My eye is never satisfied;
My ear is never filled...
By the beauty of a mountainside,
Or songs that give me chills

Every sight – a hollow view,
I look for more and more
Every sound – an empty cue,
Nothing to answer for
---
My eye is never satisfied;
My ear is never filled...
Ten thousand times I must have cried,
Then smiled – lied – with skill

Everything I see today
Will be, tomorrow, gone
Every sound will fade away –
A shrill inside a yawn
---
My eye is never satisfied;
My ear is never filled...
Does Meaning ever coincide
With life, and hope, and thrill?

I dream this dream, within a dream –
No substance, light, or power
I sing this song, without a sound –
My voice, the wind, devours
---
My eye is never satisfied;
My ear is never filled...
I might as well be groping blind,
Deafened – senses killed

I long to see that final sight
And hear that final word,
To show me Something in this night,
And assure me that I’ve Heard
---
But…

Maybe, I never, seeing, See
And never, hearing, Hear
Because the problem is IN ME:
This heart of death and drear...

This heart, it must be satisfied;
This heart, it must be filled!
For, we all see from deep inside;
The heart always distills...

.

"Toda la noche hago la noche. Toda la noche escribo. Palabra por palabra yo escribo la noche"
-Extracción de la piedra de la locura, de Alejandra Pizarnik

La luna riela en las olas de los gemidos de mi viento.

La noche se torna amarga en el nacer del día
pues su muerte llena al corazón solitario de alegría.

Alejandra y yo escribimos mejor por la noche,
para la noche,
en la noche.

Alejandra ya no está con nosotros pero su noche es eterna en mi dicha.

Podríamos haber sido amigas,
compartir alguna noche;
pero la muerte nos separa,
su muerte,
su noche.
Este es un canto a las almas perdidas en la noche.
En nuestra noche.
La noche mía y de Pizarnik y de tantos otros.
Espero verte
al
nacer
el día.

//

"All night I make the night. All night I write it. Word for word I write the night."
-Extracting the stone of madness, by Alejandra Pizarnik.

The moon shimmers on the waves of the moans of mi wind.

The night is turned bitter at the birth of day
for its death fills the lonely heart with joy.

Alejandra and I write better at night,
for the night,
in the night.

Alejandra is no longer with us but her night is endless in my joy.

We could have been friends,
sharing some night;
but death does us part,
her death,
her night.
This is a song for the souls lost in the night.
In our night.
This my night, and Pizarnik's and son many others'.
I hope to see you
at
the birth
of day.

she was quiet
she could not talk
she could not hear
but still beautiful.

Four years sacrificed to you
Why did I stay so long?
Love really does make the heart blind, deaf and mute too
So you cannot see when it is all wrong.

screaming to nothingness is painful.
my throat is raw,
begging to be felt
tears masking my strength;
blinding my vision.
I cannot be heard but I yell louder.
I’m trying so hard for you.
The nothingness is your deaf ears,
my words falling onto them,
Ignoring my pleas.
Hear me.
Why won’t you listen?

Can I show you my way?
Without the distractions of laughter.

Love at first hand your eyes engrossed,
Conducting the opera that is my life.

Would you understand if I began to stare, that your lips can't tell me of unspoken words.

Language minority people would agree.
So open your eyes and hear me speak.

Come closer and listen to my words in the air.
Try to understand I am not invisible.

Will you lend a hand?

the noise the noise it hits me like a speeding car

the light so bright it turns me to tar

blinded by light and deaf from sound

I feel a ram of loss dig me into the ground

the intensity of the senses mushes my brain it flings me around and

around bringing me chaos

every single day