What the Hell Can I Do?
My translation of a poem by Jaime Sabines.
What the hell can I do with my knee,
with this leg so long and so skinny,
with my arms, with my tongue,
with my weak eyes?
What can I do in this tangle
of imbeciles with good intentions?
What about with corrupt thinkers
Or sweet girls who want poetry, not a man?
What can I do among the poets made uniform
by academia or Communism?
What, among sellers or politicians
or shepherds of souls?
What the hell can I do, Tarumba,
if I’m no saint, or hero, or criminal,
or admirer of art,
or pharmacist,
or rebel?
What can I do if I can do anything
But just want to watch and watch?