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Canto contra mí

a estas alturas

en este risco de viento

la nube moja mi vida

me abraza la lengua fría

y me dejo entumecer

soy pajarito flotando en silencio

alas pesadas

no soy otro, soy yo

déjame, abrázame

en una ramita canto a la nada

no soy alguno, soy yo

por qué no me quieres

mis ojos llenos de agua

un día se cerrarán en sequía

mírame, déjame

no soy tampoco, soy yo

soy yo

Posted on by R

Precarious night

In this
precarious night
I salute
myself

Fire in chest
Swirling emotions
Soft shoulders
Head is too heavy
For the neck

Why is that
I can’t deal
With i
Why tonight
I can’t stand
Myself

World is, too
unforgetful
Or in me
The world
Is

Music is, too
Impossibly sad
Or
Sounds that were far
Banging the door
Left ajar
come from inside
To talk

I can’t stand you
Why is that, I ask
Because you don’t know
yourself enough
Why is that, I ask

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To forget

To forget you
I don’t want to
How could I

So it hurts to hear that it was, it hurts
Because it was, and it’s no more
And I don’t want to let it be memory
And I don’t want it to grow as melancholy
So how could it be and not be

How could I tell you that it is, even if it’s not
How could I tell you that it will always be, even if it was
That I’ll never forget, even if it hurts
That I’ll always feel the same, even if no more

Forgive me, please
that I’ll not forget you

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Oda a la bicicleta / Ode to bicycles (Pablo Neruda)

Iba
por el camino
crepitante:
el sol se desgranaba
como maíz ardiendo
y era
la tierra
calurosa
un infinito círculo
con cielo arriba
azul, deshabitado.

Pasaron
junto a mí
las bicicletas,
los únicos
insectos
de aquel
minuto
seco del verano,
sigilosas,
veloces,
transparentes:
me parecieron
sólo
movimientos del aire.

Obreros y muchahas
a las fábricas
iban
entregando
los ojos
al verano,
las cabezas al cielo,
sentados
en los
élitros
de las vertiginosas
bicicletas
que silbaban
cruzando
puentes, rosales, zarza
y mediodía.

Pensé en la tarde cuando
los muchachos
se laven,
canten, coman, levanten
una copa
de vino
en honor
del amor
y de la vida,
y a la puerta
esperando
la bicicleta
inmóvil
porque
sólo
de movimiento fue su alma
y allí caída
no es
insecto transparente
que recorre
el verano,
sino
esqueleto
frío
que sólo
recuepra
un cuerpo errante
con la urgencia
y la luz,
es decir,
con
la
resurrección
de cada día.

I was walking
down
a sizzling road:
the sun pipped like
a field of blazing maize,
the
earth
was hot,
an infinite circle
with an empty
blue sky overhead.

A few bicycles
passed
me by,
the only
insects
in
that dry
moment of summer,
silent,
swift,
transluscent;
they
barely stirred
the air.

Workers and girls
were riding to their
factories,
giving
their eyes
to summer,
their heads to the sky,
sitting on the
hard
beetle backs
of the whirling
bicycles
that whirred
as they rode by
bridges, rosebushes, brambles
and midday.

I thought about evening when
the boys
wash up,
sing, eat, raise
a cup
of wine
in honor
of love
and life,
and waiting
at the door,
the bicycle,
stilled,
because
only moving
does it have a soul,
and fallen there
it isn’t
a transluscent insect
humming
through summer
but
a cold
skeleton
that will return to
life
only
when it’s needed,
when it’s light,
that is,
with
the resurrection
of each day.

Translated by Margaret Sayers.

Posted on by R

Descanso

From where I was
to where you helped me feel
small simple truths
in crystallized imperfect words
small plant looking for some light
tenacious and urgent need
open arms trying to find
an nonexistent vocabulary
that may not be ever found
in my stronghold of Spanish words
podría decir hoy
en compleja poesía
vagos vagones de tren
fila india encadenada
encuentran salas y días
vacías de voz
llenas de espera
vagos vagones de tren esperan
pasar y pasar por mi vida
con nada, qué sombría
but combining simple colors
I can paint deepness and discover
where red, green, and blue
now texture, weight, and intention
so what is a turtle and a cat
before just pieces, after you symbols
today meanings, tomorrow maybe fingers, arms, and eyes
so, thank you
so, stay
piccola ed universale
stay here, I’ll keep you warm