I'll make a fortune
Thanks to a trick which will allow me to fix images
Either in a concave or convex mirror
I believe I shall
be definitely successful
Once I manage to invent a coffin with a double bottom
Which will let the corpse take a peek at the other world.
I've burned enough
In this absurd race
In which the jockeys are thrown from their horses
And land among the spectators.
It's only fair, then,
that I should try to invent something
Which will allow me to live in comfort
Or which, at least, will allow me to die.
Surely my knees are
I dream my teeth are all falling out
And that I'm late to a funeral.
by Jorge Elliot
traducido por Jorge Elliot
Antipoems (translated by Jorge Elliott), San Francisco,
City Lights Books, The Pocket Poets Series, Nº12, 1960.