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. |
