Two Poems by Francisco Arteaga

BOMB 12 Spring 1985
012 Spring Summer 1985


With a song
the cocks seem to look for dawn
though it has yet to appear
I see the dark shadows
of horse teams
at the trough
moving cautiously.
Now I contemplate dawn:
sounds of the mill,
the flutter of birds in the trees,
the fresh fragrance the wind brings.
The dense whiteness of fog
lifting, little by little
into the hills.
The sun
a new morning,
and at my feet
a pond as clear as glass.


In Totogalpa

When night falls in Totogalpa
the last rays of light depart
and crickets proclaim coming night.
The river Juana settles down,
taking a seat, taciturn.
When night falls
birds search out their nests,
clouds vanish from the sky
and bright stars are revealed.
When night falls
electric light illumines the streets
and the wind beds down
in the darkness of the mountains.
When night falls my eyes begin their drift toward sleep.

Francisco Atreaga is a 17-year-old poet and soldier in the Nicaraguan army.

The Front by Gina María Caruso
After the Massacre by Carlos Fonseca
Hernan Ronsino 01

Staging historical justice in Hernán Ronsino’s Glaxo

Álvaro Enrigue by Scott Esposito
Enrigue Bomb 01

“A writer worried about reception is cooking a dead book. A writer’s job is to produce the best possible book in absolute freedom, so the category ‘acceptable’ does not play in the process at all.”

Signor Hoffman by Eduardo Halfon

From the train I could look out onto the infinite blue of the sea. I was still exhausted, wakeful from the overnight transatlantic flight to Rome, but looking out at the sea, that Mediterranean sea that was so infinite and so blue, made me forget it all, even myself. I don’t know why.

Originally published in

BOMB 12, Spring 1985

Cindy Sherman, Dario Fo, Bruce Weber, Lisa Fonssagrives-Penn, and Raymond Voinquel.

Read the issue
012 Spring Summer 1985