An extract from “Mourning Lu Yin” by Meng Chiao

Celestial immortals mourn such a sage-
Bones transformed, spirit becomes stars

Your poems all rising through heaven,
Sharpening constellations into bright

Clarities. Like the rarest ancient poems,
Your are pure spirit. We call ethereal

Poets of renown banished immortals,
Ascending and descending without end.

For in poems we’re made pure by death
And without them we live mean lives.

Struck metal’s the perfect song for you,
Song bequeathed all repose down all time.

Amor 77

Y después de hacer todo lo que hacen, se levantan, se bañan, se entalcan, se perfuman,
se peinan, se visten, y así progresivamente van volviendo a ser lo que no son.

Julio Cortazar

And after doing all they do they rise from their bed, they bathe, powder and perfume their persons, they dress, and gradually return to being what they are not.

Julio Cortazar