Wednesday, April 29, 2015

What Is The Opposite Of Absolute Zero?

                           Came we then to the bounds of deepest water,
                           To the Kimmerian lands, and peopled cities
                           Covered with close-webbed mist, unpierced ever
                           With glitter of sun-rays

                                                                        Ezra Pound


Is it antimetaphor to say that truth is cold?

What is the opposite of absolute zero?

When cold leaves lair into summer air
do butterflies fall like razor blades?

Ruthless in its ancient cave,
never seeing sunlight, craving.

And what of desire?
Is it infinite heat waiting
to be devoured by truth?



falling, whitening, making ghosts
of land and water.


Are absolutes truly opposite and jointly apposite
of another there?

Is the teleology of matter by matter formed?

Is lack of appetition appetition's eyes?

Comes the Ice Age. Waters rise. Wooly Mammoth hypnotizes
geneticists to resurrect its form.

The cold burns across the planet dancing with invisible warm.


On the tundra a million years ahead
an encampment of hunters
following game across the plain.

Numbered among the domes
the heavy-boned tabernacle
of the man who sells letters.

“Anyone to trade venison
for an 'S'?” he sings, “to engrave
a hiss upon the dart and speed it
to its prey ?”


He keeps the campfire.

He fashions arrowheads and torches.

He strings bows
and notches arrows.

He paints with animal fat
and ocher.

He counts winter
(there is only one season
and only he can count).

The lady of the hut
comes and goes looking
for the misplaced tooth
and leg he lost to
a Siberian tiger.

She plays the bone flute.

She is expert in poisons.

See his hands.

See his forearms.

See his fingers and nails.

In daydream he invents the wheel
but reasons there are no roads
to roll it on nor a beast to pull it.

He looks at the missus.

“Anyone to trade for a Capital 'I'?”,
he sighs, “Use it to comb hair.”

Her eyes burn like a flint blade.

He settles for dogs and a hupak'in
from which arises sleigh.


As ambiguity is the unspoken figure,

wheel-less and wily,

as lust flows in waves across poems,

so is ground the third term:

snow melts, mares are delivered of colts,

and the travois fills with children.

E. A. Costa 28 April, 2015  San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

Shopping List

She said: diecisiete.

He looked at the strange
fruit on the counter

He fumbled for change.

He repeated: diecisiete?

She nodded.

She took diecisiete
out of his hand
coin by coin.

Very gently he touched
the fruit.

He said: KS—tuna?

She said: guanabana.

He said: guanabana?

She nodded.

For the first time
in two years she
smiled warmly.

Seventeen is dear
for a can of 7Up
but it was very cold.

He said: gracias.

He walked away

He could tell
she was thinking

Curious and not as simple

as he appears.

E. A. Costa 28 April, 2015 San Juan del Sur, Nicaragua

Wednesday, April 15, 2015



Rain is a million serpents

falling from the sky

crawling over dry earth

slithering in infinite joy

hissing mirthfully as they fill

every thirsty crevice.


Lluvia es un millón de serpientes
cayendo del cielo,

arrastrándose por el árido suelo,

deslizandose delirantemente,

felizmente siseando,

como sacian cada fisura sedienta.

E. A. Costa 15 April, 2015 Granada, Nicaragua

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

Clouds/ Nubes


Clouds aloof and proud:
as if in purity and sins,

from white to gray to garish orange,

they justify the harsh blue
roof of sky.


Nubes distantes y orgullosas:
como si su pureza y sus pecados

--de blanco a gris a naranja chillón--

justificaran el azul duro del cielo.

E. A. Costa 14 April, 2015 Granada, Nicaragua..

Monday, April 13, 2015

In The Tropics/ En los trópicos

In the tropics
every night is winter.

Stars hang like icicles
in the low cold cave.

The moon snows
and water splinters
into glass.

En los trópicos

En los trópicos
cada noche es invierno.

Las estrellas cuelgan
como carámbanos
en la caverna fría.

Cae nieve de la luna
y agua se hace astillas
de vidrio.

E. A. Costa 13 April 2015, Granada, Nicaragua

Sunday, April 12, 2015

Kobayashi Issa: La Nieve [雪]

Nieve se funde
y la aldea se inunda
con los niñitos.

Kobayashi Issa

Tr.  E. A. Costa (según la traducción inglesa de Robt. Hass)
abril 12. 2015 Granada, Nicaragua

Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Sara Teasdale, Let It Be Forgotten (Déjalo que sea algo olvivado)

Let it be forgotten, as a flower is forgotten,
Forgotten as a fire that once was singing gold.

Let it be forgotten for ever and ever,
Time is a kind friend, he will make us old.

If anyone asks, say it was forgotten
Long and long ago,
As a flower, as a fire, as a hushed footfall
In a long forgotten snow.

Sara Teasdale

Déjalo que sea algo olvidado

Déjalo que sea algo olvidado
como una flor ha sido olvidada,
olvidado como fuego que una vez
era oro cantante.

Tiempo está bondadoso—nos deja que
estaremos viejos--¡Que sea olvidado
por siempre jamás!

Si te pregunten—diga que
fue olvidado muchas eternidades atrás,
como la flor o fuego o una pisada callada
en nieve tan lejos olvidada.

Tr. E. A. Costa 1 April, 2015 Granada, Nicaragua