Sunday, January 22, 2012

Nathalie F. Anderson

Autumn, Casa Batlló

… the eye of a whirlwind …
Casa Batlló, Juan José Lahuerta, tr. Steve Cedar

Oak curdled to caramel
and plaster swirled in a silky batter –
                  piece of cake
kept long in the cupboard
skim crackling off the milk
the butter gone rancid

Water shatters in the sink
                  shatters the sink

She’s bedded down in dry rot and wood worm
motes rising and falling
                  the blue note and the yellow
and the undulated jamb splitting artistically
                  waves, wrinkles, folds
                  great drops held in suspension

Air shatters against the glass
                  shatters the glass

Senyora, your bones are showing

And when did the black lace, hoarded,
fray to tatters in its drawer?
Or the great-grandmother’s heirloom shawl,
its silk fringe fly-away as hair?

Fire shatters around the hearth
                  shatters the hearth

And the walls
lit as if from within,
the parquet dimming

The shawl flung down over the piano

                  (no space for a piano,
but were there a piano)

its moaré so frail, a chord shatters it


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