Written by Albert Forns.
Translated from Catalan by Gustavia Yvonne Kendall.
Poems from the collection Ultracolors.
Today I’ve never seen
Today I’ve never done
Today I’ve never been.
I am the date, the telegram.
I am the day we’ve met again.
To count the years of a millennium a million times over
To repeat, and not advance this as courage.
We’re at the now of each day
And all its growing plants and greenery.
As always, you’ve turned away from me
Just one meter farther, the exact distance
That makes it all such a domestic mechanism.
They don’t cry out in exaltation, in hyperfeeling.
They’re just toxic
The levels of pollution and life expectancy.
Weeks of closet basics
Scraping loose strings
delayed by poetry.
Old hits play, but never mine.
I pass from holding you
to these winter evergreens
An alarm and minuscule electric routines.
Where are those hours, lost, perdu?
No one will ever return them to you.
I like to find that one, that specific painting, the one that leaves me breathless for a
so that, for a few seconds, I am the white canvas with my pain exploding red.
All but time is missing,
Scenery without inquiry.
The “there’s no there there”
when it’s literal
You dream that you dream and you wake and all is as before and you wake and all is
the same as it was.
Featured image: Mark Rothko, Purple, White and Red (1953); JR P / Flickr