Y EL ÓBOLO BAJO LA LENGUA

TWO WORLDS

In air heavy
with odor of crocuses,

sensual smell of crocuses,
I watch a lemon sun disappear,

a sea change blue
to olive black.

I watch lightning leap from Asia as
sleeping,

my love stirs and breathes and
sleeps again,

part of this world and yet
part of that.

Raymond Carver.

Y EL ÓBOLO BAJO LA LENGUA

          HUMMINGBIRD

Suppose I say summer,
write the word “hummingbird,”
put it in an envelope,
take it down the hill
to the box. When you open
my letter you will recall
those days and how much,
just how much, I love you.

Raymond Carver.

EL ÓBOLO BAJO LA LENGUA

                      MY CROW

A crow flew into the tree outside my window.
It was not Ted Hughes’s crow, or Galway’s crow.
r Frost’s, Pasternak’s, or Lorca’s crow.
Or one of Homer’s crows, stuffed with gore,
after the battle. This was just a crow.
That never fit in anywhere in its life,
or did anything worth mentioning.
It sat there on the branch for a few minutes.
Then picked up and flew beautifully
out of my life.

                                                  Raymond Carver.

Y EL ÓBOLO BAJO LA LENGUA

LATE FRAGMENT

And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.

Raymond Carver.