Bolaño * Breton * Neruda * Paz

SELF PORTRAIT AT TWENTY YEARS
By Roberto Bolaño
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I set off, I took up the march and never knew
where it might take me. I went full of fear,
my stomach dropped, my head was buzzing:
I think it was the icy wind of the dead.
I don't know. I set off, I thought it was a shame
to leave so soon, but at the same time
I heard that mysterious and convincing call.
You either listen or you don't, and I listened
and almost burst out crying: a terrible sound,
born on the air and in the sea.
A sword and shield. And then,
despite the fear, I set off, I put my cheek
against death's cheek.
And it was impossible to close my eyes and miss seeing
that strange spectacle, slow and strange,
though fixed in such a swift reality:
thousands of guys like me, baby-faced
or bearded, but Latin American, all of us,
brushing cheeks with death.


I read about him on the web. He often refers to Octavio Paz , André Breton , and Pablo Neruda . Here's great I found where Roberto Bolaño takes a second to load sometimes because google is translating it into English...