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"Call on Water" is a fountain that writes words in mid-air with plumes of vapour that ascend from a water basin. Dozens of poems by Mexican writer Octavio Paz are presented which describe readable air, the moment when the written word is spoken and becomes the atmosphere itself. The poems’ content becomes tangible briefly, almost breathable, then disappears in turbulence. The fountain uses hundreds of computer-controlled ultrasonic atomizers, placed under the reflecting water pool, which produce the plumes of cold vapour.

Some of the poems and excerpts chosen include the following:

PASADO EN CLARO (exc)
Ver el mundo es deletrearlo.
Espejo de palabras: ¿donde estuve?
Mis palabras me miran desde el charco
de mi memoria. Brillan,
entre enramadas de reflejos,
nubes varadas y burbujas,
sobre un fondo del ocre al brasilado
las sílabas de agua.
Ondulación de sombras, visos, ecos,
no escritura de signos: de rumores.
Mis ojos tienen sed. El charco es senequista:
el agua, aunque potable, no se bebe: se lee.
Al sol del altiplano se evaporan los charcos.
Queda un polvo desleal
y unos cuantos vestigios intestados.
¿Donde estuve?


A DRAFT OF SHADOWS (exc)
To see the world is to spell it.
Mirror of words: where was I?
My words watch me from the puddle
of my memory. Syllables of water
shine in a grove of reflections,
stranded clouds, bubbles above a bottom
that changes from gold to rust.
Rippling shadows, flashes, echoes,
the writing not of signs, but of murmurs.
My eyes are thirsty. The puddle is Stoic:
the water is for reading, not drinking.
Tn the sun of the high plains the puddles evaporate.
Only some faithless dust remains,
and a few intestate relics.
Where was I?


AQUI
Mis pasos en esta calle
Resuenan
en otra calle
donde
oigo mis pasos
pasar en esta calle
donde
Sólo es real la niebla


HERE
My steps along this street
resound
in another street
in which
I hear my steps
passing along this street
in which
Only the mist is real


ESCRITURA
Yo dibujo estas letras
como el día dibuja sus imágenes
y sopla sobre ellas y no vuelve


WRITING
I draw these letters
as the day draws its images
and blows over them
and does not return


JUVENTUD
El salto de la ola
más blanca
cada hora
más verde
cada día
más joven
la muerte


YOUTH
The leap of the wave
whiter
each hour
greener
each day
younger
death


HACIA EL COMIENZO (exc)
Los signos se borran:
yo miro la claridad


TOWARD THE BEGINNING (exc)
The signs are erased:
I watch clarity


VUELTA (exc)
Palabras sin sombra.
No las oímos, las negamos,
dijimos que no existían:
nos quedamos con el ruido.
Sexto piso:
estoy en la mitad de esta frase:
¿hacia
donde me lleva?
Lenguaje despedazado
Poeta: jardinero de epitafios.


RETURN (exc)
Shadowless words.
We didn’t hear them, we denied them,
we said they don’t exist:
we were content with noise.
Sixth floor:
I am in the middle of this phrase:
where
will it take me?
Mangled language.
Poet: gardner of epitaphs.


EPITAFIO SOBRE NINGUNA PIEDRA (Exc)
Mi casa fueron mis palabras, mi tumba el aire.


EPITAPH FOR NO STONE (Exc)
My words were my house, air my tomb.