Nicanor Parra
Now everything looks bad to me
an old telephone with a little bell
was enough to make me the happiest creature alive
an armchair — almost anything
Sunday mornings
I'd go to the flea market
and come back with a wall clock
— anyway with the case —
or with a pensioned-off victrola
to my shack at La Reina
where Chamaco was waiting for me
and the lady who used to be his mother
in those days
those were happy days
or at least nights without pain
1970
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Translated by W. S. Merwin
http://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2012/03/26/our-twilight-lands/
