La alcachofa
de tierno corazon
se vistio de Guerrero,
erecta, construyo
una pequena cupula,
se mantuvo
impermeable
bajo
sus escamas,
a su lado,
los vegetales locos
se encresparon,
se hicieron
zarcillos, espadanas,
bulbos conmovedores,
em el subsuelo
durmio la zanahoria
de bigotes rojos,
la vina
reseco los sarientos
por donde sube el vino,
la col
se dedico
a probarse faldas,
el oregamo
a perfumar el mundo,
y la dulce
alcachofa
alli en el huerto,
vestida de Guerrero,
brunida
como una Granada,
orgullosa,
y un dia
una con otra
en grandes cestos
de mimbre, camino
poer el mercado
a realizar su sueno”
la milidia.
En hileras
nunca fue tan marcial
como en la feria,
los hombres
entre las legumbres
con sus camisas blancas
etam
marsicales
de las alcachofas,
las filas apretadas,
las voces de commando,
y la detonacion
de una caja que cae,
pero
entonces
viene
Maria con su cesto,
escoge
una alcachofa,
no le teme,
la examina, la observa
contra la luz como si fuera un huevo,
la compra,
la confunde
en su bolsa
con un par de zapatos,
con un repollo y una
botella
de vinagre
hasta
que emtrado a la cocina
la submerge en la olla.
Asi termina
en paz
esta Carrera
del vegetal armando
que se llama alcachofa,
luego
escama por escama
desvestimos
la delicia
y comemos
la pacifica pasta
du su corazon verde.
ODE TO THE ARTICHOKE
The artichoke
of tender heart
dresses like a warrior,
erect, built
as a small dome,
you remain
impermeable
beneath
the scales
by your side,
vegetable crazed
among your curls,
earrings, bulrushes,
soulful bulbs,
in the subsoil
the carrot slept
with red mustaches,
the wine
dries out on the branches
that bears the wine,
the cabbage
was dedicated
to try on its skirts,
the oregano
perfumes the world,
and the sweet
artichoke
there in the orchard,
burnished
like a pomegranate,
proud,
and one day
with another
in big baskets
of wicker, on the road
to the market
to make your dreams come true:
the militia.
In rows
never so orderly
as at the fair,
the men
among the greens
with their white shirts
were
marshals
of the artichoke,
the ranks tight,
voiced commands,
and a falling crate
detonated.
But
look
now
comes Maria,
with her shopping basket.
She chooses
an artichoke,
resolute,
she examines it, observes it,
against the light as if it were an egg,
she purchases it,
she confuses it
in her bag
with a pair of shoes,
with a cabbage, and one
bottle
of vinegar
before
she enters the kitchen
and submerges it in a pot.
That’s how it ends
in peace
this race
of the armed vegetable
whose name is the artichoke,
then scale by scale
we undress her
with delight
and we eat
the peaceful paste
of her green heart.
