Madame Nueva York/Madame New York

 Olvídame, Nueva York,

no somos nada,

más que tú y yo,

frente a un mar de cristales

crispados por la distancia,

amantes del mar y sus aguas,

un museo flotante, rascacielos erizados

como si la noche descendiera a volarnos de su altura

inverosímil escrita en el infinito abecedario

de tus palabras rentadas

para la ocasión.

Sospechas que las deudas la realidad

y nada  ilumina 

que la oscuridad en medio de la luz,

donde queman las entrañas

esas falsas monedas

falsas de W.S.

Multitudes sin aire respiran

una misma burbuja soleada

horadan con sus pies la huella de Nueva York

nieve oscura sobre el espinazo tibio

extranjero.

Cabes apenas en un recorrido de mi memoria

de gourmet de provincia,

me digo,

flor de las distancias, alas pájaras

tu opulencia de sacerdotisa

babilonia gastronómica histriónica

llena de basura mi nostalgia

este desconocido noviembre

No me pongas a prueba 

con tus diamantes degastados

Alguien nos ha engañado

con pasos que en alguna calle

resuenan en mi memoria

A nadie le sobra tiempo

para ver la nieve pálida,

detrás del vidrio la cara

del poeta en Nueva York

Y venir a hablarnos sus perros,

de la sombra, de sus días

ladrándonos

par de desconocidos

cada un caminando

a la inversa

de nuestras historias

por el Central Park

al lado de nadie,

como en el cine mudo

flotando con el aire

de las carcajadas

Madame Nueva York

por tu ombligo 

de moneda corriente,

te amo.

Rolando Gabrielli2024

Madame New York

Forget me, New York,
we are nothing,
just you and I,
facing a sea of glass
shattered by distance,
lovers of the sea and its waters,
a floating museum, skyscrapers bristling
as if the night descended to steal us from your improbable heights,
written in the infinite alphabet
of your rented words
for the occasion.
You suspect that debts surpass
reality, and nothing shines brighter
than darkness amidst the light,
where false coins burn
in the gut,
false like those of W.S.
Breathless multitudes inhale
the same sunlit bubble,
carving with their steps the footprints of New York,
dark snow on the warm spine
of a foreigner.
You barely fit within a journey of my memory,
a provincial gourmet,
I tell myself,
flower of distances, winged birds,
your opulence of a mundane priestess,
Babylonian, gastronomic, histrionic,
fills my nostalgia with trash
this unfamiliar November.
Don’t test me
with your worn diamonds.
Someone has deceived us
with steps that on some street
echo in my memory.
No one has time to spare
to gaze at pale snow,
behind the glass, the face
of the poet in New York,
his dogs coming to speak to us
of shadows, of their days,
barking at us.
A pair of strangers,

Forget me, New York,

we are nothing,

just you and I,

facing a sea of glass

shattered by distance,

lovers of the sea and its waters,

a floating museum, skyscrapers bristling

as if the night descended to steal us from your improbable heights,

written in the infinite alphabet

of your rented words

for the occasion.

You suspect that debts surpass

reality, and nothing shines brighter

than darkness amidst the light,

where false coins burn

in the gut,

false like those of W.S.

Breathless multitudes inhale

the same sunlit bubble,

carving with their steps the footprints of New York,

dark snow on the warm spine

of a foreigner.

You barely fit within a journey of my memory,

a provincial gourmet,

I tell myself,

flower of distances, winged birds,

your opulence of a mundane priestess,

Babylonian, gastronomic, histrionic,

fills my nostalgia with trash

this unfamiliar November.

Don’t test me

with your worn diamonds.

Someone has deceived us

with steps that on some street

echo in my memory.

No one has time to spare

to gaze at pale snow,

behind the glass, the face

of the poet in New York,

his dogs coming to speak to us

of shadows, of their days,

barking at us.

A pair of strangers,

each walking

the reverse path

of our stories

through Central Park,

beside no one,

as in a silent film

floating with the air

of laughter.

Madame New York,

through your navel

of common currency,

I love you.