Farewell to the Führer

Farewell to the Führer, farewell to all Führers who have been or who will be. Farewell to all Führers true or false, good night, I say, good night, With an intimate reactionary sadness Farewell to the Führer who gobbled Black Forest Cake while his tanks fed upon the roads of Europe. Farewell to all Führers

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Prayer to a Farm Worker

Rise up and look at the mountain, from where the wind, the sun, the water arrive. Thou, who determines the course of rivers, thou who scatters the flight of your soul. Rise up. Look at your hands. Join hands with your brothers, together in blood we go. Now is the time that can be tomorrow.

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To See Him Again

And never, never again? Not on nights packed with a few stars, or in mornings’ first slender sun or afternoons sacrificed to afternoons? Or at the edge of a pale road that surrounds the farm fields, or a rim of a trembling fountain, whitened by a moon? Or beneath the forest’s lush poplars where, yelling

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by Roberto Bolaño: When Lisa told me she had made love / with another, in the eternal / telephone booth of life / in the market in Tepeyac, I thought the world / ended.

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