Against Poems of Love

Contra los poemas de amor

Malva Flores

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Translation by Tanya Huntington

Do not go back to singing Neruda style.
…………Besides, that old tinsel
won’t work if you try it.

Can’t you see there are no symbols any more,
…………no splendors?

There’s no such thing as
…………metaphor.
Words are useless.

Whatever you ask for
whatever you beg for
in that trite, bilingual
assistant’s voice
…………—the eyes rolled upward
…………the classic kerchief knotted
…………at the neck
…………like a cable orphaned
…………from the beam.

Love is not something you declare
……….it is drooled
……….it is spat
……….it is vomited.

There was never any
……….mystery
no burning cobra of pride
no dove of blood
in the middle of anyone’s forehead.

It’s not what you expected:
……………………………..a tiny compass.

It’s a hotel
thats an icebox
thats a darkroom
thats also
your name
…………a tapping of keys
………………….a blink of the eye
…………………………….thats suddenly a knife

thats our love.

What is our love?

a blink of the eye
thats also a knife
and a sudden tapping of keys
an icebox
thats a darkroom
thats also your name
and also a hotel.

Love won’t save you. That’s another
lie. It won’t save you. It won’t save those who
seek the key.
It won’t save Gretel searching for crumbs
eaten by the crows of Pangea
or the Minotaur, either.

Where were the traces?
Your sense of smell is no use when following a trail.
Pencil won’t save you anymore.
Paper won’t save you.
Love won’t save you.

There is 1 comment for this article

Jorge November 2, 2016 at 2:21 pm

I have to say this is a lovely poem

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