Rocinante in your tomb of sunlight  


in your tomb of broken glass


clear and insolent


now that no one bothers


to kiss or caress you


hours and years have passed by


all the fish having escaped


through the wide interstices


of your old weathered planking




Rocinante in your tomb


of somnolent sunlight


sea-nymph of passages


forgotten in midnight's wake


have they abandoned you


with an old sheet for a flag


and your hushed past


on white sandy beaches?


with the mist that dampened the vestige


of your loyal phantom spouse


and the essence of rum Pampero


with which they often baptized you


your wooden joints no longer contest


not for all of life's adventure gone wrong


nor the glassy bottle-green waves


that break upon the shore.




Rocinante in your tomb


of dazzling sunlight


you were never Pharaoh


of ancient highest Egypt


lost, the divine beard


of your attractive living image


without eyes nor a snake's tongue


your sacred cowl proclaims


but what does remain


of your wooden Sphinx figure


still keeps watch


over the island of Gran Roque


and a collar of flies adorns


the stubborn yarn of your defunct tenacity


while a delicate feather awaits


to measure the worth of your negative confession


perhaps that's what touches me most


the image of your life as in a photo negative


the trousseau of your existence harshly evident


strewn out upon the sandy ground.




Rocinante in your tomb


of setting sunlight


with your crew and catch of pure fantasy


your fallen heart and broken machinery


carry me now on your rickety deck


with its odor of diesel fuel and baited hooks


permit me to stick my hand through your bandaged wounds


to continue exploring in your interior


often violated, profane space


atmosphere impregnated with salt and bitter oxide


iron motor from which now neither white nor black smoke springs forth


impious chamber of wood embalmed with fish blood and faded fish scales


a slow space trespassed


by an eternity of desperate lives


boarding on their next ethereal passages. 




Rocinante, I say farewell to thee


there with the axis of your keel pointing east and westward


your bow oriented towards the next rising sun


without sail and beached ashore forever. 



Rocinante image/text©will gentieu 2005-2010


Views: 40

Tags: Los Roques, Poetry, Rocinante, Venezuela, Will Gentieu


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Comment by Will Gentieu on January 5, 2014 at 11:57pm

Thanks Kris!

Comment by Will Gentieu on January 5, 2014 at 11:51pm

This is a self-translation into English from my original Spanish version. Saludos ~ Will 

Comment by Will Gentieu on December 31, 2013 at 12:48am

Saludos  Howard. ....I wish I was a fisherman...


I'm sure you know these guys ~


If you're interested in some of the backstory, you can check here:


Thanks for the comment.

Comment by Howard Fox on December 29, 2013 at 5:36am

Dear Will,

A dreamy restoration project on the Venezuelan coast. Aah... I wish to be there listening to the tossles of the waves on the shore, spending weeks upon weeks getting her ship shape at night !

All the best,


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