By Daniel Link
This poem is part of the cycle Psychopathology. During three weekends in Bahia Blanca coordinated a workshop for poets. One of the exercises proposed to the participants was to write a poem called "Bahia Blanca". This is my own answer to that slogan. I won, their versions, some flashbacks.
For Pamela
The last time, before now,
It was in Berlin. Perdoname
Paul, was in Berlin. We were
you and I Dead
cold and despair
the streets of Kreuzberb,
Craving a red wine, an emotion Argentina,
The intimate knife to her throat.
And we hear, behind a thick curtain of dirt
-started the year ninety-three, and was in Berlin-
Presenting Sonia (or Isabel, or Sandra, or maybe Susana)
I was going to sing for a group of drunken self-absorbed
German and Turkish songs across the Atlantic,
Ours
The samba of hope
What we did not have then or now.
Cold dead we will hopefully hear
tricky The plot of the fascia grimaces
And we saw the makeup emphatic
The stupidity of the drunken Germans and Turks
The show starving, barely sustained by a
exotic
A force fed alcohol, despair and cold. Make us
invite your cheap hotel was easy.
looked as doing what I wanted,
What I did was sent
With Sonia (Isabel, Sandra, and Susan).
made me promise to never again
Paul (sorry, sorry!).
was the last time,
Before Bahia Blanca, a small hotel in
Kreuzberg sinister
that intoxicates me only with the smell of tear gas
And the noise of police sirens
coming through the double glass window,
closed as it was.
Isabel, or Sandra, or Sonia, just complained.
do not know if he was happy.
The left bare, open two
on the bed.
And I promised that never again, Paul,
Nevermore.
"The Chain", commanded, "must be cut."
But eight years after Hamburg,
Prague, Berlin, Madrid, Asuncion and Bogota, arrived in Bahia Blanca
With only a secret mission
The Ministry Water
had given me.
"Bahía Blanca is rotting from the inside," he said.
"Look how to solve it," he ordered.
And I came to this city that is rotting inside.
and destiny and cold, and despair
put me in front of another thick curtain of dirt,
Stupidity, make emphatic, alcohol, cheating
Frames, boredom and cold. I went with my box
vice
In the inside pocket of his jacket:
Drugs, latex gloves,
nylon thread, rubber bands
,
The Swiss Army knife you gave me.
Forgive me, forgive me!
"The string
That has cut
. " Pamela
talked, danced, pretended to sing. Excite
buried part of me
After Kreuzberg, Prague, Berlin and Bogota.
was easy to invite me to his apartment
claim that intoxicates me with industrial chlorine smell of cat pee.
erotic responded to my claims. Excite
adventure desire (for her, I was a foreign exotic
come across the Atlantic).
do not know if she was happy.
purred in his ear,
With my best voice,
vice Feeling the box
In the inside pocket of my jacket.
"You're going to be my bitch,"
"I'm going to make everything I want, what I am commanded
make,
what nobody did." His
colored lenses remained on the table.
While drugs began to affect Pamela
undressed for me.
"So, bitch."
Almost all naked, I gave her buttocks
rotten inside,
With the industrial chlorine smell cat pee
Let me
input feverish and I was obliged to resolve.
Its vocabulary was so limited
As Kreuzberg, Hamburg, Bogotá.
I explained what was "perineum."
Search your perineum, caress, I promised
tongue
The enjoyment unheard
All
zamba of hope that he longed for someone to offer. Pamela
lay face down, offering his buttocks
emphatic
His stupidity, its plot tricky.
I said no.
"Turn around bitch, I see your face."
The nylon thread on their wrists,
The Swiss Army knife in my gloved hands
latex.
"I am going to undress" purred in his ear
thick dirt and rotten
inside. His excitement only tolerated
(Forgive me, Paul,
Forgive!)
aspirations to which the subjected.
"Pamela,
I will make what ever
nobody did." I tied his testicles almond
with a rubber band.
Three laps and blood circulation stopped.
"gonna be my bitch"
While lubricated with her saliva and my fingers latex
Its poor vocabulary, his stupidity, his perineum.
testicular ablation is a cinch.
An incision in the scrotum,
A quick cut in the sperm ducts.
Your Swiss Army knife, Pablo, sorry!,
did all the work for me. Pamela
almost enjoyed.
was frightened when I showed him what he had cut,
Those rotten inside
Thumbelina would have preferred not to burden across the world.
"And now I will work on your perineum"
purred in his ear as he put on his mouth
The drug swab.
The Swiss Army knife drew a line of blood.
I kept cutting, cleaving the labia
bloody skin With your perineum. I kept cutting
behind the corpus cavernosum:
Muscles, meat, Pamela, my love,
I did everything I was meant to solve.
did not lose consciousness or limited vocabulary.
Pale, was bleeding.
I could not more of excitement, was at risk.
A drop of semen invisible
would have sufficed for a DNA test.
"Pamela, my bitch" purred in his ear
"You will die like a woman ritually bleeding."
your perineum blood soaked bed. His legs exhausted
opened like a bay. Her makeup ran
emphatic
In Wireless tears of industrial chlorine. The last pit
blew his air
artery and a stream of blood drawn
miserable on the wall of his room
A Jackson Pollock.
I dressed and went silent. Pamela
ritual was going to die, no blood, an hour later.
For the city rotting from the inside, I was a stranger
across the Atlantic.
and had betrayed a promise.
Sorry, Paul, sorry! Longed
country,
The intimate knife to her throat, and an order
made me forget confusing
In Kreuzberg, Bogotá
And the claim that it had accepted in your mouth
The chain had to be cut.
But now follows, and will continue.
I'm leaving this city that is rotting inside.
My report will say:
"Bahía Blanca is rotting inside. I looked into its depths
the reasons
industrial chlorine smell of cat pee.
But in truth,
I could not find the cause. "
Outside report: I felt cold,
and despair, and the box
vice.
Sorry, Paul, sorry.
Ando, \u200b\u200bstealth, and Recife. Walked
the vice
box in the inside pocket of his jacket. Humming
, yes, samba of hope.
The chain would be cut.
Daniel Link
Delhi, August 2001
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