Speech is a Stream
–Inga Kuznetsova
Photo by K. Mitch Hodge on Unsplash
speech is a stream
poetry in translation
garden
two bodies
habitation
Room (rough translation)
–Nora MéndezYou enter and leave me
I let you pass and leave
between welcome and farewell
between encounter and disagreement
the trace of love remains
as time signature
like a river that runsAnd this room that is not a room
it is a dense balloon of emotions
crushed into herbs
virgin forest of birds
darkness
light
darkness
Translation
Habitación
Tú entras y sales de mí
yo te dejo pasar y salirentre bienvenida y despedida
entre encuentro y desencuentro
va quedando la huella del amor
como firma de tiempo
como río que hace cauceY este cuarto que no es cuarto
es globo denso de emociones
triturado en hierbas
selva virgen de pájaros
oscuridad
luz
oscuridad
Photo by Cherry Laithang on Unsplash
love-amar
the cats will know
The Cats Will Know
Rain will fall againon your smooth pavement,a light rain likea breath or a step.The breeze and the dawnwill flourish againwhen you return,as if beneath your step.Between flowers and sillsthe cats will know.There will be other days,there will be other voices.You will smile alone.The cats will know.You will hear wordsold and spent and uselesslike costumes left overfrom yesterday’s parties.You too will make gestures.You’ll answer with words—face of springtime,you too will make gestures.The cats will know,face of springtime;and the light rainand the hyacinth dawnthat wrench the heart of himwho hopes no more for you—they are the sad smileyou smile by yourself.There will be other days,other voices and renewals.Face of springtime,we will suffer at daybreak
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feeling of the world
Feeling of the World
–Carlos Drummond de AndradeI have just two hands
And the feeling of the world,
But I am teeming with slaves,
my memories are streaming
and my body yields
at the crossroads of love.When I get up, the sky
will be dead and plundered,
I’ll be dead myself,
my desire and the songless
swamp dead.My comrades didn’t tell me
that a war was on
and I needed
To bring arms and food.
I feel scattered,
before the borders,
and I humbly beseech
your pardon.When the bodies pass
I’ll remain alone
unraveling the memory
of the herald, the widow and the microscope man
who lived in the tent
and were missing
the next morningthat morning, more night than night itself.
Translation
Sentimiento do mundo
Tenho apenas duas mãos
e o sentimento do mundo,
mas estou cheio de escravos,
minhas lembranças escorrem
e o corpo transige
na confluência do amor.
Quando me levantar, o céu
estará morto e saqueado,
eu mesmo estarei morto,
morto meu desejo, morto
o pântano sem acordes.
Os camaradas não disseram
que havia uma guerra
e era necessário
trazer fogo e alimento.
Sinto-me disperso,
anterior a fronteiras,
humildemente vos peço
que me perdoeis.
Quando os corpos passarem,
eu ficarei sozinho
desfiando a recordação
do sineiro, da viúva e do microscopista
que habitavam a barraca
e não foram encontrados
ao amanhecer esse amanhecer
mais noite que a noite.
the time of love
The Time of Love
–Carlos Drummond de Andrade
Translation
Amor e seu tempo
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refusals
Refusals
–Circe MaiaHere’s the first fear:being slippery and weak.The passing without touching, touching without resting,the barely resting.I don’t wantto live like someone who drinksthe days, loose winethat very quickly soursand—without knowing how—comes to an end.Another fear: to become lost.Suddenly to no longer be there, having stayedbehind at the bend.Already they don’t see us, already they don’t hear us.Movement between imagesbetween shadow, between dreams.I don’t wantthis making false progress,in reality, stillness, arrest without appealin reality, death.Finally, this feardifficult to talk about, right now:smoothness of paper, gleam of wood,silence all around . . . in silence fliesfine fear, needle of the presentmoment.
Translation
Rechazos
He aquí el primer miedo:ser resbaloso y blando.El pasar sin tocar, tocar sin apoyarse,el apoyarse apenas.No quierovivir como quien bebelos días, flojo vino,que muy pronto agriay—sin saberse cómo—se acaba.Otro miedo: perderse.De pronto ya no estar, haber quedadoatrás, en un recodo.Ahora ya no nos ven, ya no nos oyen.Movimiento entre imágenesentre sombra, entre sueños.No quieroese avanzar en falso,en realidad quietud, detención sin remedioen realidad, la muerte.Por último, este miedodifícil de decir, ahora mismo:lisura de papel, brillo en maderas,silencio alrededor . . . Vuela el silenciofino miedo, aguja del instantepresente.
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beyond love
Beyond Love
–Octavio Paz
Original
Más allá del amor
Todo nos amenaza:
el tiempo, que en vivientes fragmentos divide
al que fui
del que seré,
como el machete a la culebra;
la conciencia, la transparencia traspasada,
la mirada ciega de mirarse mirar;
las palabras, guantes grises, polvo mental sobre la yerba,
el agua, la piel;
nuestros nombres, que entre tú y yo se levantan,
murallas de vacío que ninguna trompeta derrumba.Ni el sueño y su pueblo de imágenes rotas,
ni el delirio y su espuma profética,
ni el amor con sus dientes y uñas nos bastan.
Más allá de nosotros,
en las fronteras del ser y el estar,
una vida más vida nos reclama.Afuera la noche respira, se extiende,
llena de grandes hojas calientes,
de espejos que combaten:
frutos, garras, ojos, follajes,
espaldas que relucen,
cuerpos que se abren paso entre otros cuerpos.Tiéndete aquí a la orilla de tanta espuma,
de tanta vida que se ignora y se entrega:
tú también perteneces a la noche.
Extiéndete, blancura que respira,
late, oh estrella repartida,
copa,
pan que inclinas la balanza del lado de la aurora,
pausa de sangre entre este tiempo y otro sin medida.
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