La forma en que amanece un viernes, o there is no time

En este post presentamos la nueva rola de los Forajidos Fernández, una rola que surge de uno de los posts anteriores de este blog. Además, comentando con ellos –en mi cabeza, los forajidos somos todos– les sugerí que integraran un poema de un sudafricano muy interesante que leí apenas: Breyten Breytenbach. Aquí, pues, la rola y el poema. Según me dicen, la rola tendrá una versión extendida, con la novedad de que integrarán un acordeón, un dumbek y otras percusiones. A disfrutar con los Forajidos Fernández

there is no time

there is no time

time is man's skin

it cracks and crackles and shrinks

in life's passing-by

in the fire of being

telling the hours

then letting them be

in the ever reverberating

moment of silence

//

in the smoking dance

of the evening star and the midnight sun

in the curl of the leaf

in the dove's swiftly

graceful and fluttered

gesture of dying

//

there is no time

time is the shooting

comet of recall

strewing heaven with the sparks

of stories no one will ever hear again

//

time's my love for you

the lizard movements

in your body that come and go

to fill the hollows

with the fire of telling

those many faces of departure

//

there is no time

just the pulse of the heart

as pain under eye-shells

//

just the emptied tell-skin

of this poem

splotched and measured

by cancer words of forgetting

like lizard shit