En una calle oscura 

donde se prohibió la entrada al viento

y el aire cansado se impregna 

del meo rancio de los perros,

un adolescente pasa atento 

a lo que escucha en sus cascos

levitando sobre este mundo vencido,

en la esquina, en una placa azul oscuro

crucificado con cuatro tornillos

se exhibe el nombre de un poeta

*

The poet and the dogs

*

In a dark street

where the wind was forbidden to enter

and the tired air is impregnated

with the stale urine of dogs,

a teenager passes attentive

to what is played in their headphones

levitating over this defeated world,

on the corner, on a dark blue plaque

crucified with four screws

the name of a poet is displayed

Durante (todo) o día 

tézolle plans á noite 

nos que eu peregrino 

con xúbilo á tua pel 

*

Chega a noite e o labor 

atopa un recuncho 

escuro onde se agachar 

ata o raiar do día 

*

Pilgrimage

*

During the (whole) day

I weave plans for the night

in which I joyfully go

on pilgrimage to your skin

*

Night falls and the fabric

finds a dark corner

to hide in until dawn

I’ve been bored with nostalgia and sadness for a few days, so I’m posting this link to Alba Cid’s verses, the result of her literary residency in Catalonia. They are written in Galician and translated into Spanish. I hope you like them as much as I do!

https://rlfinestres.com/residente/alba-cid-3

il y a des jours où même l’arc-en-ciel n’a que des gammes de gris pour s’exprimer

Na porta da casa, arrogante e altivo 

agardaba por min o imbécil 

que pensaba ter deixado 

por sempre, vinte anos atrás.

Ao pé das escaleiras do avión

alí estaba para recibirme de volta

*

malia as ganas de cuspirlle

que de súpeto me entraran

pensei ‘pobre ignorante 

que segue musculoso

a arrastrar polo chan a carga 

voluntario ignorante da roda’ 

*

logo avancei nos corredores estreitos 

as portas dos cuartos fechadas

da cociña escoitábase o testo 

dunha pota fervendo ao lume 

anque non recoñecía os olores,

as lámpadas, as cortinas, a alfombra

*

Nin sequera flotaba o acento suave 

que debuxara a fronteira borrosa 

do meu fogar imaxinario

só quedara aquel entullo abandonado.

Na rúa unha meniña chamou: “papá!”

mais tamén iso desaparecera

Welcome

At the door of the house, arrogant and haughty, the idiot I thought I had left behind for good, twenty years ago, was waiting for me. At the foot of the plane stairs he was there to welcome me back 

despite the sudden urge to spit on him, I thought: poor ignorant, still dragging the load along the ground with his muscles, voluntarily ignorant of the existence of the wheel 

then I advanced through the narrow corridors, the doors of the rooms were closed; from the kitchen I could hear the sound of a pot boiling on the fire, although I did not recognize the smell, the lamps, the curtains, the carpet

Not even the soft accent that had drawn the blurred border of my imaginary home was left. All that remained was that long ago abandoned debris. On the street, a little girl called out, «Dad!». That had also disappeared.

Aquí o mar, o meu mar 

con todos os seus adobíos

as cunchas dos que xa non están 

os corpos esvaradíos dos seus habitantes

as ondas que coñecen de memoria

o camiño ata os meus pés 

as anémonas, os camaróns das pozas

o sal que aínda non perdeu as propiedades

de crear ese agradábel proído no lombo

os arroases acompañándome no retorno

os bosques de algas creando escenarios

nos que se perde a fantasía

*

Aquí o meu mar

eu unha máis entre as suas criaturas

ao voltar sinto con máis forza

a sua falta, como quen día tras día, 

sen se decatar respira

nun ar pobre en osíxeno

*

Air and seA

*

Here the sea, my sea 

with all its decorations

the shells of those who are no longer here 

the slippery bodies of its inhabitants

the waves that know by heart

the path to my feet 

the anemones, the prawns of the pools

the salt that has not yet lost its properties

of creating that pleasant scratch on the back

the bottlenose dolphins accompanying my return

the forests of algae creating scenarios

in which fantasy gets lost

*

Here my sea

I am one more among its creatures

upon returning I feel its absence more strongly 

like someone who day after day, 

unconsciously, breathes 

oxygen-depleted air

Suas mans duas velas brancas

navegan miña estepa allea

volta coa calor do seu tacto

mar de golfiños e baleas

*

entre as suas mans viaxeiras

rendido á forza do seu peito

son mar de vida rebuldeira

con ondas de marea dentro

*

meu corpo de terra ríxida

demanda asilo no océano

que a danza das suas mans

enche de luz e de pétalos

*

The hands and the sea

*

Their hands two white sails

sailing my alien steppe

turned with the warmth of their touch

into sea of ​​dolphins and whales

*

between their traveling hands

surrendered to the force of their chest

I am a sea of ​​turbulent life

with tidal waves inside

*

my body of rigid earth

demands asylum in the ocean

that the dance of their hands

fills with light and petals

Ma frontière souffrait.

Ses lignes de barbelés,

Au lieux de protéger mon territoire,

Enfonçaient ses piquants

Sur ma peau, que la vie s’entêtait

À ignorer cons-cien-cieu-se-ment

*

De même qu’avec les autres conflits 

Finalement, il arriva le jour d’orage;

Au beau milieu d’un mois d’août

Saturé de sel et de sable

Le fil de fer fut corrodé d’abord

Puis emporté par le vent

*

C’est ainsi que ce champ 

Uniforme de cicatrices 

Est devenu le jardin 

Où mes deux fleurs 

Ont pu germer

*

Barren border

*

My border was suffering.

Its barbed wire lines,

Instead of protecting my territory,

Drawn its spikes

On my skin, which life persisted

To ignore conscientiously

*

As with other conflicts

Finally, the stormy day came;

In the middle of August

Saturated with salt and sand

The wire was corroded first

Then carried away by the wind

*

That is how this field

Uniform with scars

Became the garden

Where my two flowers

Were able to germinate

Para a pequena Xulia

Antes de deitarme soño 

con alas e correntes térmicas 

nas que flotar maxestoso

*

esperto no corredor do formigueiro 

arrastrando as lealtades 

concienciudamente

*

durmo e soño o soño do pobre 

que nin no máis íntimo se atreve

a asomarse á beira do mar

*

“o que cargas, miña filla, no lombo

son as nosas alas, co poder 

de tornar unha poza en océano”

*

 Family

*

Before I go to bed I dream 

of wings and thermal currents 

in which to float majestically 

*

I awake in the corridor of the anthill 

dragging loyalties 

conscientiously 

*

I sleep and dream the dream of the poor man 

who dares not even in his innermost self 

to look out at the seashore 

*

“what you carry on your back, my daughter, 

are our wings, with the power 

to turn a puddle into an ocean”

Termina la noche del sábado, 
me ofrezco a llevar a P a casa 
Habíamos estado todos bebiendo 
bailando, hablando con dificultad 
por encima de aquella música de los bares

Sobre mi pierna se apoya parsimoniosa la palma de la mano de P
Como una llave cauta, suavemente intenta abrir el cofre en el que yo viajaba,    su mano
y con la misma suavidad se retira 
a su reino de ilusión y aventura
/nos despedimos amistosamente

Por la naturaleza contradictoria de las cosas
mi cuerpo sin haberlas nunca conocido, recuerda hoy las condiciones atmosféricas del suyo: humedad, presión, temperatura 
su olor de tormenta
con más intensidad que si nos hubiésemos de cualquier manera poseído 

Alguna vez en las sombras 
Como hoy, digo: P!  
P! Tu piel que la mía sueña!

Ode to P

Saturday night is over,
I offer to take P home
We had all been drinking
dancing, talking with difficulty
over that music in the bars

P's palm rests slowly on my leg
Like a cautious key, it gently tries to open the chest in which I was travelling,     his hand
and with the same gentleness it retreats 
to its kingdom of illusion and adventure
/we say goodbye in a friendly way

Due to the contradictory nature of things
my body, without ever having known them, remembers today the atmospheric conditions of hers: humidity, pressure, temperature
her smell of storm
with more intensity than if we had possessed each other in any way

Sometimes in the shadows
Like today, I say: P!
P! Your skin that mine dreams!

Today Manuela Timofte publishes my poem Migratory Birds in Gobblers by Masticadores. As always, I love seeing my poems brought to new readers.

Galicia, my birthplace, is a rainy area compared to the rest of Spain. After living in Manchester (UK) for a few years, I found it even arid.

Many thanks to Manuela, and please, follow the link to read an emigrant poem.

Migratory Birds