{"id":198574,"date":"2026-01-28T07:00:00","date_gmt":"2026-01-28T13:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/errr-magazine.com\/?p=198574"},"modified":"2026-02-01T18:40:54","modified_gmt":"2026-02-02T00:40:54","slug":"things-had-to-be-like-this","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/errr-magazine.com\/english\/las-cosas-tuvieron-que-ser-asi\/","title":{"rendered":"Things had to be this way"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><em>Between July and October 2016, I took a backpacking trip, accompanied only by that backpack (or rather, a suitcase) and the complete works of the poet <strong><a href=\"https:\/\/www.goodreads.com\/author\/show\/2788408.Amiri_Baraka\">Amiri Baraka <\/a><\/strong>(1934-2014).<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>It was complicated to carry more books on the trip, so in order to make the most of what would be my only reading during those months, I did an exercise: I assembled a text using loose, random lines from 27 of Baraka\u2019s poems in their original language (English) and made a free translation, that is, an imprecise one, changing words and order at will, with the aim of joining everything into a new poem.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><em>The first draft was 15 pages long and, after a slow process of revision, ended up being just 5; in this way, the lines were still a bit of Baraka, but now also a bit mine. The intention was to find a middle ground. Here is the result:<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Things had to be this way<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; every night I count the stars<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>and every night I get the same number<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; but when there are no stars to count<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>then I count the empty spaces.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Will I ever be capable of joy?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Part of my charm generates electric feelings,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>a bit of nostalgia that suddenly<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; turns into terrible thoughts of death.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>How stupid it is to be so sentimental<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; as to call&nbsp;<em>anything<\/em> love;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>my mouth is wide open<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; but I have nothing to say,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>that too is part of my charm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>As simple as the act of opening my eyes<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; before the stairs where my tears crash,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>it is useless to speak of something like time<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; because ghosts will cover your flesh<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>trying to hide behind lies,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; like the demonic sphinx rising at dusk<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I think about how the seasons pass;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; as simple as the act of closing my eyes,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I have forgotten the color reflected on the hills,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; I have forgotten everything,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>you said you loved me while trying to understand the clouds<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; and the light.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Sometimes I feel I must express myself<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; and then whatever needs to be expressed<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>falls from my mouth like ash or like scales<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; and when those scales harden<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>everything seems made of green light;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; I suppose color can erase uncertainty,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>anyway now everything is made of green light.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Pretending to be someone special I resurrect in the mornings;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; there must be something intensely brilliant in this world,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>a mystical cure,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; something to make your enemy surrender against the wall<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>but without rage<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; just feeling happy because from a balcony<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>someone notices that you triumphed,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; and so years later, when you ride the bus,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>you look at how it is your invincible hand that grips the metal<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; even though by then you are old.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The surface of the earth tries to set limits on violence,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; last night, talking about us, we loved each other,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>if I think intensely about myself<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; then the misery of my life is not so certain;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>practicing solitude is a virtue<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; a necessity we never knew we had<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>who cares that it had to be this way?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Love is movement<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>but I can also tell you without moving that I love you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I am inside someone who loves me,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; I look through their eyes,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I sense their breath turning into sound,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; warm air blows across my face,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>this is human love and I live inside it,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; I was born to die where love opens in my arms;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>now we can be something less miserable<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; because between us there is heroism,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>this is the dance of true rebellion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Can you hear me?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Here I am again<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I am your dynamite,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; can you hear me?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>My soul moves,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; it is the soul you gave me,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I say <em>my soul<\/em> and it moves,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; it is the soul you gave me,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I am tired of losing myself behind masks<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; because I cannot love quietly,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>this is a long story,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; our enemies would not be so powerful if we made love:<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>the word love is a piece language uses to fight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Who am I to love deeply?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; How much is too intimate?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Sometimes I live against the night,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; against the sharp-edged tables of bars<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>and I don\u2019t know how to find out if someone is looking for me;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; I have learned to repeat the sound of my bones,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I see that I love what I shouldn\u2019t love<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; but I am what I think I am<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>and you are what I think you are;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; in your dreams the beasts have devoured me,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>silence is as important as our own life<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; but it is a clear truth that we have abandoned each other<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>and you are unable to feel how fast I am moving toward death.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>My heart is wide enough to contain some history:<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; a poem is nonsense unless it becomes a tree.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Who are you listening to me?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Who are you listening to yourself?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I am sure there is someone you love<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; and I am sure that sometimes<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>that someone can be me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I know you are not god, but you are everything I believe in,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; ideas are reflections of material life,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I am visible,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; I have the capacity to be seen,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>the problem is that you do not always see me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>When the sky was far away<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; and when poetry was not real<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I used to be ignorant and silent,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; I used to be an excited child,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I used to think everything had a soul,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; I used to think the dead were dead forever,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I used to cry if I needed to lie<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; and I used to think love had a solution;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>but what love is not fragile?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; What love is not in danger?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>All this pain<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; is indispensable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Photography by <strong><a href=\"https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/elpequetobi\/\">Nicholas Dominguez Gallegos<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Sometimes I feel I must express myself and then whatever needs to be expressed falls from my mouth like ash or like scales and when those scales harden everything seems made of green light; I suppose color can erase uncertainty, anyway now everything is made of green light.<\/p>","protected":false},"author":8133,"featured_media":198586,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"cybocfi_hide_featured_image":"","_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[17865],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-198574","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poesia"],"acf":[],"mb":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v27.2 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Las cosas tuvieron que ser as\u00ed - ERRR MAGAZINE<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/errr-magazine.com\/english\/things-had-to-be-like-this\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Las cosas tuvieron que ser as\u00ed - ERRR MAGAZINE\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"A veces siento que debo expresarme y entonces aquello que deba ser expresado cae de mi boca como ceniza o como escamas y cuando esas escamas se endurecen todo parece hecho de luz verde; 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