Roberto Bolaño

So, it's hardly surprising that there's an abundance of posters in
the author's room.  Quick fragments of circles, cubes, cylinders gives
us an impression of his face when the light presses him;
his lack of money morphs into love's desperation; any gesture
of his hands morphs into a plea.

His face, in fragments around him, materializes at the
mercy of his eye which reorganizes it, the ideal kaleidoscope.
(That is: love's desperation, pleading, etc.)


trns. by Laura Healy


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