“Paradise, Outer Space” was first published in Increíble by Mariano Blatt, El niño Stanton, 2007. Trans: Jacob Steinberg, 2010 Cover photo: Ryan McGinely At Chronos <3’s Kairos we believe that poetry, among other things (love, sex, drugs, etc.) should be universal and timeless. We don’t mind if you photocopy, distribute or share our poems. They’re free.
Paradise, Outer Space, a motorboat trip down the Río de la Plata, a confusing conversation with a dog, 3 kids walking down the middle of the street, The smell of a bakery, of pot and of post fucking in the summer. A good table in a pizza joint. A pint of beer, a boy in leather. A kid with a drugged out face on the subway. One of those standing fans blowing air at me, at you, at him, at you, at me again and on like that all afternoon. Paradise, Outer Space, a walk among gigantic trees, seven in the morning, a pile of books, a bunch of kids playing ball in an empty lot and others destroyed by drugs or by love, especially by love. Paradise, Outer Space, the noise made by the stars and the noise they don’t let us make.
People on the other side of the fence. The different types of drugs we take to feel okay, the sun shining down on you on the top of your head. The smell of a covered pool, the boys’ locker room light, the boys. A good swimmer, a country boy riding his delivery bike. A little pile of used mate leaves thrown behind a sports field. A boy in a hoodie from Tigre riding his bike in Lobos park. A sports field at five pm. Paradise, Outer Space, a really cute boy dancing really well. A star’s light, lots of starlight, a boy on ecstasy staring you in the eyes from up close and another one who looks like he’s on ecstasy searching lost for his group of friends. Paradise, Outer Space, a Minessota Timberwolves hoodie. The first day of vacation from when you were 19 and your abs were really etched out. The pile of backpacks on the beach, two boys shaking hands.
Paradise, Outer Space, the smell of smoking pot Saturday afternoons. A house with the windows open, the cold ceramics in the kitchen, a pool out back. Paradise, Outer Space, the Río de la Plata breeze along the boardwalk of Montevideo, a blond boy with black eyes playing by himself and his Peñarol soccer jersey. The smell of dry mud stuck in between soccer cleats, soccer shorts streaked by stains of grass, an expensive, new drug that comes in a dropper. Paradise, Outer Space, the feeling of starting to be really drugged in a wicked party, a picture of the field at five pm, a friend brushing his arm along the back of your waist to start jumping together. Paradise, Outer Space, a boy on the Quilmes field waving the Argentine flag. A soccer player dancing cumbia with the corner pole, a really long bridge to cross.
People jumping cause their team is winning, a policeman shorter than you feeling your pockets. Fifteen buses stopped on the side of the road thirty miles outside of Córdoba, some punks who were drinking Fernet the whole ride fucking around with some cows to kill time, a policeman from Córdoba going off to look for them. A photo from the sky, the visitors’ fans screaming much louder than the home teams’. Paradise, Outer Space, the only way to enter a place. A town of few inhabitants, an ice cream truck bringing dairies to the corner store, yogurts, the boy who unloads them, a two peso bill flying around nowhere in particular. Paradise, Outer Space, the building terrace, the highest part. A good way to start dancing, knowing that you’ve got more ecstasy in your pants’ pocket.
A funny conversation with a friend, two boys talking with glasses on, seven friends dancing exactly the same for awhile, 3 boys walking down the middle of the street. Paradise, Outer Space, a staircase that never again ends, a friend playing chess against the computer, a kid who doesn’t get what’s happening. One of the good drugs, One of the best drugs, One of the most amazing drugs. A satellite photo in super high resolution, a boy asking you a really thoughtful question. A sincere hug. Lots of memories at once that tickle your legs. Paradise, Outer Space, a boy with his eyes closed, some kicks to jump better. A dog the same race as the boy that you like, a friend talking to you about the field at five pm and the moment he was going to write while drinking mate
I drink mate. Paradise, Outer Space, a boy imitating the sound of wind with his mouth, a poorly lit corner. Two hooded boys smoking pot. A poem that starts and ends when you like. Paradise, Outer Space, a boy who swears to God, a song that comes with an incredible chime. A beautiful dream, A happy moment to be in. Paradise, Outer Space, knowing that everything’s good. A boy with a Michael Jordan tattoo, a pill that turns you into a superhero. Paradise, Outer Space, a kid dancing really well with the sickest sneakers, a song that makes you want to live and another one, that comes on after, that makes you want to live higher. Paradise, Outer Space, celebrating a goal that you’ll never ever forget, the best boys to be in love with.
A poem that’s wicked easy to write, a boy who’s wicked cute without his shirt on, a goalie who knows how to taunt in a fight. Paradise, Outer Space, the cutest ecstasy smile at the party, lots of people raising their hands at the same time. Doing well, doing fucking great. The highest tree in town, a song that makes you take off. Paradise, Outer Space, a race from here to the corner, a thought that just occurred to me, a poet with his gaze fixed on. Paradise, Outer Space, the things that nobody understands. A sick motorboat that takes you a million places you’ve wanted to visit, half a pill of ecstasy in your favorite jacket’s pocket, something mad interesting that he wanted to tell you. Paradise, Outer Space.
Mariano Blatt was born Buenos Aires in 1983. He is a poet and currently studies Publishing at the Universidad de Buenos Aires. He works as producer in publishing resources. He has self published poems and also been featured in the magazines El niño Stanton and poesia.com. He also published the poetry book Increíble (El niño Stanton, 2007).
