I ride a G S scooter with my hair cut neat
I wear my wartime coat in the wind and sleet


Evelyn Hofer, Springtime Washington DC, 1965

Young Poets
-- by Nicanor Parra

Write as you will
In whatever style you like
Too much blood has run under the bridge
To go on believing
That only one road is right.

In poetry everything is permitted.

With only this condition of course,
You have to improve the blank page.


The Last Toast
-- by Nicanor Parra

Whether we like it or not,
We have only three choices:
Yesterday, today and tomorrow.

And not even three
Because as the philosopher says
Yesterday is yesterday
It belongs to us only in memory:
From the rose already plucked
No more petals can be drawn.

The cards to play
Are only two:
The present and the future.

And there aren't even two
Because it's a known fact
The present doesn't exist
Except as it edges past
And is consumed...,
like youth.

In the end
We are only left with tomorrow.
I raise my glass
To the day that never arrives.

But that is all
we have at our disposal.


No President's Statue Escapes
-- by Nicanor Parra

From those infallible pigeons
Clara Sandoval used to tell us:

Those pigeons know exactly what they’re doing