I have begun to translate this long prose poem, a text I discovered by chance. I got a new Research Insight from it, which I think I should work on for other venues. But it was the first time in a long time I had had this type of Research Insight: a spontaneous one. Lately all of my papers have been invented because someone wanted me to write papers that would fit in with other papers. All of them are on topics I know something about and in which I have an interest, but the formulation of the topics have been motivated by circumstances. This came right on target, by chance and out of nowhere, in a pure flash.
Readers of Spanish and stylists in English, let me know what you think:
At midnight I arrived in the city. The frost was dancing on one foot. “A girl may be dark or light-haired, but she should not be blind.” The innkeeper was saying this to a man brutally cut in two by a broad waistband. The eyes of a mule dozing on the threshold threatened me like two onyx fists.
Give me the best room you have.
There is only one.
The room had a mirror, and I, half a comb in my pocket. “I like it.” (I saw my “I like it” in the green mirror.) The inkeeper closed the door. Then, my back turned to the frozen quicksilver [pasture], I exclaimed once again, “I like it.” Below, the mule was puffing and blowing. That is, he was opening the sunflower of his mouth.
There was nothing to do but go to bed. And I did. But I took care to leave the shutters open, because nothing is more beautiful than to see a star surprised and fixed in a frame. One. We must forget the others.
Tonight I have a capricious, irregular sky. The stars group themselves together and extend themselves in the windowpanes, like the cards and portraits in the Japanese [pond].
With the new sun my gray suit returned to the silver of the dewy air. The spring day was like a hand fainting on a cushion. In the street people came and went. The fruit-sellers passed, and those who sell fish from the sea.
Not one bird.
With my rings clanking against the iron balcony I sought out the city on the map, and saw how it stayed asleep in the yellow field between rich veins of water, far from the sea!
In the patio, the innkeeper and his wife sang a duet in violet and [thorn-tree]. Their dark voices, like two runaway moles, stumbled against the walls without finding the square exit of the sky.
Before going out to take my first walk I went to greet them.
Why did you say last night that a girl may be dark or light-haired, but should not be blind?
The innkeeper and his wife looked at each other in an odd way.
They looked at each other… confused. Like the child who raises a spoon full of broth to his eyes. Then they burst into tears.
I did not know what to say and I left in a hurry.
On the door, I read this sign: “Saint Lucy’s Inn.”