I submitted this poem exactly three years ago to the contest that Christophe Condello held on his blog https://christophecondello.wordpress.com/

ici où la terre s'arrête brusquement 
le vent lèche la roche abrupte de la falaise 
et cherche la caresse dans un milliard de plumes 
d'oiseaux. Avec le suave frôlement s’effilochent
les âmes libres des goélands, mélangées 
aux minéraux de la paroi, elles retombent 
sur la peau vieillie de notre maison d’automne 
que par ce peeling marin change les barreaux 
de ses fenêtres en voiles gonflées de rêves 
à l’assaut de l’océan, son seul mur l’horizon

marine revival

Here, where the earth stops abruptly
The wind licks the steep rock of the cliff
and seeks a caress in a billion bird feathers.
With the gentle rustling, the free souls of the seagulls unravel, mixed
with the minerals of the wall, they fall
onto the aged skin of our autumn house
which, through this marine peeling, changes the bars
of its windows into sails swollen with dreams
assaulting the ocean, its only wall, the horizon

No bater dos dentes
Síntese o frío do espazo escuro
Aparentemente non chega 
Luz da estrela
Avanzamos en liña recta?
Poderiamos non ser planeta
se ainda nos ata a língua?
Que é un planeta sen órbita?
Quizais non sexa iso 
Poida que a órbita si exista, que estea aí 
Mesmo se non é evidente a sua curvatura 
Ao errar tan lonxe do sol
Semella desprazamento lineal
Porén, xa ves, todo parece indicar
Que andamos en círculos
Ou elipses
Tamén nós
Co eterno lazo do nacemento

Distant

In the chattering of teeth
You feel the cold of dark space
Apparently starlight doesn't reach here
Are we moving in a straight line?
Could we not to be a planet
if we are still bond by tongue?
What is a planet without an orbit?
Maybe it's not that
Maybe the orbit does exist, it’s there
Even if its curvature is not evident
When wandering so far from the sun
It seems like linear displacement
However, you see 
everything seems to indicate 
we move forward in circles
Or ellipses
So do we
With the eternal bond of birth

Agardo a quenda na charcutería
Como din os vellos que aínda no adoptaran
Os arabescos da nova lingua

A escolmar poemas para o certame
Atopo un home triste
Atormentado? Non, nin tanto

Sempre hai un sorriso para a foto
Non quero darlle a victoria á derrota
Nin recluirme nos azucres da nostalxia

Quero decote agradecer a luz do sol 
Con fermosas flores de arrecendo

Non levar meus versos en apnea
Aos fondos mestos de líquidos escuros 
onde a vista xa non ten utilidade

Quero o ar dos cumios a percorrer
E alimentar cada estrofa

Hoxe é un día soleado de abril 
Que cheira a herba cortada
E todo semella posible

Quizais ás veces, por preguiza 
Me recreo no obstáculo 
En lugar de buscar o camiño 

Fronte ao expositor dos friames
Agardo despistado 
Navegando mar adentro

Porén non tanto que non sinta o ollar
Da muller de melena crecha
Que me devolve a primavera

Tamén é valioso
Ser para alguén 
Unha posibilidade

At the supermarket

Waiting for my turn at the specialist butcher’s
As the old people say who haven't adopted 
The arabesques of the new language yet

Choosing poems for the contest
I find a sad man
Tormented?  No, not so much

There is always a smile for the photo
I do not want to give victory to defeat
Nor to confine myself to the sugars of nostalgia

I always want to thank the sunlight
With beautiful fragrant flowers

Not to take my verses in apnea
To the depths thick with dark liquids
Where sight is no longer useful

I want the air of the peaks going through
And nourishing each verse

Today is a sunny day in April
That smells of freshly cut lawn
And everything seems possible

Perhaps sometimes, out of laziness
I am entertained by the obstacle
Instead of looking for the way

In front of the display of cold cut
I wait absentmindedly
Sailing offshore

But not so much that I do not feel the gaze
Of the curly haired woman
That brings me back to spring

It is also valuable
To be a possibility 
For someone

I thank Manuela Timofte for publishing today my poem Worries in Globbers by Masticadores!

I wrote it last December, in London, in the middle of the Christmas period.

Worries

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

•••