owl fandango escabeche swords of octopus of evil omen furry dishrag scalps afoot in middle of the skillet bare balls popped into a cone of codfish sherbert fried in scabies of his oxen heart – mouth full of marmalade of bedbugs of his words – silver bells & cockle shells & guts braided in a row – a pinky in erection not a grape & not a fig – commedia del arte of bad weaving & smudged clouds – cosmetics of a garbage truck – the rape of las meninas cries & outcries – casket on shoulders crammed with sausages & mouths – rage that contorts the drawing of a shadow that lashes teeth nailed into sand the horse ripped open top to bottom in the sun which reads it for the flies who tack a rocket of white lilies to the knots spliced in the sardine heavy nets – lamp of lice where dog is & a knot of rats & hide outs in a palace of old rags – the banners frying in the skillet twist in black of ink sauce spilled in drops of blood that gun him down – the street soars to the clouds its feet bound to a sea of wax that makes its guts rot & the veil that covers it is singing dancing mad with sorrow – a flight of fishing poles alhigui and alhigui of the moving van first class interment – broken wings spinning in the spider web of dry bread & clear water a paella made of sugar & of velvet that paints a whiplash on its cheeks – the light blocked out the eyes before the mirror that make monkeyshines the chunk of nougat in the flames that gnaws itself the lips around the wound – cries of children cries of women cries of birds cries of flowers cries of wood & stone cries of bricks cries of furniture of beds of chairs of curtains of casseroles of cats & papers cries of smells that claw themselves of smoke that gnaws the neck of cries that boil in cauldron & the rain of birds that floods the sea that eats into the bone & breaks the teeth biting the cotton that the sun wipes on its plate that bourse & bank hide in the footprint left imbedded in the rock.
[The translation minus images appeared in The Burial of the Count of Orgaz & Other Poems (20o4), edited by me & Pierre Joris & still available from Exact Change (firstname.lastname@example.org or email@example.com). The poems & drawings are dated 15-18 June 1937.]
"Everything is a miracle. It is a miracle that one does not dissolve in one's bath like a lump of sugar"-Pablo Picasso
Thanks for sharing...
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Thanks from me too: writing a piece on PP's politics and prints, its hard even to find the Spanish (and my Spanish isn't good). I find "alhugui" in inverted comms in some paper sof the time but can't fimd a translation - any hints?
in any case, thanks!
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