FROM URUGUAY : A POET REPORTS
~ Celebration of Fantasy ~
It happened at the entrance to the town of Ollantaytambo, near Cuzco. I had detached myself from a group of tourists and was standing alone looking at the stone ruins in the distance when a small boy from the neighborhood, skinny and ragged, came over to ask if I would give him a pen. I couldn’t give him my pen, because I was using it to write down all sorts of boring notes, but I offered to draw a little pig for him on his hand.
Suddenly the word got around. I was surrounded by a throng of little boys demanding at the top of their lungs that I draw animals on their little hands cracked by dirt and cold, their skin of burnt leather: one wanted a condor and one wanted a snake, others preferred little parrots or owls, and some asked for a ghost or a dragon.
Then, in the middle of this racket, a little waif who barely cleared a yard off the ground showed me a watch drawn in black ink on his wrist.
“An uncle of mine who lives in Lima sent it to me,” he said.
“And does it keep good time?” I asked him.
“It’s a bit slow,” he admitted.
~~ Eduardo Galeano ~~
BIENVENIDO. PASA. ENTRAR.
WELCOME. COME IN. ENTER.
EL MUNDO ES TU REINO. LAS PIERNAS SON SU PASAPORTE, VÁLIDO PARA SIEMPRE.
THE WORLD IS YOUR KINGDOM. YOUR LEGS ARE YOUR PASSPORT, VALID FOREVER.
~~ EDUARDO GALEANO ~~
Thank-you, Paul Seimmering