Cando tralas chuvias intensas
(desprazaran o aire da cidade)
un raio de sol, apartando as nubes
ven rozar os trofeos esquencidos
faime dubidar se serei eu
o auténtico fillo de Deus
Por sorte, esta carga ameazante
logo escapa dos ombreiros
cando as presións atmosféricas
compactan de novo o ceo
e podo seguir na penumbra
a recoller cristais rotos
L’Œuvre au noir
When, after the heavy rains
(had driven the city’s air away)
a ray of sunlight, parting the clouds,
comes brushing against the forgotten trophies,
it makes me wonder whether I might be
the true son of God.
Luckily, this threatening burden
soon slips from my shoulders
when atmospheric pressure
compacts the sky once more
and I can carry on in the half-light,
picking up broken glass.
Amenceres (gl – en)
Hai como unha ferida aberta
Do tamaño dun puño no centro
Do peito
O sangue abrolla
como nos sumidoiros de Beiramar
en días de tormenta
durante a marea alta
Os dedos nerviosos tentan tapar
O abismo ainda que xa coñecen
A irreversibilidade do outono
Mentres tanto hai tamén un papel
E un bolígrafo azul
Co que debo escribir algo
Os dedos na sua vá tentativa
Tórnanse incapaces de motricidade fina
Só proactivos no desespero
Ás veces, como agora cesa o fluxo vermello
e comeza unha chuvia torrencial
que xera un caos húmido
Neste novo hábitat desconcertadas
descompónenseme as ríxidas crenzas
dolorosamente améncenme os futuros
Dawnings
There is something like an open wound
the size of a fist at the centre
of the chest.
Blood wells up
as it does from the drains of Beiramar
on stormy days
at high tide.
Nervous fingers try to cover
the abyss, though they already know
the irreversibility of autumn.
Meanwhile there is also a sheet of paper
and a blue biro
with which I am supposed to write something.
In their futile attempt,
the fingers become incapable of fine motor control,
proactive only in despair.
Sometimes, as now, the red flow stops
and torrential rain begins,
creating a wet chaos.
In this bewildering new habitat,
my rigid beliefs come apart,
painfully, my futures dawn.
Punto de inflexión (gl – en)
A./ Na actualidade a fariña branca
ínzase duns bichos pequenos e negros
coas suas larvas brancas miudas
#Moléstame esta dixitación do pulgar
como analfabeto da mecanografía
cada verso ocupa demasiado#
B./ Medrei estirando a man ás espiñas
Manténdose un vivo nesa austeridade
C./ A vida realmente é como nun videoxogo
Están decontino a caer corazóns do ceo
Sería tan reconfortante agarrarse a un deles!
D./ Tan tentadores os doces campos do lixo!
Como volver logo aos pés frios do inverno
para non sumirse na desorde asociada?
A./ Coa pel cuberta de cicatrices vexo mellor
estes bichos negros que hai que apartar
cada día, en cada almorzo - xantar - cea
E./ Os grandes lobbies da fariña
prescindiron xa do peneirado
#Boto moito de menos os tempos
nos que (para todos) era inaceptábel
esta combinación horrenda#
Point of inflection
A./ Nowadays, white flour
is teeming with tiny black bugs
and their minute white larvae
#This thumb-typing bothers me,
a typist's illiterate fumbling,
each line taking up far too much space#
B./ I grew up reaching out for thorns,
keeping myself alive through such austerity
C./ Life really is like a video game.
Hearts keep falling from the sky,
how comforting it would be to catch one!
D./ How tempting these sweet fields of rubbish!
How then to return to winter's cold feet
without sinking into the disorder that comes with them?
A./ With my skin covered in scars, I see more clearly
these black bugs that must be brushed aside
every day, at every breakfast – lunch – dinner
E./ The great flour lobbies
have already done away with sieving
#I sorely miss the days
when this horrendous combination
was unacceptable (to everyone)#
Le ballast et l’aigle (fr – en)
Mon premier langage était fait de syllabes de fuite,
Maintenant, vieilles bottes sur le ballast
Une ombre d’ailes larges crie sur le dépôt
sa puissante liberté à porté de bec
Mais endurcis les murs, les croûtes
ne se laissent pas percer de cet air frais
The ballast and the eagle
My first language was made of syllables of escape,
Now, old boots on the ballast,
A shadow with vast wings cries out above the depot, its mighty freedom within beak's reach.
But the hardened walls, the crusts, will not let this fresh air break through.
Solo piel (es – en)
En la hora del café,
durante quince minutos
sueño con ser solo piel
como una alfombra extendida
en el salón de tu casa
para que te acuestes sobre ella
y rodees tu cuerpo entero
con todos mis sentidos
Just Skin
At coffee time,
for fifteen minutes,
I dream of being nothing but skin,
like a rug spread out
in the living room of your home,
so you can lie down upon me
and I can surround your whole body
with all my senses.
O enfermo imaxinario (gl – en)
O médico escóitame con atención
pregunta por cousas da miña vida
dun xeito que me fai sentir coidado
analiza con delicadeza as miñas cinco feridas
aplícalles un primeiro bálsamo
que estende coa sua dicción coidada
Por atrás da voz agarimosa
asoma como nun eco afastado
o meu nome na boca nerviosa
da enfermeira coa lista de pacientes;
duas, tres veces, ata que respondo:
perdón, son eu!
Entro á consulta, o médico cansado
despáchame en poucos minutos
pois non traio algo realmente urxente,
unha doenza que me levaría á morte
sen a sua certeira intervención;
este home sabe como aforrar
os escasos recursos asignados.
Saín decepcionado agarrado á receita
porén, cando conseguín descifrar a letra
asombroume a precisión do diagnóstico:
“De las cinco que piensas que traes
Llegaste solo con tres heridas
La del amor, la de la muerte, la de la vida”
The Imaginary Invalid
The doctor listens to me attentively,
asks about things in my life
in a way that makes me feel cared for.
He gently examines my five wounds,
applies a first balm
which he spreads with his careful diction.
Behind his gentle voice,
like a distant echo,
my name emerges from the nervous lips
of the nurse with her list of patients;
twice, three times, until I answer:
Sorry, that's me!
I enter the consulting room. The tired doctor
dispatches me in just a few minutes,
since I bring nothing truly urgent,
no illness that would lead me to death
without his timely intervention.
This man knows how to make the most
of the scarce resources at his disposal.
I leave disappointed, clutching my prescription.
Yet, when I manage to decipher his handwriting,
I'm astonished by the precision of his diagnosis:
"Of the five you thought you had,
you came with only three wounds:
that of love, that of death, that of life."
For those unfamiliar with Spanish poetry, the diagnosis points to a poem by Miguel Hernández.
Crónica mortuoria (gl – en)
Así, chegou a morte
ainda que unha vez máis
non nos buscaba a nós
caeu ao pe da nosa porta
vestida de luces azuis
e os seus tres oficiais de duelo
policía - ambulancia - bombeiros
mentres durmiamos
envoltos en capas illantes
nós, unha vez máis, sós
nun universo único
ferido de soidade
Deles, das vítimas
só permanecía na veciñanza
o desconcerto balizado
e as chapas retorcidas
as medidas, as marcas
os datos explicativos
Ela, a violenta morte,
allea xa aos protocolos
renovada afastouse
disruptiva, imparábel
Death Chronicle
And so, death arrived,
although once again
it was not looking for us.
It fell at our doorstep,
dressed in blue lights,
with its three officers of mourning:
police – ambulance – fire brigade.
While we slept,
wrapped in insulating layers,
we, once again, alone
in a universe of our own,
wounded by loneliness.
Of them, the victims,
all that remained in the neighbourhood
was bewilderment, cordoned off,
and twisted sheets of metal,
the measurements, the markings,
the explanatory details.
She, violent death,
already beyond the protocols,
moved away, renewed,
disruptive, unstoppable.
A luz dunha estrela (gl – en)
Por fortuna son esta forma informe
e agacho na cunca das mans
as aristas escachadas da imperfección
no corazón dunha esponxa mariña
así cando creo que o aire escasea
e sufro os mareos precursores da agonía
algo liso que debía manterse eterno
estrala e antes de se esvaer o asombro
xa estou alí de novo:
estudando a luz dunha estrela
ou atrapado no arrecendo da abelia
The light of a star
Fortunately, I am this formless shape
and I cup in my hands
the broken edges of imperfection
at the heart of a sea sponge.
So when I think the air is running out
and suffer the dizziness that heralds agony,
something smooth that was meant to remain eternal
cracks open, and before the wonder fades
I am there again:
studying the light of a star
or caught in the scent of an abelia.
Filtros (es -en)
Así en estático, el fondo está cubierto
de piezas de colores y formas diversas
amontonadas como si el viento
u otro elemento inconsciente
las hubiese dejado allí sin propósito.
Las consecuencias de la distancia
son necesariamente devastadoras
aunque sólo ahora más cerca del éter
comienza a levantarse la niebla
que compasiva me protegía
Y aunque ya estoy fuerte, más fuerte
y conozco las hierbas de mil cunetas
cuesta admitir la realidad sin filtros
de una vida estúpida, de una idiota vida
cuando ni siquiera fui hormiga mediocre
Filters
Thus, in stillness, the bottom is covered
with pieces of different colours and shapes,
heaped together as though the wind,
or some other unconscious force,
had left them there without purpose.
The consequences of distance
are necessarily devastating,
though only now, closer to the ether,
does the mist begin to rise
that, in its compassion, protected me.
And though I am strong now, stronger,
and know the grasses of a thousand verges,
it is hard to accept reality unfiltered:
a stupid life, an idiotic life,
when I was not even a mediocre ant.
O señor dos cans (gl – en)
O señor dos cans
leva dous galgos grises
que grazas ás correas
o manteñen pegado á terra
cada mañá cando marcho
para entrar ás sete
quizais terei eu que encontrar
unha parella de amigos
que me saquen a pasear
e impidan que me perda
atmosfera arriba
cando me ceibe a carga cotiá
como ha ser esa vida
xa sen tensión que manteña
o temón a marcar o rumbo
cantos anos máis a seguir
cando poderei por fin
acadar o descanso
Subir, fundirme co ceo
ser filtro dos raios solares
devolver algo do recibido
The Man with the Dogs
The man with the dogs
walks two greyhounds
whose leads
keep him tethered to the ground
each morning when I leave
to clock in at seven.
Perhaps I too will have to find
a pair of friends
to take me out for walks
and keep me from drifting
up into the atmosphere
when the daily burden
is finally lifted.
What will that life be like,
with no longer any tension
to keep the helm
holding its course?
How many more years to carry on,
when will I finally
reach the rest?
To rise, to merge with the sky,
to filter the sun's rays,
to give something back
of what I have received.
