To cross the desert

Leído en la presentación de Paraísos 
http://estocolmoblog.blogspot.com.ar/2012/10/la-culebra.html

Traducción al inglés de Harry Havilio.

To cross the desert barefootIs not the best choiceOne should wear high boots and rough fabric jeansJust in case of snakesIt is advisable to carry water, a compass, antidotes and sunglassesBecause of the damaging lightThat dazes and finally blindsAlso it is recommended not to leave the footpath,Straighten up, the top of the head towards the skyAnd look aheadThere in the woods of lean palm treesWhere the river ends in a swampBut it was not a night like the othersIn which I spent my time trying to kissIn every possible wayI always left almost at the preliminariesBetween metaphors and shouldersBetween ice-creams and hallucinationsSucking the air and, better yet, the thumbWith my mouth openDriving the buffalos away with my tongueFrom inside outLike a hunting toadTimid, outrageousAnd before that, around the fireside, songs and sparkling wineWhich we smuggled inThinking of the futureUntil someone put us on guard, did you hear those noises?Jackals, teachers, rapers?A timely panic was producedThat came to an end through crowdingWithin our tents we spent thousands of hours interminglingLocking our elbows, colliding with our ankles, watching the glow wormsEverybody speaking out freely, throats at knife`s lengthUnrestrained, sad and ammoniacCrazy, stupid, separatedLesbians, death, planetary were also spokenSome of us smelled fresh blood for the first timeOthers faked deep sleepNobody dared to go out until sunriseFearing the buffalosWhich imagined or notLeft their excrements at the stakesMeanwhile and for everI fell in loveThat is why I darted out barefoot to the desertFeverish like boiling skinForlorn in the worldNot heeding any counselsIn the middle of nowhereStill far away from those palmtreesThat thicken and reddenLike tropical demonsI am transformed into a ball of temptationsA blue ball, frivolous, sentimentalAnd I feel urged to writeHer name, my name, anything that comes to my mindThen, in that precise and lasting momentI lean in a crouching positionTo pick up a striped sand coloured branchThat will guide and comfort meTo be used as a pointerBut it is neither a branch nor sand that I graspI realize lateThat a well camouflaged snakeChanges from a static to a frantic stageAnd binds my hand like a rubber and honey spearThe shock is dreadful, necessaryAnd we will no longer be able to loosen awayEven if we wanted toWhile my skin does not fall off entirelyAnd she will not change all her scales
 From http://ampersand.andotherstories.org/to-cross-the-desert-by-iosi-havilio-a-poem-about-albertus-seba/