The inemigrant

Imbecilogic                                                                             Read Spanish Version

The
inemigrant

By
Omar Pérez

El
Dorado, Cipango, the Route of the Spices, the gastarbeiters
or
"guest workers," the pied
noirs,
the political refugees, the travel to the moon or Through the Looking
Glass, the move from persecuted to clandestine, from Jew to marrano,
from clandestine to slave, from gypsy to triumphant. The tarot of
human transmigration, with its green cards, credit cards and
telephone cards, is reminiscent of that idea that fascinated Alice:

"Now,
HERE,
you see, it takes all the running YOU
can do, to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere else,
you must run at least twice as fast as that!"

To
run, to run, like the remora fish, clinging to a ship or to another
fish. To another body that is not his, to an illusion that is
borrowed (with high interest), to an orthopedic dream: Eat
me, drink me.
A nomad in the fishbowl of airports, the detritus in the straits, a
minority of many, the ambition of so many. Oh, immigrant, someday
you’ll receive a permit to go to Mars and you will be the
extraterrestrial we always wanted and feared to meet.

Omar
Pérez is a Cuban poet.