José Emilio Pacheco would be 79 years old; we remember it with 4 poems about the catastrophe and the end

Poet of the "disaster and the great heaviness of the blood", Jose Emilio Pacheco will meet this June 30, 79 years. He is remembered with four poems that contain the imminence of the irremediable: the life of junk, pigs and fish asphyxiation.

Junk

The guard does not let me through.

I have exceeded the age limit.

I come from a country that no longer exists

My papers are not in good standing

I need a stamp

J & # 39; need another signature

I do not speak the language.

I did not

I failed admission exam

They canceled my position in the big factory

I was unemployed today and forever.

I completely miss the influence.

I've been here at

And our masters say it's time

to shut up and sink into the trash.

A pig in front of God

I'm seven years old. At the farm, I observe
through a window a man who crosses
and who will kill a pig
I do not want to see the show
hear premonitory cries
. ] (Almost human is, zoologists say,
Inside the intelligent pig,
even more than dogs and horses.)
Creatures of God, my grandmother calls them
] Brother pig, I would have said San Francisco
And now it's the notch and the flowing blood
And I'm a child but I'm wondering already:
God did he create the pigs to devour?
Who is he responding to? : to the prayer of the pig
or to the one who crossed to cut his throat?
If God exists, why does this pig suffer?
Bubbles the flesh in the oil.
Soon, I'll swallow like a pig
But I'm not going to meet at the table

Questions about imprecations pigs

Why all their names are njurias ?:
Pig of pig pig.
Living dirt; eat, swallow
(because they will be eaten and eaten).

On their knees and cheek scorn contempt
for their ludicrous appearance, their lust,
their fears of obscene owner.
Nobody cries when I die more plaintively,
repeating interminably:
and thinking that for that I was prepared,
what pigs do you pigs what pigs

first degree equation with a stranger

the city, by mistake

or spooky incongruity, I saw

suddenly a fish almost dead. Boqueaba

poisoned by dirty water, lethal

as our air. What frenzy

of his round lips,

the movable zero of his mouth.

Perhaps nothing

or the indescribable word,

the last voice

of nature in the valley

For him there was no salvation

but of choose between two forms of suffocation

And it does not leave me in peace the double agony,

the torment of water and its inhabitant

his will to be heard

his irrevocable sentence

I will never know what he was trying to tell me

the speechless fish who spoke only the tongue

omnipotent of the death of our mother [19659023] AG