Old tree, II

Poem By Francesc Parcerisas

What thrived in the tree still lingers,
for everything that was remains.
Rather like the resting hand
that murmurs: come.
Because the hand is tantamount
to the man himself: tree and thought
that craves and seeks
to survive in you,
for if you contemplate being, you exist,
and if you ponder
the notion of life's emptiness
you become emptiness.
Causality.
The hand approaches
to reward me with certainty,
almost as if desire and being
collected on our lips,
where, we are, in truth, the tree.
Where I am your bark,
and you, the emptiness that burns me.

Translated by Cyrus Cassells

Comments about Old tree, II

There is no comment submitted by members.


Rating Card

5 out of 5
0 total ratings

Other poems of PARCERISAS

Act of Gratitude

Thank you, angel. Thank you, demons of the night.
Thank you, winter where the heart burns
arid tree-trunks of desire. Thank you,

Snowy Cemetery

Thick flakes of snow fall, hushing everything,
hushing the girl who's left the cemetery,
hushing the earth that fails to realize
it's the earth of a graveyard,

The Egyptian Room

I sit in the Egyptian room in the museum
and hear the honeyed buzzing of the bees.
The past is with us, now: yellow and blue,
like the wheat the labourer is threshing, or that stork

Virgil's Hand

The battle's slow and sinuous,
a stormy fire on the hilltops.
The enemy's spears and darts