Poems

by Coral Bracho

A wave of dense light, its fire intact.
A current, a gentle breeze
that rouses everything, that burns/dries up/sears and unties everything,
that purifies/refines everything
to its intimate lines. A high tide the waterfall
that the sun casts down/ruins (its starry
working loose/extricating itself/breaking free, its joyful/delighted,
steady
falling, its igneous mass of roots
of crystals/glass: opening furrows, opening wakes,
wading across, sinking/plunging down). Depth opens
on the surface.
                                                - All
the ocean and the calm
in which it rocks itself [to sleep], all that burning thickness of sand,
of ploughed land, of salt, touches its bottom/depths
and is stirred up.

The literal translation of this poem was made by Tom Boll

The final translated version of the poem is by Katherine Pierpoint

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