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ROBERTO POLIDORI - Havana (La Muerte de na casa)

…what I am relating is not a story,
But an unsullied history—my history.
I have lived an honorable life,
In a style that the world is losing.

[…]
Home, I am home.
More than stone and railing,
More than shade and ground,
More than roof and wall.
I’m all of these. I have a soul.

I feel as if I’m a sick house,
A leper’s house.

[…]
Someone needs to come
And shut the window
Of the dining room, that has been left open—
The bats came in last night…
Someone needs to come and tidy up and shout.
Everything.

I don’t know why there has been
This strange silence for so many days:
A silence without contours, without an edge,
That soaks through me like dull water.

[…]
Nobody can say
That I’ve been a silent house;
On the contrary, on many, many occasions
I’ve torn the pale silk of dreams—
A nocturnal enveloping cocoon—
With my piano resounding in the dead of night…

And people, without knowing it
Are as attached to their houses
As a mollusk to its shell.
And this attachment cannot be broken without
Something dying in the house or the person…Or in both.


ROBERTO POLIDORI - Havana (La Muerte de na casa)

ROBERTO POLIDORI
Havana (La Muerte de na casa)
Text by David Mateo

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Print Edition 2008

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