Fever 103°

Sylvia Plath.

Pure? What does it mean?
The tongues of hell
Are dull, dull as the triple

Tongues of dull, fat Cerberus
Who wheezes at the gate. Incapable
Of licking clean

The aguey tendon, the sin, the sin.
The tinder cries.
The indelible smell

Of a snuffed candle!
Love, love, the low smokes roll
From me like Isadora’s scarves, I’m in a fright

One scarf will catch and anchor in the wheel,
Such yellow sullen smokes
Make their own element. They will not rise,

But trundle round the globe
Choking the aged and the meek,
The weak

Hothouse bred baby in its crib,
The ghastly orchid
Hanging its hanging garden in the air,

Devilish leopard!
Radiation turned it white
And killed it in an hour.

Greasing the bodies of adulterers
Like Hiroshima ash and eating in.
The sin. The sin.

Darling, all night
I have been flickering, off, on, off, on.
The sheets grow heavy as a lecher’s kiss.

Three days. Three nights.
Lemon water, chicken
Water, water make me retch.

I am too pure for you or anyone.
Your body
Hurts me as the world hurts God. I am a lantern—

My head a moon
Of Japanese paper, my gold beaten skin
Infinitely delicate and infinitely expensive.

Does not my heat astound you! And my light!
All by myself I am a huge camellia
Glowing and coming and going, flush on flush.

I think I am going up,
I think I may rise—
The beads of hot metal fly, and I love, I

Am a pure acetylene
Virgin
Attended by roses,

By kisses, by cherubim,
By whatever these pink things mean!
Not you, nor him

Nor him, nor him
(My selves dissolving, old whore petticoats)—
To Paradise.

El crítico

A veces no sé por qué lloro.

Una vez más tratando de encontrarle sentido al sentimiento, en donde hasta tú te afliges por el amorfo de mi inquietud

Y tus palabras resuenan en mi mente como el estándar de no ser

Y entonces te concibo tan seguro de mi falta.

Tan postrado en lo real,

En donde me acuesto para dejarme fluir

Y sin embargo no pasa nada,

En el afuera; en la estadística

En mi vida coagulada.

Y me pides paciencia, como queriendo controlar el tiempo.

Una vez más, tratando de encontrarle sentido al sentimiento

Y yo me diluyo en pasiones inventadas con el afán de descolocarte.

Con la actitud obligada de oponerme, 

Como queriendo convencerme de que no te necesito por más que sea la única posibilidad

Y me desentiendo del momento

Y me reduzco a entusiasmos efímeros a favor de la sinceridad,

En donde quisiera sentarme y decirte que es a ti a quien quiero

Pero de sólo pensarlo, me vuelvo de piedra y el momentáneo tormento se torna soportable hasta el punto de la austeridad en donde me desprendo del aire y respirar pareciera ser más bien un sacrificio;

Como si el mundo no me mereciera,

En lo alto del sombrío,

En donde te hablo de mis silencios como queriendo ofrecerte mis sonidos.

Y que no tolero la idea de ser materia de práctica,

Con esa frialdad celada que me domina,

En donde vacilo sobre tu confianza y demando atención,

Porque estoy hecha de piedra y tu mirada se ofrece como cascada queriendo romper el orgullo profundo que no ilustra el sentimiento y el sentido se atora en el instante de tu palabra contra mi razón y te veo.

Tan postrado en tu silla, tan lejano, certero.

Men

They break inside like bruises
Causing stains inside weak hearts
They seem to talk with butterflies beneath their lips
And their words flutter and flutter inside senseless heads

Their moves, they seem so calculating
Masters in the art of deceit
Oh, how they talk with so much ardour
Like selling candies to a starving kid

And they give away fake feelings
Heaven lies inside a sinful kiss
To get what they want
They won't hesitate to practice treachery

To steal and kill
Hurt and infect
That's how it works,
As long as their needs are satisfied

It's all about them, all about them
Pleasure for the sadist
Cruelness for the foolish one

So beautiful for sure
So beautiful they are
Telling hopeful promises
Just to take them back

And they don't feel; they just don't feel
They just don't care about the pain they cause

Black mages in the shadows
The devil in disguise.