The beloved and the sea

Beloved do not look at the sea
the swell drags a despoliation of shipwrecks
when the seagulls try themselves against the high OR
blinded storm waves.

Beloved afternoon moves the horizon away
the wind climbs the rigging as a wild phantom
the square-rig entangles the mermaids dance at Antonio’s bar
a ship ululates at high sea
the masts whitened the mizzen the fore-mast
the bell sounds blunt with a sad muted noise
the surge is the frothy ocean like champagne
just served
gannets on the warpath with unfolded wings
a woman cries on the rocks
seaweed from Polynesia wood from Madagascar
the clouds are shipwrecked sail without course

Beloved do not look at the sea
gathering your hair as if it were a net loaded with fishes
steep birds dolphins going around
barrels with fresh water spice casks
of diverse provenance the fog
blurs your forsaken glance a gust of wind
nourishes your brackish skin in the dark

Beloved in this boat, confused, I weighed anchor one morning
the luggage the uncertain trip
the rats the ship they skillfully evaded it as if nothing had happened
in the forearm sank munched the tattoo

Beloved do not look at the sea
let your body be penetrated by the wind your lips become damp
clumsily sailing my coast in your tempest

Beloved close your clear eyes
kiss me on the cheeks mightily make tighter the air
do not let me sleep
the night to me is an early calumny
a dark epos an obscene falseness
that death snatches eagerly.

(Tranl. Christine de Luca)