Wednesday, December 11, 2013

CIRCE: IN PRAISE


The ancient pain that for long I believed
to have been cured, that twinge
of your memory visits me today
and it rushes every time I breathe

for your person from whom I walk away,
you at once very close and very present,
but now a cup of which I do not drink
dying of thirst at sea not having you.

You come to me in happy remembrance
of that time without time that we shared,
waterlogged in your eyes -those dark pits-
in front your slender bearing hypnotized.

And although initially I protected myself
with certain trick of the kind of those you used,
and although I had to threaten you
with my knife caressing on your face;

then as I former did at Troy with horse
I introduced my colt into your walls
and after causing a major burning fire
yielded resistance in the fortress pride;

afterwards the barriers being demolished
in your bed -a snowed battlefield-
in which both of us came out as winners
was just for playing to come to it again.

There your laughter urging me serpentine
then your soft hands feeling on my shoulders
with an intense aroma of violets
the weird enclosure perfuming with its scent

where you worked your magic and your cures
in applying the balsam to my wound;
then in I turn in payment referred
the adventures of my return to home.

Little by little increased mutual trust
between we two, the warrior and the sorceress,
convincing you my comrades to redeem
spellbound previously subdued to your gaze.

Man was for you no better than a pig,
lions or wolves just to increase swine herds
until at last when you arrived to know me
the mistaken idea my love changed.

With sex at nights that populated visions
of arcane realities that were unveiled then
when full of passion embarked our bodies:
lunar spacecraft released to the dark.

Years passed, perhaps they were millennia,
-as it is known: that intercourse is death-
until I felt the call of destination,
returning home to the arms of Penelope.

I see a current pouring out of my chest
that turns to you and it is bloody painful,
as it is love that right now is frustrated
deprived of his drug, and worse, his hope.

Doomed to row alone crossing the sea
the froth of waves splash in my obsession
reaching to me former images from you;
from Eea island to my home in Ithaca,
thy remembrance now accompanies me.




© albertotrocóniz / 13
Text from: "POEMS OF LAY LOVE” 
Image: “Circe and Ulysses”, Edmond Dulac (1882-1953)
from: "PINACOTECA”

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