your mouth tastes / like poisoned time — Octavio Paz, from “Sunstone,” Octavio Paz, The Collected Poems, 1957-1987. Edited and translated by Eliot Weinberger. (New Directions, April 17, 1991) Originally published 1987.
At times poetry is the vertigo of bodies and the vertigo of speech and the vertigo of death; the walk with eyes closed along the edge of the cliff, and the verbena in submarine gardens; the laughter that sets fire to rules and the holy commandments; the descent of parachuting words onto the sands of… Continue reading Octavio Paz
to remember that a waterfall is a girl coming down the stairs dying of laughter, to see the sun and its planets swinging on the trapeze of the horizon, to learn to see so that things will see us and come and go through our seeing, living alphabets that send out roots, shoot up, bud,… Continue reading Octavio Paz
the wave of your laughter surged over the chatting and the rattle of the cups and spoons, it was the sound of spotted goats clambering in a rush over a land of burnt hills, the couple at the next table stopped talking and froze with blank stares, as if reality had become naked and nothing… Continue reading Octavio Paz
There are moments that explode and become stars — Octavio Paz, from “Seeds for a psalm,” Early Poems 1935-1955 (New Directions, 1973)
Stretched out side by side, we exhanged confidences, whispers, smiles. Curled up, she fell on my chest and unfolded there like a vegetation of murmurs. She sang in my ear, a little sea shell. She became humble and transparent, clutching my feet like a small animal, calm water. She was so clear I could read… Continue reading Octavio Paz
There was only one huge word with no back to it A word like a sun One day it broke into tiny pieces They were the words of the language we now speak Pieces that will never come together Broken mirrors where the world sees itself shattered — Octavio Paz, “Fable,” Selected Poems (New Directions… Continue reading Octavio Paz