eyes within your eyes
the magic in the night
in your hands the
warm breath
of love.
I do not write just for you to get offended or
to be shocked
or later in your bed
wake up               thinking
what a stupid I was
I could be happy tomorrow.
no. no and no. I do not write
for you to say
gee I have a friend that writes
for god sake. no.
I do not write for you to fill your mouth
to empty your brain
to soothe your urgencies
I do not write for millions of people
I do not write for yourself
or for myself nor for my children posterity
epitaphs lampoons
I do not write for someone
I do not write for anything.
What happens is that
I can’t sleep and everything is closed /
there are still two beers left it’s hot //
it’s hot and the music is       so good.
I write.
Translation: E. Murray
Table of related information
Copyright ©E. Murray, 1998
By the same author RSS
Date of publicationJuly 1998
Collection RSSA Hot January
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