poet

Homero Aridjis

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by this poet

poem
Past noon. Past the cinema 
with the tall sorrowful walls 
on the point of coming down, I enter the orchard. 
Show over, all of them have gone: 
day laborers, dogs and doors. 
My father is standing in front of a fig tree. 
My mother has died. The children, grown old. 
He's alone, small threads of air 
weave in
poem

A Octavio Paz

El poema gira sobre la cabeza de un hombre 
en círculos ya próximos ya alejados

El hombre al descubrirlo trata de poseerlo 
pero el poema desaparece

Con lo que el hombre puede asir
hace el poema

Lo que se le escapa
pertenece a los hombres futuros

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