charles simic

from night picnic

past-lives therapy

table of content

from selected early poems
from unending blues
from the world doesn’t end
from the book of gods and devils
from hotel insomnia
from a wedding in hell
from walking the black cat
from jackstraws
from night picnic
from my noiseless entourage
from that little something
from master of disguises
from the voice at 3:00 a.m.
new poems

the library of congress has cataloged
the print edition as follows:
simic, charles, date.
[poems. selections]
new and selected poems 1962/2012
/ charles simic.

IX
 
from night picnic

past-lives therapy

They showed me a dashing officer on horseback
Riding past a burning farmhouse
And a barefoot woman in a torn nightgown
Throwing rocks at him and calling him Lucifer,

Explained to me the cause of bloody bandages
I kept seeing in a recurring dream,
Cured the backache I acquired bowing to my old master,
Made me stop putting thumbtacks round my bed.

When I was a straw-headed boy in patched overalls,
Chickens would freely roost in my hair.
Some laid eggs as I played my ukulele
And my mother and father crossed themselves.

Next, I saw myself in an abandoned gas station
Trying to convert a coffin into a spaceship,
Hoarding dead watches in a house in San Francisco,
Spraying obscenities on a highway overpass.

Some days, however, they opened door after door,
Always to a different room, and could not find me.
There’d be a small squeak now and then in the dark,
As if a miner’s canary just got caught in a mousetrap.

terapia de vidas pasadas

Me mostraron un apuesto oficial a caballo
Pasando por una granja en llamas
Y una mujer descalza con un camisón roto
Tirándole piedras y llamándolo Lucifer,

Me explicaron la causa de los vendajes ensangrentados
Que seguía viendo en un sueño recurrente,
Curaron el dolor de espalda que adquirí inclinándome ante mi viejo maestro,
Me hicieron dejar de poner chinchetas alrededor de mi cama.

Cuando yo era un niño con cabeza de paja con overoles remendados,
Las gallinas se posaban libremente en mi cabello.
Algunas ponían huevos mientras yo tocaba mi ukelele
Y mi madre y mi padre se santiguaban.

A continuación, me vi en una gasolinera abandonada.
Tratando de convertir un ataúd en una nave espacial,
Acumulando relojes muertos en una casa en San Francisco,
Rociando obscenidades en un paso elevado de una autopista.

Algunos días, sin embargo, abrían puerta tras puerta,
Siempre a una habitación diferente, y no podían encontrarme.
Habría un pequeño chirrido de vez en cuando en la oscuridad,
Como si el canario de un minero acabara de quedar atrapado
              en una ratonera.

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