Ya no soy un caballo/ Now that I am no longer a horse

 

Ya no soy un caballo/ Now that I am no longer a horse

    Germaine Calderón      English translation:  Miriam Adelman

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 in our silence
seeking some flatland
some little town that is more
than this one that
limps on its three legs,
a shadow the size of water
and wine, incessant
at the hour of memory
when 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 hung myself out to dry
my heart puzzled
by its own seams
its own flanks
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

the grains as tender as a gift
and I believed
in simple muscles
in the swiftness of air
in the impatient, runaway
phrase
 
In those days
trees were like
warriors
and greenness shot up
from the roots
and roots were fixed
nowhere
 
On those long rambles
days made their debut
and there was no other language
    for living
except in a way that was harsh
almost brutal
from the start
 
I knew that to be
was to give in -
to discipline
not to hunger
that these were the days of tales
of charmers and their flutes
 

Fire was the measure
to be well meant becoming
suddenly
from mane to nerves
a rebel
but always with the wide
rounded eyes of the docile
 
Today however
I discover myself
so much like all others 
so bounded in ideas
in labor
and just watching 
simply watching.

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 flautass

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

  

Mekong

 

                for Marguerite Duras

In the dry season of the Mekong

It is up to us to carry the buckets,

Douse the cabin with water, make our

Own river to sluice away dust and scorpions.

We stack the chairs. Build a bridge

With the tables. Bathe the floors in

Yellow-foaming soap.  It is time to rejoice

Our mother tells us. We can dance barefoot, sing

And she will play her piano again

The only tune she knows

The only one we’ll keep

Forever.