Dos de Rosario Castellanos. La mujer de inteligencia deslumbrante que murió en Israel en una tina

Poem by Rosario Castellanos (Mexico)

Translated by Vicky Cox (UK)



Presencia

 

Algún día lo sabré. Este cuerpo que ha sido

mi albergue, mi prisión, mi hospital, es mi tumba.

 

Esto que uní alrededor de un ansia,

de un dolor, de un recuerdo,

desertará buscando el agua, la hoja,

la espora original y aun lo inerte y la piedra.

 

Este nudo que fui ( de cóleras,

traiciones, esperanzas,

vislumbres repentinos, abandonos,

hambres, gritos de miedo y desamparo

y alegría fulgiendo en las tinieblas

y palabras y amor y amor y amores)

lo cortarán los años.

 

Nadie verá la destrucción. Ninguno

recogerá la página inconclusa.

Entre el puñado de actos

dispersos, aventados al azar, no habrá uno

al que pongan aparte como a perla preciosa.

Y sin embargo, hermano, amante, hijo,

amigo, antepasado,

no hay soledad, no hay muerte

aunque yo olvide y aunque yo me acabe.

 

Hombre, donde tú estás, donde tú vives

permaneceremos todos.

 

Presence

 

One day I will know it. This body that has been

my shelter, my prison, my hospital, is my tomb.

 

That which I have united around a longing,

a pain, a memory,

will turn its back in search of the water, the leaf,

the original spore and even the inert and the stone.

 

This knot that I was (of furies,

betrayals, hopes,

sudden glimpses, desertions,

hungers, cries of fear and helplessness

and happiness shining in the darkness

and words of love and love and loves)

will be cut by the years.

 

No one will see the destruction. None

will pick up the unfinished page.

Between the handful of scattered

actions, thrown at random, there will not be one

that is set apart like a precious pearl.

And yet, brother, lover, son,

friend, forefather,

there is no loneliness, there is no death

though I may have forgotten and though I may be gone.

 

Sir, where you are, where you live

we will all remain.

 



Falsa elegía

 

Compartimos sólo un desastre lento

Me veo morir en ti, en otro, en todo

Y todavía bostezo o me distraigo

Como ante el espectáculo aburrido.

 

Se destejen los días,

Las noches se consumen antes de darnos cuenta;

 

Así nos acabamos.

 

Nada es. Nada está.

Entre el alzarse y el caer del párpado.

 

Pero si alguno va a nacer (su anuncio,

La posibilidad de su inminencia

Y su peso de sílaba en el aire),

Trastorna lo existente,

Puede más que lo real

Y desaloja el cuerpo de los vivos.

False elegy

 

We shared no more than a slow disaster

I see myself die in you, in another, in everything

And still I yawn or am distracted

As if before a dull performance.

 

The days unwind,

The nights are consumed before we realise;

 

And like that we die.

 

Nothing exists. Nothing is here.

Between the rise and fall of an eyelid.

 

Yet if something should be born (its omen,

The possibility of its imminence

And its weight like a syllable in the air),

It disrupts the existing,

Is stronger than the real

And dispossesses the bodies of the living.

Published in The Ofi Press issue 49 Foto de Rosario joven tomada de nes-mag.com

False elegy   We shared no more than a slow disaster I see myself die in you, in another, in everything And still I yawn or am distracted As if before a dull performance.   The days unwind, The nights are consumed before we realise;   And like that we die.   Nothing exists. Nothing is here. Between the rise and fall of an eyelid.   Yet if something should be born (its omen, The possibility of its imminence And its weight like a syllable in the air), It disrupts the existing, Is stronger than the real And dispossesses the bodies of the living.