Los Gatos

THE CATS (1938)
 
Evaristo Ribera Chevremont
 
 
     The cats, the flexible, electric cats,
in the night charged with burning odors
and powerful heat, they move with caution
and shadowy finesse. I hear their mewing.
 
     The stars squeeze out their light. Phantasmic,
the trees are exposed in the profound expansion
of the night. The village, vaporous, sleeping,
It sinks in lethargic fires and is flooded with dream.
 
     And the seething cats, submerged in the vigilance
of erotic restlessness, in burning candles,
they cross in the courtyards, transpose the gates
of the gardens, ascend the palisades.
 
     Suddenly, tangled, scorched, violent,
rabid, writhing, with wounded howls,
the cats. And, in the abruptness of their copulations,
their pupils resemble green reflectors.