Miguel James (b. 1953, Port of Spain, Trinidad and Tobago) was a Trinidadian-Venezuelan poet active in the 90s; he came to my attention as an abolitionist, via his poem “Against the Police” from 2003’s Kentakes, poemas para la reina y otras obras maestras. Diving into his work, I found James’ genesis to drip not with revolutionary exultation, but with humorous, sweet, unabashed eroticism—it’s an honor to bring you a selection from his first book, Mi novía Ítala come flores, originally published in 1987 in Caracas.

— E.R. Pulgar.

When You Wake

To the Dawn I Shall Wake

[untitled]

The poem is a tongue that drools upon the face.

Split Ends

Suddenly i remember Mirna, my ex-classmate, the timid one, the one with two braids, always with two braids and bangs i remember improvised shitty moralist poets that made me listen to their monstrous ideas i see myself bowing in front of false gods laughing at bad jokes playing the intellectual the revolutionary promising my professor i’ll be as good at piano as Chopin that my professor can traumatize me if i distance myself from music i see libertines who identify themselves as liberals papá reading western novels how to get rich advising i build my own philosophy instead of reading García Márquez my split ends my hurt sensibility mi mamá mi tía mi hermana mi prima mi abuela Angela brave is the friend who confesses the lustful appetites my presence stirs in them i see myself in all of them i want to read Bible and Villón with a red youth make war love no longer listen or read other’s adventures about the door of a room place unintelligible clichés nobody will critique or correct my manuscripts inside listening to Beethoven and Masekela mocking poets i don’t understand getting closer to Miguel and screams and exorcisms and masochisms and peace.

When In Bed I Lay