American Bestiary. Diego Maenza
the body of an alligator.
I say that my heart is beastly:
anomalous vermin that swims in chaos.
One day I copulated with a nereid and her lips
were crystal flowers, leaving the swamp.
It was getting dark and we were still mating.
She groaned and I said “I love you”.
I fell in love with the nereid and her light lips,
the subtlety of her settings immolating my scales.
It was the last night I saw her on the Magdalena River
and wandered on its banks to my own scorn.
Spectra fable their own legends
and project their frustrations into my life.
Intermittent snoopers that darken the day,
sad voyeurs feeding the night.
I think like a man and I feel like a beast.
When I become a man, I am depraved,
I produce the support of pale slogans.
When I become a beast, I am sensitive
and fall in love with the creatures of water.
When I become a man, I am the beast.
When I annihilate myself, I am the resurrection of the swamps.
Am I an alligator with a man`s head
or am I a man with an alligator body?
When did I degenerate my nature and become a human being?
Every day I fight not to turn into a monster.
I look for the nereid among the rubble
that originated the estuaries of pessimism.
From Plato to Bocas de Ceniza,
you will always see me on the shores of the Caribbean.
THE KHARISIRI
(Whistled ballad in the wind from Guaqui to Potosí)
Shadows fall and its entrails awaken.
(Lake Titicata is a hotbed of sounds)
The creatures emerge with a new skin.
(The wacanas, wac, wac, emit their squawks)
Chorus
Do not look at his eyes, his blond hair.
The demon of the plateau.
The demon of the Aymaras.
Do not invoke his name, do not say his name:
Liqichiri, Phistaco, Ñaqaq, Khari Khari.
The demons do not sleep.
Never travel alone on the trails of Achacachi.
(Sometimes he does not look fat but the marrow)
If there are no humans, he feeds on alpacas.
(First he steals your tool, then he uses your little machine)
The chorus is repeated
Do not look at his eyes, his blond hair.
The demon of the plateau.
The demon of the Aymaras.
Do not invoke his name, do not say his name:
Liqichiri, Phistaco, Ñaqaq, Khari Khari.
The demons do not sleep.
THE WHISTLER
(Monologue of a Venezuelan plainsman)
High-pitched sound driven by air
invade the silence and break the darkness:
fright arises, the hairs stand on end.
The night glows with darkness.
Whistle that breaks the music theory,
a wanderer creeps away
between the sheets of mist
proclaims the arrival of death.
His whistle is born as the fruit of pain,
scream of assassin, groan of parricide.
Cursed by their ancestors
he carries the skeleton of his parent.
He wanders on the plains on rainy days,
he walks through the plain in times of drought;
while he rests, a bark frightens him:
his dog Tureco follows him until the end of the days.
The whistle penetrates the ears and instills cold,
persecutes pregnant women and drunken people.
It is long and ungainly like a sickle.
He walks with his head downcast.
He wears a hat that covers his shame.
He has a bag that curves his back.
He faces a penalty that consumes him.
He has a pain that condemns him.
If the whistle is heard nearby,
do not fear because the whistler is far away.
If the whistle is heard far away,
the whistler is upon you.
He persecutes drunken people and womanizers.
He sucks the navel of the drunken people
to drink their schnapps.
He destroys the womanizers.
He does not rest.
When he allows himself to rest
counting the skeleton of his creator,
Tureco's howl terrifies him.
He skins the innocent people
and collect the bones
along with the remains of his architect.
If you are a walker, have your own dog.
The whistle is premonition of death.
Take care of those who walk
by the plains of Guanarito
or through the plains of Cojedes and Barinas.
THE WIDOW
(Desperate song of a Chilean widow)
I got married with excessive love on a full moon.
My husband made me happy that night.
Confusion of love, moon and blood: they murdered him.
I swore to finish off the line of homicides: I went mad.
I agreed with dark forces that promised to return him
if I complied with a series of nightly murders.
I did not hesitate and started planning the crimes,
looking for ethyl harlots, angry drunkards.
And I scream: You murdered him and I was so alone,
surprising their backs with my scary appearance.
I keep my feminine essence in my petticoats.
I am