4DPictjuk Diego Rivera (1886-1957)

MEXICAN MOTIFS
1
Cacti against the sky
Like tall trees.
Here are tortillas instead of bread,
Here are tequilas lights.

Mexico City is a living plasma,
Everything flows thickly.
A city of passion, beyond sarcasm,
A city of financial worries.

Old architecture,
White churches stand tall.
Mexican nature,
Singing along to the guitar.

Everywhere, advertising burns brightly,
Colorful writing everywhere.
Whatever your mother promises,
Life is only one thing.

2
A delicate stream of European influence
Fades in the thick blood of this place.
Maximilian, I remember him –
Is he a victim of politics? Of love?
He was shot. Where is his palace?
A dense garden like soup, and so much sun.
Do mulattoes have their own wise men?
The Mexican road is dusty.
The frescoes are monumental, like
Skyscrapers, but the frescoes are colorful.
In the old church, eternal twilight reigns,
And the candles burn too brightly.
Silver for export, coffee as well,
Various crafts, too.
Theres a sombrero, so there must be a knife –
Doubt is more expensive than certainty.

3
Excessive talkativeness – of course, a sin,
Better tango and lunar ascents.
Better vodka-tequila and laughter,
Silver that promises perspectives.
Here is sand made from silver.
Here is Juan, who was shot by his neighbor.
Towns where life isnt real, but just noise,
Unless you follow along with Pancho.
An old bell sounds faintly,
The hot air shimmers weakly.
A bullet will strike the heros heart,
No smile will help.

4
Better a bullet in the heart,
Than boredom,
Better...
There is a reliable way
To figure out who he is – a fellow traveler.
Old songs were sung,
They played their own tunes.
What did they manage to preserve?
Perhaps bullfighting?
Or pyramids? Or
Were we in Acapulco
For nothing, and did we stare
At the water from our own dreams...?

5
Cortezs cannons – a fright!
The pale-skinned are afraid.
For centuries, everything will somehow
Even out – but it is
Terrible that death means nothing,
When in reality, it doesnt mean anything at all.
The poets guitar cries,
It cries fiercely.

6
A guitar, a cactus, a sombrero –
Everything is extremely banal.
Catholicism is faith.
The passions here are infernal.

A lizard on a stone.
Big cities are more interesting.
And the shutters
Will close forever.

Old, dilapidated shutters.
The owner of the house has died.
Small stakes in the game,
Its very familiar to us.

Where was Trotsky killed?
He had an estate somewhere
In Mexico. The historical plot was erased...

The present is important,
And nothing more.
Ride bravely on a horse
Past reality, past reality...

7
On the street stand grills,
Meat sizzles and spits.
Will it be delicious for you? Definitely.
Tequila gilds the eyes with gold.
What kind of clothes? A cloak or a poncho?
And the gray donkey is so good.
Cute pictures. Plenty of them,
You havent been waiting for cute things for a long time.