Màrius Sampere Poems

Every heart is a minute that lasts
as long as a lifetime; every life,
a heart that beats during one brief minute.
That's how we drink up the years: just one gulp
of milk, the first one. The others were spilt.
...

How I enjoy writing in a language
they say is dying.
What a feeling of peace and relief
to carry it down to the source of springs,
...

Today's date, the moment takes us by surprise,
The preacher announces
That everything has yet to be done.
...

I would like to write
the kindest and plainest lines,
like blameless poets know how to,
avoiding excesses, dissonance,
...

I came out of an old drawer
full of rags, little washcloths mother
used to use to dry her tender marble thighs soaked in blood and lymph.
...

Father, pain was uncalled-for,
so were punitive needles, the gnashing
of teeth in life, cold seats,
phosphoric tumors and wounds
...

When you already know
every face is musical
marble, night
is not the fear of light, window's
...

It was one night.
Let's go die, mother said.
She held my hand tight.
I followed her, submissive, well linked
...