Monday, 14 September 2009

José — Andrade

What now, José?
The party’s over,
the lights are off,
the crowd’s gone,
the night’s gone cold,
what now, José?
what now, you?
you without a name,
who mocks the others,
you who write poetry
who love, protest?
what now, José?

You have no wife,
you have no speech
you have no affection,
you can’t drink,
you can’t smoke,
you can’t even spit,
the night’s gone cold,
the day didn’t come,
the tram didn’t come,
laughter didn’t come
utopia didn’t come
and everything ended
and everything fled
and everything rotted
what now, José?

what now, José?
Your sweet words,
your instance of fever,
your feasting and fasting,
your library,
your gold mine,
your glass suit,
your incoherence,
your hate—what now?

Key in hand
you want to open the door,
but no door exists;
you want to die in the sea,
but the sea has dried;
you want to go to Minas
but Minas is no longer there.
José, what now?

If you screamed,
if you moaned,
if you played
a Viennese waltz,
if you slept,
if you tired,
if you died…
But you don’t die,
you’re stubborn, José!

Alone in the dark
like a wild animal,
without tradition,
without a naked wall
to lean against,
without a black horse
that flees galloping,
you march, José!
José, where to?

1 comment:

Unknown said...

"Uh-huh. Incpuddle, all I know's I'm your friend. I am. You don't want to communate with the Madame, you can hold me and Ax's purses for us. You do what you want and point me toward whoever tells you different. I'm just giving you advice to look a little further past that second of deciding something I know you won't let yourself take back."

"Some vital part of my like personhood would die without something to ingest. This is your view."

"Sometimes you don't listen real well, Hallie. That's all right. Spend some time figuring out this needing. Like what part of you's come to need it, do you think."

"You're alleging that's the part that'll die."

"Just whatever part you feel has come to need what you're planning to take away from it."

"The part that's dependent or incomplete, you mean. The addict."

"That's just a word."

David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest