Translated from Spanish by Cindy Rinne.
Quisiera escribir un poema
Quisiera escribir un poema
uno que respire
que reflexione
que piense.
Un poema que exprese el dolor del caos
cuando las armas se revuelcan en manos inestables.
Quisiera escribir un poema
que sepa rastrear las raíces
que sepa de historia
de prejuicio
de desigualdad.
Un poema que huela a amor
almidón, aguacero, y almohada.
Un poema que ciña la ternura de la noche.
Quisiera escribir un poema
que sea un aullido silente
que se pasea este día
para despertar el silencio inocuo.
I Would Like to Write a Poem
I would like to write a poem
that breathes
one that reflects
that thinks.
A poem that expresses the pain of chaos
like weapons used by unstable hands.
I would like to write a poem
that seeks the origin of roots
one that knows the history
of prejudice
and inequality.
A poem with a scent like love,
like starch, like rainfall, and like a pillow.
One that embraces the tenderness of night.
I would like to write a poem
that is a silent howl,
one that walks around
to awaken the innocuous silence.
***
Ecos vacíos
La tierra está llena de cáscaras de limón, y ojos vacíos
su ondulación me arroja de rodillas. Un rayo
con olor a menta andina entra por mi plexos solar. Un abrojo
de azoteas ilumina el desandar del camino: los malecones
tienen olor a sombra líquida, los nevados son jaulas marcadas
por el sol. Mis pasos suenan a páramo y a viento helado de fuego.
Las estrellas se estiran sobre la geología planetaria.
Los cóndores vuelan alrededor y beben la sed de los ciegos,
en el jadeo de sus picos lavan las piedras de la desesperanza.
El páramo, con su frío y viento susurran ecos vacíos,
la brisa húmeda del páramo acaricia la piel cálida de mi cuerpo
la herencia de los cóndores, de las cenizas gritan
respiro la desesperanza, y entierro a las diosas bajo tierra.
Empty Echoes
The earth contains lemon peels and empty eyes.
Its agitation thrusts me to my knees. A ray pierces
my solar plexus with Andean mint scent. A thistle
of balconies lightens the path not traveled: the piers
carry a fragrance of melted shadows, the snowcapped mountains are cages
struck by the sun. My footsteps sound like the Páramo’s icy wind of fire.
The stars stretch themselves over the astral geology.
Condors soar and sip from the thirst of those who are blind,
while their strong beaks tear the stones of despair.
The Páramo whispers cold winds and groans empty echoes,
the damp breeze caresses the warm skin of my willing body,
the legacy of condors, and their screaming ashes—
I breathe despair and bury the goddesses underground.
***
Bajo un furioso atardecer
Bajo un furioso atardecer, abandoné
el cuerpo de ecos. El sonido exterior
se volvió embeleso de cuerpos que respiran
el reloj inmóvil. Aquella mano
se sumergió en el mar.
El mar entró como ola.
El atardecer marcó para siempre
las manecillas del reloj.
En plena luz, ocurrió
lo que las nubes habían planeado,
el rito iniciado.
Under a Raging Dusk
Beneath the agitated dusk, I abandoned
the body of resonating echoes. Sound seared
through entry points of bodies breathing,
clock time ceasing. A hand
plunged into the sea.
Sea crawled like a wave.
The thin place of dusk marked forever
with hands of a clock.
The dawn cracked open. It occurred—
what the clouds had already planned,
the rite initiated.
***
Respiro
Soy el oráculo que predice los nombres. Mi voz
suspende las sombras escondidas en los áticos.
Mi cuerpo nunca cesa. Me despierto desde adentro.
Se interioriza mi cuerpo en un compás sidereal de sueños vaporosos.
Me escapo en los encuentros nómadas. Me arden los ojos.
Me miro desde otro ojo que me observa.
Y me amanezco entre pausas desorbitadas.
I Inhale
I am an oracle foretelling names. My voice
slices through hidden shadows in the attics of minds.
My body never rests. I wake from within.
My dream body goes higher in vaporous dreams.
I escape in nomadic encounters. My eyes burn.
Clarity comes from another eye looking at me.
And I wake between wild-eyed pauses.
***
Ivonne Gordon Carrera Andrade was born in Ecuador. She is a poet, literary critic, and literary translator. She has a Ph.D. in Latin American Literature, and a University Professor in her field of research. She has published eight books of poetry, a book of critical essays on Gabriela Mistral holds a Fulbright Scholar award and has won several important prizes among them the Jorge Carrera Andrade Poetry Award in Ecuador, First Prize Poetry International Contest.
Cindy Rinne creates art and writes in San Bernardino, CA. She is Poet in Residence for the Neutra Institute Gallery and Museum, Los Angeles, CA. A Pushcart nominee. Cindy is the author of several books: Letters Under Rock with Bory Thach, (Elyssar Press), Mapless with Nikia Chaney (Cholla Needles Press), Moon of Many Petals (Cholla Needles Press). Her poetry appeared or is forthcoming in Anti-Herion Chic, Unpsychology Magazine, MORIA, and elsewhere.
Read more on Bengaluru Review:
‘I am a footstep on the slippery road’ : Five poems by Sameer Tanti
‘And we smelt like guavas’ : Five poems by Nilim Kumar
An observer walking on the sidewalks
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