And I'm going to read a few pieces,
just two poems from a different anthology of Raúl Zurita's that
I edited and translated called The Country Planks.
And these poems are called "Auschwitz."
It was a sunny, beautiful morning in Auschwitz
and you said to me, I can't believe I'm here
with the boy of my dreams.
Pinch me so I can know it's real.
Yes, do it my love.
We can see the crematorium with its enormous chimney,
and I replied these are the last minutes.
And you said, how nice it is to die with the one you love.
Oh yes, you are love.
The nearby station had a funereal air,
and at the information desk they told me
we could pay the entrance fee with the credit card.
The goddamn economy, I said to my girl, I'm broke.
The wind began to whip up our ashes
and we floated over our red brick house.
We were born in America.
Invisible cordilleras now covered the final dawn.
Auschwitz.
The train to the camps wobbled heavily,
and through the cracks of the wagon,
we could see burning countries and clouds of ash moving off
in the wind.
I asked my girl If she didn't think this had a familiar air
and she responded, oh Yes.
Our ashes will mix together, like in the bridges
of Madison County.
And it will be so beautiful, love.
The porter said to me, you've got problems.
I then looked at the people in the train car and asked them,
do I have problems?
Do I perhaps have the face of a guy with problems?
We stopped in front of an old power plant
and took off our clothes, then we covered a devastated city
with our bodies.
The train arrived at Auschwitz at dawn, a river of ashes
now across the bridges.
Win or lose, I said to my girl.
These are the rules here in America.
Auschwitz.
Auschwitz, the ticket inspector shouted, sounding the whistle.
Outside, it was bitter cold and my girl
was asking me questions.
At the exit there was a hot dog stand
called Jewish dog, soup shops and long lines
of people waiting their turn.
The gas chamber was a house with showers and walls painted
the color of raspberries.
Love, my girl explained, as she stared at it,
but that's my mother's bedroom.
The bed was already made and we quickly
and furiously made love in front of the Angels of Death.
Afterwards we went into the crematorium section.
You were still able to tell me love
is a many splendored thing.