Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Translated by Jesse Lee Kercheval

This detachment is like undressing.
Gestures, looks, voices now appear
as cast-off clothes. 

The habitual replies, defenses,
remains of gray gossip,
fall over us. 

And so much work, such a cost
to take them off. Still they have weight.
This cloud has fallen,
slack smiles fall
blank looks fall
indifferent voices
without weight

Now there is a storehouse.
How can we empty the night
of these bitter ashes
and be able to sleep?


Translation of "Noctorno" by Circe Maia. By arrangement with the author.

Tuesday, July 15, 2014