for Juan Gris
Near the whirling prairies
as the night plays its record
and birds hang from withered trees
the river flows past once in silence
Final drops of moon still perfume
the shrouds of mist with liquer and the train
blessing the scene hasn’t misplaced
the miles or the rhythm of the route
But forget about that and let’s
properly decipher this text
the sun has handed down
one page of its flank a wound
The telegraphic spider
sends out the night
and as a local well relaxes
in its cage of glass
the multicopier and star enrage
the poet who’s flown to the gate
We have to change course
and like those in the country picking flowers
carry lyrical luggage on our shoulders
Ripe fountains
offering on the side
your intact fruit
it’s key you move like chaste winds
not plucking stars from trees
Look at the laundresses
their clean petticoats feeding on colors
The foam they produce
rises as high
as that song they sing
The moon grinds stars
without music or water
and idle love
rises and falls
The tide is your womb
transfixed with grace
and from its nest love
spins and spins
like the muddy mill
in the woods
And for each memory
in my pocket the murmur of the dam
and a taste of backwater soap
The tired bridges sleep
on the riverbank
curled like cats
Only the devoted fishermen
kneel and wait
for flowers and flags to sprout from their poles
Night spills
and splits the horizon
We’re bringing this drama to a close
The bridges go forth
walking south to north
And my boat has fallen asleep
without making a sound
An hour floats up to the sky
The swallow and my handkerchief
nest on the cross
A breeze coming off the sea
is what ends the night and my song
A member of the so-called “generation of ’27,” Gerardo Diego (1896-1987) was the Spanish poet among his peers who first became interested in avant-garde poetics. The mode he adopted in his experimental poems was “creacionismo” or “literary cubism.” An accomplished pianist and music critic, Diego went on to publish many books, and was an active editor including as the first anthologist of his co-hort. He earned his living as a high school French teacher. In 1979 he shared the Cervantes Prize—Spanish letters’ highest honor—with Jorge Luis Borges. The pieces published here were written in 1922 while living on the north coast of Spain in a bungalow on the beach. It forms part of his collection, Handbook of Foams/Manual de espumas, which Shearsman Books in the United Kingdom will be issuing in early 2026 in a dual-language edition with English translations by Francisco Aragón.
Francisco Aragón is the son of Nicaraguan immigrants. A native of San Francisco, California, he is the author of After Rubén (Red Hen Press, 2020), Glow of Our Sweat (Scapegoat Press, 2010) and Puerta del Sol (Bilingual Press, 2005), as well as editor of the anthology The Wind Shifts: New Latino Poetry (University of Arizona Press, 2007). As a translator from the Spanish, Aragón has had a hand in a number of books, including volumes by Francisco X. Alarcón (1954-2016), Federico García Lorca (1888-1936) and Gerardo Diego (1896-1987). More recently, he’s been rendering into English versions of Rubén Darío (1867-1916). His translations have appeared in Beltway Poetry Quarterly, Chain, Chelsea, The Cortland Review, Jacket, Nimrod, and ZYZZYVA. For more information, visit: http://franciscoaragon.net