sexta-feira, 19 de julho de 2013

Germaine Calderón, poeta mexicana.

Many years ago I found this poem, by Germaine Calderón, in a Mexico City newspaper.
Although I posted it here on my blog in 2009, it took me a long time to try to translate it into
English.  Let's see how this works!

Ya no soy un caballo
    Germaine Calderón

Hay signos
desesperanzas en duelo
algunos vagabundos
en crecimiento con la noche
con el olor del mundo
muchachos
como pájaros tímidos

Los montes marineros azules
nosotros silenciosos
buscando algún rellano
un pueblo más que este
insignificante en tres patas
una sombra del tamaño del agua
y un vino incesante
a la hora de la memoria
para caer tumbados en las lindes
donde se rie
com una extraña mueca
por nuestra desnudez obcena

Hoy he volteado
mi sueño como un guante
yo mismo
me he puesto a secar por el reverso
y el corazón se extraña
de su doblez
de su flanco
de su tamaño inminente
y yo me extraño
de ser tan parecido
a un hombre
Siempre pensé que era un caballo
las gentes me llamaban por mi nombre
y yo acudia
con un instinto manso

Amaba la corteza llovida
el grano tierno como dádiva
y creia
en los músculos simples
en la rapidez del aire
en la oración impaciente
desbocada

Entonces
los árboles
semejaban guerreros
lo verde venia de las raíces
y las raíces no tenian
un lugar fijo

En esas largas caminatas
se estrenaban los dias
y no habia outro lenguaje que vivir
de uma manera recia
desde el origen
casi brutalmente

Sabia que estar
era doblegarse
por disciplina
no por hambre
que era el tiempo de los mitos
de los encantadores
con sus flautas

La medida era el fuego
el bienestar residia
en ser
de pronto
de la crin a los nervios
rebelde
y sin embargo,
el ojo siempre
agrandado
por la mansedumbre

Pero hoy me descubro
tan igualmente a todos
limitado en ideas
en trabajo
y tan sólo
y tan sólo mirando




Now that  I am no longer a horse.


There are signs
 duels of despair
hobos who wander
and grow with the night
with the aromas of the world,
boys like birds
in their shyness

The mountains,  blue´clad sailors
and we here silent,
seeking some flatland
some little town that is more
than this one,
insignificant on its three legs
a shadow in the measure of water
and wine, incessant
at memory's hour
where we collapse on the hillsides
where there is laughter,
like a strange grimace
in the face of our obscene
exposure.

Today I have turned my
dreams inside out like a glove,
I have turned myself out to dry
my heart puzzled
by its seams
and its flanks
by its imminent size
and I am puzzled
to find myself looking
   so much
like a human.

I always thought I was a horse
people called me by my name
and I came
 by gentle instinct

I loved the damp bark
grains as tender as a gift
and I believed
in simple muscles
in the swiftness of air
in impatient, runaway
prayer

In those days
trees were like
warriors
and greenness shot up
from the roots
and roots were fixed
nowhere

On those long strolls
  a debut of days 
and there was no other language
    for living
except in a way that was hard
almost brutal
from the start

I knew that to be
was to give in -
to discipline
and not in hunger
that these were the days of tales
of charmers and their flutes

Measures were welded in fire
and well being meant being
suddenly
from mane to nerves,
a rebel
but always with the wide
rounded eyes of the docile

Today however
I discover myself
 so much the same
as all others,so
  bounded in ideas
    in labor
and watching, 
merely watching.


  English version:

Miriam Adelman

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