<html><head><meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"></head><body style="word-wrap: break-word; -webkit-nbsp-mode: space; line-break: after-white-space;" class=""><div dir="auto" style="word-wrap: break-word; -webkit-nbsp-mode: space; line-break: after-white-space;" class=""><font size="4" class="">Track of the Drop<br class=""><br class=""> </font>to Pablo Neruda<br class=""><font size="4" class=""><br class=""> I<br class=""><br class="">I remember you in Holland<br class="">where the roses lack color<br class="">and the soul you gave the machine<br class="">does not know the people.<br class="">Yours is the vice of loving<br class="">and on your tongue even the thistle<br class="">----knows how to give honey —<br class="">there is blood like that of Federico<br class="">----that knows how to hurt.<br class="">But here the pupils are of glass<br class="">and despair is a drop of water<br class="">that runs through the canals golden,<br class="">not with lemons but dead leaves.<br class=""><br class=""> II<br class=""><br class="">It has been nine years that in Holland,<br class="">I wrote you a poem —<br class=""> full of water, dry leaves<br class=""> and a vision of lemons.<br class=""><br class="">It was November —<br class=""> now it is October —<br class="">on the tenth I count my thirty-eighth<br class="">and you have died.<br class=""><br class="">I think you poppies and geraniums —<br class="">the skin of Spain and bloodied Chile —<br class="">hunger, thirst,<br class=""> grapes and stars.<br class="">There are inventories in my bones<br class="">and nettles in the furrows of my fingers.<br class=""><br class="">Poet — I lack lilies of consolation.<br class=""> Poet — Chile pains me<br class=""> like a sting in the brain.<br class=""> Poet — I am numb;<br class="">the only thing I feel is that you are dead.<br class=""><br class=""><br class=""> - Rafael Jesús González</font><div class=""><font size="4" class=""><br class=""></font></div><div class=""><font size="4" class="">(</font>It was on September 11, 1973 that the U. S. C.I.A.-instigated military coup in Chile overthrew the legally elected and popular government of Salvador Allende initiating an era of brutal dictatorship and bloodshed. President Allende was murdered as was the poet-composer Víctor Jara among thousands of others. The aging poet Pablo Neruda was held under house arrest where he died soon after.)<br class=""><div class=""><font size="4" class=""><br class=""></font><div class=""><font size="4" class=""><br class=""></font></div><div class=""><font size="4" class="">Rastro de la gota<br class=""><br class=""> </font>a Pablo Neruda<font size="4" class=""><br class=""><br class=""> I<br class=""><br class="">Te recuerdo en Holanda<br class="">donde las rosas carecen de olor<br class="">y el alma que le diste a la máquina<br class="">no conoce a la gente.<br class="">Tu vicio es vicio de amar<br class="">y en tu lengua hasta el cardo<br class=""> sabe dar miel —<br class="">hay sangre como la de Federico<br class=""> que sabe doler.<br class="">Pero aquí las pupilas son de vidrio<br class="">y la desesperación es una gota de agua<br class="">que se escurre por los canales dorados,<br class="">no de limones sino de hojas muertas.<br class=""><br class=""> II<br class=""><br class="">Hace nueve años que en Holanda<br class="">te compuse un verso —<br class=""> lleno de agua, hojas secas<br class=""> y visión de limones.<br class=""><br class="">Era noviembre —<br class=""> es ahora octubre —<br class="">el diez cuento mis treinta y ocho<br class="">y te has muerto.<br class=""><br class="">Te pienso amapolas y geranios —<br class="">el cuero de España y Chile ensangrentado —<br class="">hambre, sed,<br class=""> uvas y luceros.<br class="">Hay inventarios en mis huesos<br class="">y ortigas en los surcos de mis dedos.<br class=""><br class="">Poeta — me faltan azucenas de consuelo.<br class=""> Poeta — me duele Chile<br class=""> como una punzada en el cerebro.<br class=""> Poeta — estoy entumido;<br class="">lo único que siento es que has muerto.<br class=""><br class=""><br class=""><br class=""> - Rafael Jesús González <br class=""></font></div></div></div></div></body></html>