Tralo silencio das pegadas na neve

E a uniformidade de cores asociada

Acadou a primavera as miñas costas 

Cun cargamento de trilos de paxaros

E os nomes novos das renacidas árbores

Rodeadas de flores por todas partes

•

Debullo contra o padal 

Cada sílaba entregada

Cóbreme como unha túnica

Cada pluma que transmitín enteira

Antes de que o navío partise 

•

Spring

After the silence of the footprints in the snow

And the associated uniformity of colors

Spring has reached my shores

With a cargo of bird trills

And the new names of the reborn trees

Surrounded by flowers everywhere

•

I thresh against the palate 

each syllable delivered

It covers me like a robe 

each feather I transmitted whole 

before the ship weighed anchor

Thanks to Flavio for choosing this poem for his Easter Sunday selection.

Gioielli Rubati 348: Maria Natalia Iiriti – Massimo Botturi – Laura Segantini – Mauro Contini – Abel Abilheira – Raffaele (Frammenti di Pensiero) – Luisa Zambrotta – Julie Sopetràn.

Happy Easter Sunday! Buona domenica di Pasqua!

De cando tiña idade de namorarme

do voo das plumas e a constancia do río

do arrecendo a xabón na sua roupa 

e o fulgor do seu peito ao carón do meu

quédanme aínda residuos incrustados

nas zonas pouco frecuentadas da alma 

•

Remains

From that times when I was old enough to fall in love

with the flight of feathers and the constancy of the river

with the scent of soap on her clothes

and the glow of her chest next to mine

there are still remains embedded

in the little-frequented areas of my soul

saciado de luar e sombra
convertido en pedra
entre o pedregal axexo
o laranxa do nacemento
do minúsculo rei
que ven pra quentar 
a parede rochosa
noites como esta establecen
o inicio das novas eras
pola miña banda, eu,
inmóbil espreito cambios
nos tonos do horizonte escuro
medra a esperanza 
quizáis aquí agachado
onde nunca antes ousara
recibirei finalmente
parte do saber esquivo
que o amencer ostenta
*
Dawn
*
satiated by moonlight and shadow
turned into stone
from the scree I lurk
the orange of the birth
of the tiny king
who comes to warm
the rocky wall
nights like this establish
the beginning of new eras
for my part, 
I, motionless, watch for changes
in the tones of the dark horizon
hope grows
perhaps here, hidden
where I’d never dared before
I will finally receive
some of the elusive knowledge
that the dawn holds

Eu, que son o cego | no hipódromo dos cabalos gañadores | abandono a sombra de confort | onde as augas corren mansas sen esforzo | e me instalo entre dous mundos | na rexión inhóspita na que baten as ondas | e  unha vez máis espido erguido aguanto | a volta á dúbida, á incerteza | non topei outro xeito de vencer | a inercia de costa abaixo | coa que a morte nos engada

Inertia

I, who am the blind | in the racetrack of the winning horses | abandon the shade of comfort | where the waters run gentle without effort | and I settle between two worlds | in the inhospitable region where the waves beat | and once again naked and erect I endure | the return to doubt, to uncertainty | I have found no other way to overcome | the inertia like going downhill | with which death bewitches us

Few time to read your poems or to write mine. I miss the lyric!

Dende a nova casa

En cinco minutos chegamos a Gales

Hora e media máis e acadamos 

O pé da montaña

•

Subín os primeiros quilómetros 

Envolto en pensamentos do tempo da fuga

Como se esconde un da sua sombra

Se non é noutra sombra máis densa?

A morte acompañaba o camiño de ascenso

•

Nun tempo só avanzaba 

para que o horizonte trouxera luz 

no futuro das miñas fillas

Non aquela sombra que me arrastraba 

E non quería deixar por herencia

•

O esforzo e a beleza da paisaxe

Foron traendo a mente ao presente, á vida

Tres horas e chegamos arriba

Onde centos de persoas 

facían educadamente a cola 

para o selfie no poste do cumio

•

Na baixada, agora si, volveu a morte

•••

Lyric exhaustion

From the new house

In five minutes we reached Wales

An hour and a half later we were

At the foot of the mountain

•

I climbed the first mile 

Wrapped in thoughts of the time of escape

How does oneself hide from one’s own shadow

If not in another, denser shadow?

Death accompanied the ascent

•

At one time I only advanced

So that the horizon would bring light

To my daughters’ future

Not that shadow that dragged me

And I didn’t want to leave as an inheritance

•

The effort and the beauty of the landscape

Were bringing the mind to the present, to life

Three hours and we reached the top

Where hundreds of people

Politely lined up

For the selfie on the summit post

•

On the descent, now death returned

•••

Secretamente mi cuerpo 

sigue amando tu piel bronceada

la mente estricta controladora 

logró olvidarte

al menos eso cree 

esa engreída prepotente 

cuando ella duerme 

y las alambradas son de hilo

me escapo a esa playa 

me tumbo en la arena

desnudo a tu lado

•

Your tanned skin

•

Secretly, my body 

still loves your tanned skin

The strict, controlling mind 

has managed to forget you

At least that’s it believes 

that arrogant, conceited

When it sleeps 

and the fences are made of thread

I escape to that beach

I lie down on the sand

naked next to you

Foi necesaria esta tormenta

Que me parteu os ósos da alma

Para soltar a cinza que os puños apertaban

E relaxar os músculos da queixada

•

Uns afiados acordes de piano

Viñeron enganchar a alma

Feita un nobelo no centro do peito

Arrastrárona ao sol, bañárona nos doces 

Pétalos brancos da ameixeira

▪︎

The piano

This storm was necessary 

that broke the bones of my soul

To release the ashes that my fists were clenching

And relax the muscles of my jaw

▪︎

A few sharp piano chords

Came to hook my soul

Curled up in the center of my chest

They dragged it to the sun, bathed it in the sweet

White petals of the plum tree

Days were hectic, all of March was a non-stop move, visiting the new center, 5-hour trips at the wheel, from London to the north and back to the south. This week, dressed in the yellow sweater and navy blue jeans, I finally finished my year-long work in the capital, and as always, I was in a hurry until the last minute

I didn’t even realise that Gobblers by Masticadores had published my poem The Waffles. The last weeks I were detecting errors in WP, comments sent but not published, so I’m not surprised I didn’t receive the notice.

As I have done (almost) every month for a year, I thank Manuela Timofte for the publication, it’s an honor for me when my verses get a second life. I wrote The waffles two years ago when I was spending a season in Brussels for work, enough time to fall in love with la ville.

Finally, I would be flattered if you click on the link to read my poem:

The waffles

Por no abrir los ojos

Le pregunté a la Inteligencia

Si ya por fin había salido el sol

Si habían llegado sus rayos cálidos 

Al fondo de mi agujero

▪︎

Respondió que no tenía evidencias

Las fuentes eran un maquillaje

Nada podían afirmar con certeza

Solo segura de la diversidad de datos 

Me dibujó un bello paisaje soleado

•

Not wanting to open my eyes

Not wanting to open my eyes

I asked Intelligence

If the sun had finally risen

If its warm rays had reached

The bottom of my hole

▪︎

It replied that it had no evidence

The sources were a makeup

Nothing could be said with certainty

Only sure of the diversity of data

It drew me a beautiful sunny landscape