Greetigs, dear Steemians,
This is the second part of Oswaldo Acevedo's poem (you can check the first part here). Through this poem, he introduces himself and by doing it, he provides portraits where each one of us will see, even if fragmented, reflections of ourselves. Acevedo's poem takes us through a never-ending life cycle where all forms of life and all forms of beliefs coexist. I hope that in this #NewSteem era manual curators find Steemians such as @oacevedo and give them their due. I'll be transferring all rewards of these posts to the poet.

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The Caller (cont.)

[I am] The one who disorders the islands
who swells the clouds
who tropics in the streets
I am the one who let others hurt him
that definition of oblivion                                                                                 75
he who fills the intellect
with wandering conjectures
he who objects the sentence
while hitting the self-taught spook
the one who remits the pages, and addresses them,                                   80
he who was kissed
and walked barefoot at dawn

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I am the ignorant artist
I am the one who drips into oblivion
who gets entangled in a fight with a crucible                                                  85
I am that extraordinary being
who read his memorial in the cascade
the one who wants to know
how much we should worry
about the University and its steps                                                                    90
I am that wood carver
that was reached by a stone
I am, how promptly the memory sails,
that one who migrated one thirtieth of November
the one who took his Heinz quota when he was little                                   95
a boy that grew up playing marbles
the one who now fulfills the sacred duty
of toasting with friends
I am —in another system— a Jupiter prodigy
an oriental monkey who believes in miracles                                                100
I am, fully asserted, a perpetual relic
I am, here you have me anointed,
he who looks down in shame
I am that Zephyrus of lime and speech
that comes and go blindly in the afternoon                                                     105
I am the zodiac of evil
the summation of enigmas
I am that one. Yonder. The spilled mirror.
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The one who evokes the heavens sooner
I who scurry into the night                                                                          110
who discovered the uncertainty
under the rain
oh, I, a wound acclaimed with honors
a thinker of gospels
a wild scholar after the breeze                                                                   115
I am, this is incredible,
the one who with all his quotidian nostalgias
can’t still make his lips say
how the globicorn loves
How do you associate this sadness?                                                          120
I am at any time of this time
he who preaches the Natural State
who names himself a stock of other voices
that trap of the tongue I am
an immense why in posterity                                                                      125
I am, and it is nice that I am,
a gradual grain of void
he who breathes in the mortal balm of the stars
I am, nail by nail, arc by arc, cup by cup,
one, duo and triune                                                                                      130
he who was biographied by the waves
he who once burned his manuscripts
I who possess the gift of contradictions
I the nakedness of the rock
the formation, the effect of the world                                                       135
this, sirs, who fare thee well
abbreviating again towards the Beginning.

(1996)


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Translator’s notes:

Line 73: "tropics". Verbalization of the noun 'tropical' (something that produces heat, torridity).
Line 119: “globicorn”, a made-up creature

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