Beyond by Juan Goico Alíx

From Google Image Search
From Google Image Search


An enchanted evening, an evening of celebration that a thousand pretty women filled with splendor like a thousand roses brimming out of a basket. I inquired of a friend,

“Which invented love?”

And just like that, like one who searches out the finest flower, the most ardent in a grove. And as if a given, forever unlike a rumor, he said,

“This one”

And I looked to your eyes profoundly beautiful and suffered the stab of your look very deeply, and sensed you undulating from your feet to the hairs of your head, like a serpent, like an ocean’s wave.

And before your beauty my entire life became restless, and far from you I feel a sweet illusion. A desire that stuns me, as like a wound, I know not what bleeds from my heart

And I admire you while awake and while asleep I touch you, and I seek and seek immersed in obsession to see you. I am captive to the pursuit, like a divine madman out of breath. Going beyond life. Going beyond death

-Translated 04.12.2014

Original Spanish Below

Más Alla

Una noche encantada. Una noche de fiesta,

que mil mujeres lindas llenaban de esplendor,

como cuando mil rosas rebosan una cesta,

inquirí de un amigo: ¿cuál inventó el amor?


Y así como quien busca la más galana flor,

la más ardiente flor de una floresta,

como cosa sabida, jamás como un rumor,

me dijo: “Esta”.


Y te miré a los ojos profundamente bellos,

y sufrí tu mirada clavárseme muy honda,

y te sentí ondulante, de los pies a los cabellos,

así como una sierpe, así como una onda.


Y frente a tu belleza se me inquietó la vida,

y lejos de ti siento una dulce ilusión,

un afán que aturde y así, como una herida,

yo ne sé lo que sangra mi corazón…


Y te admiro despierto y dormido te toco,

y te busco y te busco en la inquietud de verte,

y me siento seguirte como un divino loco,

más alla de la vida, más alla de la muerte.



From Google Image Search
From Google Image Search

You can’t decide if you are yellow or if you are green

So you keep yourself somewhere in between

A fine hand you have which is sad when hung

In a closet to dry after the delicate cycle

Reflecting black

You rejoice when hand wrung in Woolite and water

And spread on a flat

Under the brilliant sun

Reflecting back

Your color into the eye of your wearer

You breathe a life of your own

You most unusual sweater