Lucía M. Polis The Poetry of

This poem appears in The Love of a Good Man.

This is my translation of «За соседним столиком».

Passing lanes on the highway, faster and faster,
А man paints a line illuminated with colour.
With a mighty arm he warns the masses:
They must not understand his words' dolor.

And this man runs fast, turning leaves like pages,
Knowing nothing of speed or gravity's vice
And in a clear voice to last ages,
He declares, "I came not to give you advice.

I will not bring to your brain a war of classes,
Won't freely give out beauty's elation,
But I will tell you all how all is within me
And will grant you the right to empathicipation.

I will be water in electric wires
And cheap wine on red tongues elastic.
I will be steely and leatherywooden
But above all things the I I I will be plastic.

A million lovers will buy me and sell me
And, like hundreds of flies on a jam jar,
They'll at length watch my words' play;
For them I will open my heart ajar.

I will cut off a hair and it will grow and flourish,
Becoming a flower's thirsty root pathway,
Under the foot of the man of the hour
Passing long lanes on his run on the highway.

And I will tell you all how your end you will meet
And how you will be reborn in an autumnal spasm
And how you will all have great songs at your feet
When you will be I in the ecstasy of an orgasm.

I will outlive hunger, thirst, and misfortune
And in azure summer skies will drown, calm and stoic.
And now, allow me to introduce myself:
Tonight, I will be your poet."