The old man used to say… (El Viejo decía…)

Tuesday 16 August 2011

How many times did I say: “Dad, you’ve told me this story a hundred times”? I would kill to hear one of his many whimsical stories just one more time…even in my dreams.

From my Dad’s book The celebrated afternoon (La tarde festejada).

The old man used to say… (El Viejo decía…)

“Whilst the boat

plunges into its hole”.

Antonio Matea, Spanish poet.

Things

have changed.

The voice does not flow now

like it used to 40 years ago: It sounds loveless,

aggressive.

The eyes

 in occasions fulminating,

only want to hide the opacity

that interfere with their light.

The spine barely holds

what is lefts of the old skeleton

a few centimetres shorter

than what the passport informs.

Mystery and Eternity

fly over

the road.

And he used to add: This is why

I try to find a human being

who wants to walk by my side

and listen to me with all the tolerance

in the world, without ever uttering

those horrible words “Do not yell at me”.

A being who reminds me

every morning with a smile

that the sun is burning.

Someone who leans their head

over my chest and says that they still feel

the hear beat strong.

A person in whose lap

my many years lie the sore bones down

with trust;

In whom I can hide the silences,

and to whom I can tell the same old stories

and that love discovers in them

the surprises and originalities

that they inspired, before repeating them

so many times.