Ya no soy un caballo/ Germaine Calderón

Many years ago I found this poem, by Germaine Calderón, in Mexico City's "La Jornada".
And I carried it with me - a flimsy newspaper clipping thrown into a folder with other poems
that I had found and old typed manuscripts of my own - twice across the continents.  Until one day I decided to share it here, and try my luck at this Spanish to English translation.  A 'work in progress' still!

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 the hour of memory

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 just watching, 

merely watching.

  English version:

Miriam Adelman