Vamos con un poema de Diane Seuss. Un poema nada romántico, al contrario de lo que indica su título. Un poema directo y claro. Moderno.
Romantic Poet
You would not have loved him,
my friend the scholar
decried. He brushed his teeth,
if at all, with salt. He lied,
and rarely washed
his hair. Wiped his ass
with leaves or with his hand.
The top of his head would have barely
reached your tits. His pits
reeked, as did his deathbed.
But the nightingale, I said.
Poeta romántico
No lo habrías amado,
amiga mía al erudito
condenado. Se cepillaba los dientes
si se daba el caso, con sal. Mentía,
y rara vez se lavaba
el pelo. Se limpiaba el culo
con hojas o con la mano.
La parte superior de su cabeza apenas
habría llegado a tus tetas. Sus axilas
apestaban, al igual que su lecho de muerte.
Excepto ese ruiseñor, he dicho.
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