1359-60, Geoffrey Chaucer

And He was conducted like Saint Chrême,

by the same Holy Hands,

and was abandoned to his faith…

Sunny days no longer on his face,

captured and hold between

sixteen kilograms of pure metal bars.

Cold nights…

Frozen fingers…

not even a word came out of me,

as I became the walls.

Every word, every hanging letter

All muted by my thick sixteen

inches of stone.

All my body inlayed

with his ten nails.

All my body etched

with his poetry hands.

I wanted him to taste me,

bite off my layered body,

so he could escape

and with him,

all the verses spread

over me and the floor.

And with him all the reminiscences

Of a war prisoner,

sixteen days dreamed liberty,

sixteen days making love

to a residue of dust,

sixteen days staring at my back

wondering the ways of my math.

Sixteen pounds had he lost,

And a year well passed,

Sixteen pounds all paid-off

Sixteen pounds and back to his path.

And I remained, wall

where had he marked off his art,

he had planted seeds on my back

and now his all gone.

His words…

his hands…

his nails…

His sixteen pounds

and the mess on the ground.

-Juan Carlos Pérez

***

esto es pa una asignacion de la clase de poesia, esta medio mierda, pero pues... 

de la época que Chaucer fue capturado en francia en la ciudad de Calais y donde luego condujo

un tratado de paz que duraria 9 años entre Inglaterra y Francia 

La alusion al santo del principio es que dicen q en esta ciudad se encuentra ese santo y que fue conducido ahi por el espiritu santo... bla bla bla...