The Unknown University (45 page)

THE LAST SAVAGE

1

I stepped out of the last show onto empty streets.
The skeleton

passed right by me, trembling, hung from the antenna

of a garbage truck.
Big yellow hats

hid the face of the garbage men.
Still I thought I recognized him:

an old friend.
Here we are!
I said to myself

some two hundred times,

until the truck disappeared around a bend.

2

I had no place to go.
For a while

I wandered around outside the theatre

looking for a coffee shop, an open bar.

Everything was closed, doors and shutters, but

the weirdest thing was the buildings seemed empty, as

if people no longer lived there.
I had nothing to do

except walk in circles and remember

but even memory began to fail me.

3

I saw myself as “The Last Savage”

cruising the streets of Baja California

on a white motorcycle.
To my left the sea, to my right the sea,

and in my center, the box filled with images gradually

fading away.
In the end would the box remain empty?

In the end would the bike vanish with the clouds?

In the end would Baja California and “The Last Savage” fuse

with the Universe, with Nothingness?

4

I thought I recognized him: under the yellow garbage man’s hat

a childhood friend.
Never calm.
Never too many beats in a single

measure.
Of his dark eyes, poets would say: they’re like two kites

hovering over the city.
Without a doubt the bravest.
And his eyes

like two little black kites in the black night.
Hung

from the truck’s antenna the skeleton was dancing to the lyrics

of our youth.
The skeleton was dancing with the kites and with the
shadows.

5

The streets were empty.
I was cold and scenes from

“The Last Savage” were playing in my head.
An action film, with
intrigue:

things only appeared to be happening.
At heart: a quiet valley,

petrified, except for wind and history.
The bikes, the fire

from machine guns, the sabotages, the 300 dead terrorists, really

they were made from an essence slighter than dreams.
Splendor

seen and unseen.
Visibly and invisibly.
Until the screen

went white, and I stepped out on the street.

6

Outside the theatre, buildings, trees, mailboxes,

the mouths of sewers, everything seemed bigger than before

I saw the film.
The coffers like streets suspended in air.

Had I stepped out of a realistic film and into a city

of giants?
For a moment I thought volume and perspective

were going insane.
A natural insanity.
Without edges.
Even my
clothes

had undergone a mutation!
Trembling, I shoved my hands

in the pockets of my black bomber jacket, started walking.

7

I followed the garbage trucks’ tracks without knowing for absolute
certain

what I was hoping to find.
All the avenues

poured into an Olympic Stadium of epic proportions.

An Olympic Stadium sketched in the void of the universe.

I recalled nights without stars, the eyes of a Mexican girl, a
teenager

with a bare chest and a jackknife.
I’m in a place where

you can only see with your fingertips, I thought.
There’s no one here.

8

I’d gone to see “The Last Savage” and on leaving the theatre

had no place to go.
In a sense I was

the character from the film and my black motorcycle carried me

straight to destruction.
No more moonlight dancing

on shop windows, no more garbage trucks, no more

desaparecidos
.
I’d seen death mate with sleep

and I was spent.

MI VIDA EN LOS TUBOS
DE SUPERVIVENCIA

MY LIFE IN THE TUBES
OF SURVIVAL

Follow, poet, follow right

To the bottom of the night

AUDEN

Resurrección dijo el viajero en la posada, tal vez un
árabe

o un sudamericano

y se durmió junto al fuego.

En la hoguera crepitaban los Arnolfini:

estela que atraviesa los campos y las lluvias,

los periodos de fecundación y de cosecha, la historia

es inasible

pero a veces el misterio cae en nuestros sueños

como un pájaro en el regazo de una niña.

Los Arnolfini, amor mío, la resurrección

dijo el viajero,

nuestro tiempo no tiene fin.

Resurrection said the traveler at the inn, perhaps an
Arab

or a South American,

and he slept beside the fire.

The Arnolfinis crackled in the blaze:

trail crossing fields and rains,

periods of fertilization and harvest, history

is elusive

but sometimes mystery falls into our dreams

like a bird in a little girl’s lap.

The Arnolfinis, my love, the resurrection

said the traveler,

our time has no end.

POLICÍAS

Romeo y Julieta en un sistema policiaco

Todo Dante todo Bocaccio todo Ariosto

Marlowe en un sistema policiaco

El fulgor oculto de Velázquez

Acuático desértico arbóreo aéreo mi cuerpo en un sistema

de comisarías y coches patrulla y la radio

a medianoche

sólo diciendo que algo marcha mal en el Distrito V

entre la calle Hospital y la calle del Carmen

¡bloqueen Jerusalén, saquen a los negros

del bar Jerusalén!

Y entre los pescados y los puestos de fruta

y los puestos de verdura y los puestos de carne

pasean los hombros y las rodillas de los polis

¡Cada vez más jóvenes!

Busca en Arquíloco la presencia inevitable

de los detectives

busca en Anacreonte las estelas de los policías

Armados hasta los dientes o desnudos

son los únicos capaces de mirar

como si sólo ellos tuvieran ojos

son los únicos que podrán reconocernos

más allá de cualquier gesto:

brazo inmovilizado en indicaciones

que ya nada querrán decir

POLICE

Romeo and Juliette in a system of law enforcement

All Dante all Boccaccio all Ariosto

Marlowe in a system of law enforcement

The hidden brilliance of Velázquez

Aquatic desert arboreal aerial my body in a system

of commissioners and patrol cars and the radio

at midnight

saying only that something’s gone wrong in District V

between Hospital Street and Carmen Street

block off Jerusalem!
pull the blacks

out of Jerusalem bar!

And between the fish and the fruit stands

and the vegetable stands and the meat stands

pass the men and the cops’ knees

Younger and younger!

Look to Archilochus for the inevitable presence

of detectives

look to Anacreon for the policemen’s trails

Armed to the teeth or naked

they’re the only ones able to watch

as if only they had eyes

they’re the only ones who could recognize us

in spite of any gesture to the contrary:

arm frozen to indicate

they’ve nothing more to say

Soñé con detectives helados en el gran

refrigerador de Los Ángeles

en el gran refrigerador de México D.F.

I dreamt of frozen detectives in the great

refrigerator of Los Angeles

in the great refrigerator of Mexico City

LOS DETECTIVES

Soñé con detectives perdidos en la ciudad oscura

Oí sus gemidos, sus náuseas, la delicadeza

De sus fugas

Soñé con dos pintores que aún no tenían

40 años cuando Colón

Descubrió América

(Uno clásico, intemporal, el otro

Moderno siempre

Como la mierda)

Soñé con una huella luminosa

La senda de las serpientes

Recorrida una y otra vez

Por detectives

Absolutamente desesperados

Soñé con un caso difícil,

Vi los pasillos llenos de policías

Vi los cuestionarios que nadie resuelve

Los archivos ignominiosos

Y luego vi al detective

Volver al lugar del crimen

Solo y tranquilo

Como en las peores pesadillas

Lo vi sentarse en el suelo y fumar

En un dormitorio con sangre seca

Mientras las agujas del reloj

Viajaban encogidas por la noche

Interminable

THE DETECTIVES

I dreamt of detectives lost in the dark city

I heard their moans, their disgust, the delicacy

Of their escape

I dreamt of two painters who weren’t even

40 when Columbus

Discovered America

(One classic, eternal, the other

Modern always,

Like a pile of shit)

I dreamt of a glowing footprint

The serpents’ trails

Observed time and again

By detectives

Who were utterly desperate

I dreamt of a difficult case,

I saw corridors filled with cops

I saw interrogations left unresolved

The ignominious archives

And then I saw the detective

Return to the scene of the crime

Tranquil and alone

As in the worst nightmares

I saw him sit on the floor and smoke

In a bedroom caked with blood

While the hands of the clock

Traveled feebly through the

Infinite night

LOS DETECTIVES PERDIDOS

Los detectives perdidos en la ciudad oscura

Oí sus gemidos

Oí sus pasos en el Teatro de la Juventud

Una voz que avanza como una flecha

Sombra de cafés y parques

Frecuentados en la adolescencia

Los detectives que observan

Sus manos abiertas

El destino manchado con la propia sangre

Y tú no puedes ni siquiera recordar

En dónde estuvo la herida

Los rostros que una vez amaste

La mujer que te salvó la vida