My father at the age I am now.
My father made sure that none of his children, or anyone in his family ever lacked anything. He also loved celebrating everything: when I got great marks at school, finishing the year and going on summer holidays, memorising all the names of the dinosaurs, losing a tooth and seeing a new one grow, and of course, birthdays, anniversaries and many more special days. And he always showered us with gifts, but the most beautiful of them were his poems. Here is one he wrote to me on my first birthday, 34 years ago.
I miss you Daddy, I really do.
From my Dad’s book Urgent poetry (Poesía de urgencia).
Anniversary gift (Regalo aniversario)
I have a good friend
whose name is Andrés.
I met him on a Sunday
together with my wife.
He came early in the morning
on time for the ten o’ clock mass,
with the hurry of a good Christian
just like his father is.
Andrés derails
in all the corners
of the house
and talks
with birds and flowers,
caresses the whiskers
of his loyal kitten,
enjoys the morning sun
passenger on his pram,
and when you call him “mate”
he answers “dad” and “mum”.
Ten or twelve words
Andrés knows how to say,
to him
who speaks
with his eyes
that is enough.
He turned one
yesterday,
my good friend
Andrés.
To my son Andrés
18 July 1977
No comments:
Post a Comment