The practice of poetry always will be a tragedy, and on top of a lonely tragedy: bad read and least-understood, the true poets, despite appearances, are (from the point of view of the public) posthumously. The poet's fortune is another: is done in his supreme act of communication (which is always a gift, a gift of self to others), made in the supreme act of the poem. And there ends the main thing. The rest is circumstance, chance, noise or silence in the show, and nothing else.
No longer will keep
no longer keep you, broke music
Where I thought you were.
were broken glass, or sand, do not really know: I stepped
and understood.
realized with astonishment that time stretched
desperate and senseless
and I was nobody except
loved you.
were broken glass, stones or misfortunes,
were huge bodies or ashes, I dunno.
I stepped and understood.
Raúl Gustavo Aguirre
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