A SEXY
EPIC
“A
SEXY EPIC.”
An
untoward alliance
of
words.
A
prosti-code of our time
(an
era which is scarcely maternal).
An
age pusillanimous or absurd
What
would Homer have said
had
he seen this movie?
Would
he have been anguished by this rape?
Or
would he not even have been restored
by
the very existence of Virgil?
FITTING
INTO THE NEW IRONIC UTERUS
Obscure
inhabitation.
The night of history
will
mix its mists
with
the night of your life.
Mammalian
technology.
Emetic
vulva, mine.
In
the underworld, the sole of your foot
is
looked on with terror.
(Horror
pedal of the sycophantic god)
Every
monad, sarcastic, sings
its
farewell. Obscure
inhabitation.
Before,
you separated from the beast.
Now
you separate from the human.
Don’t
add to your problems.
You
will fit into the new ironic uterus.
You
are not far from yourself.
You
don’t need to shout.
[LANGUAGE]
BELATED
1
You’re speaking a belated language.
The interminable is
impossible for you now.
Talking
to you of a wood would be talking to you of a wilderness.
) It’s a reference to a decade (
/// The tree you can’t tell from the universe
because it occupies an equal space
/// in its arborescent will
/// it immerges its leaves to the trunk’s core
/// turns its leaf veins a periplum of
cortices
/// and from every dry leaf: planks that bury
themselves in the depthless
/// like fruit turned to dry lumber
In a rubber sweat throws arms or opens breaches
(The spiral searches for a substantive, a whom so it can happen).
Do you know the sign of being lost in thought? The
sign of the lumberyard which survives solidly, oxidized to its best red, until
being struck [in its permanence] and made absolute black dust [in a single
moment]?
Do you know the sign of the orange? (An orange
which falls from no tree).
Any language is. a. belated. language. I’m telling
you.
And languages are always humid, always parched (you
tell me).
In the beginning neither were there rotten
grapefruit, you add
Nor were there any translations or paraphrases.
What
political gospel? What terrors?
What is the price of this absolute order, this path
which (now) cannot be taken blind
You now speak a belated language, you repeat, you
(“now”) speak a recognizable language.
You have become intelligible – like caverns.
Mystery has parted ways with you. Of the other you
only know the one.
You pretend to escape from every text to another
text. Consequently you love
anamnesia.
The decade you refer to is reached intermittently.
It is a decade which was interpolated so that some travelers (ulterior ones)
could exist, could attach their lives to it, while in other decades
(shipwrecks).
In the dialogue, Penelope –
Having wanted to make of the other voice a feminine
one (latent)
Those voices we believed reached their targets (were
predicates we had no memory
of).
When a fly insists on a face, it signifies a visit.
Flies that are playful stones, paratactical humors, shards of a capricornian
order.
Recent refugees from the intelligible.
Peregrinations to the unresolved (for now) encountering non-rhythms.
They will create dialects whose use will be to be
understood by one of their speakers.
Each time that two gestures coincide and a
signified might arise, or a third speaker deduces some coherence, large black
stones will seal three or four, who (‘the isness
of their existences) will be condemned [prisoners] to keep silent [consciously
– regarding what they knew].
[In total obscurity they will hide their
construction of a communicable language]
[like the tide passes over its already millenary
timetable]
Geometries exigent for those that surfeit has
reciprocally [wiped out].
[And they wrote] the tribulationed [distanced from
any community or seduction via shared signals] so as not to look like anything
in their outlines [they wrote] in private codes, in scrawls directed to no
language, but they provoked so many strange glances [oblique, slanting] that
the tribulationeds’ outlines became ever more similar – and the secret of
chesstongue died.
And whatever was unknown openly disseminated in its
best color red, in its highest tower.
We are everything that is black on white.
And we become only the will to reply.
History is not cyclical but its form is
scroll-like.
2
3
4
5
GUIDE TO
THE UNDERSTANDING OF THE DEPLORABLE
FIRST INSTRUCTION:
Between
this moment and the other
a
limbo occurred.
This
limbo (both)
we
call it “oblivion.”
Second step:
Situating
oneself in “oblivion.”
Camp
in no one’s zone
or
shattering of time.
Methodological subsequence:
Once
settled in (now solitary sun)
Realizes
the most meticulous of studies
Next
to the passage
Which
governs existence
Now
that you sit in your parenthesis,
I’m
talking to you of the moment,
of
the interval (infuriating)
In
which a being (myself)
(He
who laid on you
this
errand)
Becomes
(from one moment to the next) deplorable.
Parameters of the results:
Once
written the report
Delineating,
detailed, then,
Bring
me your epilogue –
no
hurry, time doesn’t run here –
(Here all is space)
Bring
it to me in this meantime
where
I now live (wary)
Bring
it here // to me
in
any case distant.
Explain
to me, you who appreciate
Morosely,
from outside, how
it
happened that, from one moment to the next,
For
you, for her, for the world
I
became deplorable.
Once
the job done, you’ll be able to proclaim
To
the four corners of the universe
Posted
in the pure center of the quincunx
That
you have solved the mystery.
You
managed to explain to a man
what
“oblivion” is.[Heriberto Yepez has emerged in recent years as a major figure in contemporary Mexican writing. His poetry, fiction, & translations, as well as his critical & theoretical writings, are not easily confined within generic boundaries, & his collaborations with other artists & theorists reveal an intellectual & creative fluency in multiple artistic languages. His work, translated into English, has also reached into the
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