Nothing grows except the grass.
Nothing leaps into sight except some stone
and what the stone contains and protects.
Here, far from the beach,
far from the place where the water
returns every so often
rusted metal, mouldy wood,
the corpse of a dolphin or a turtle.
The wind does not blow with the force
to propel us as far as the promised then.
The minutes that pass become hours
but never days, they become nights
that never agree to be years,
and centuries in which somebody dies
and someone else, who does not know it, yawns.
© translation:Brian Cole
(Carlos Barbarito)
More Poetry from Carlos Barbarito:
Carlos Barbarito Poems based on Topics: Water, Place- To Marianne Moore (Carlos Barbarito Poem)
- Behind, perhaps, let the sea blow. (Carlos Barbarito Poem)
- It does not matter in what language one writes. (Carlos Barbarito Poem)
Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: Place Poems, Water PoemsBased on Keywords: returns, metal, centuries, nights, someone, agree, minutes, promised, somebody, beach, sight
- Book III - Part 03 - The Soul is Mortal (Lucretius Poems)
- Out Of The East (John Freeman Poems)
- Alma; or, The Progress of the Mind. In Three Cantos. - Canto III. (Matthew Prior Poems)
- Of The Nature Of Things: Book II - Part 03 - Atomic Forms And Their Combinations (Lucretius Poems)
- Rhodon And Iris. Act III (Ralph Knevet Poems)