No cuarto branco

os poucos obxectos 

son esbozos borrosos 

semi realidades prescindibles 

ante a emerxencia hexemónica 

dos tonos claros da tua pel 

*

Como nun cadro de Degas 

amo as tuas mans, os teus beizos 

a liña ovalada do teu queixo 

e o dominio dos teus ollos

tan libres como sedentos 

inventando os trazos do desexo

*

White room with strokes of desire

*

In the white room  

the few objects 

are blurry sketches 

dispensable semi-realities 

in the face of the hegemonic emergence 

of the light tones of your skin 

*

Like in a Degas painting 

I love your hands, your lips 

the oval line of your chin 

and the dominance of your eyes 

as free as they are thirsty 

inventing the strokes of desire.

dende o horizonte a luz do sol 

apunta ás azoteas dos rañaceos 

salpicando con discretos tons violáceos 

a fermosa cor gris do teito de nubes 

intres antes de as ventás se acenderen 

xorde esta poderosa enerxía 

que me arrastra cara á felicidade

*

London sunset

*

from the horizon the sunlight 

points to the rooftops of the skyscrapers 

splashing with discreet violet tones 

the beautiful gray color of the cloud ceiling 

moments before the windows light up 

this powerful energy emerges 

dragging me towards happiness

Dende o portal do edificio 

Até a porta peonil do parking 

Conto os pasos namentres

En segundo plano axexa a ciencia 

(ladroa de almas)

Coas suas ecuacións e estatísticas 

Respondendo a todo o que xa sabe 

De fondo pasa a corrente mansa

Que podería xogar co meu cadáver 

Ou como a Sidharta murmurarme 

O segredo da vida

*

On the walk that follows the curve of the river

*

From the building’s entrance hall

To the carpark pedestrian gate 

I count the steps while

In the background lurks science 

(soul thief)

With its equations and statistics 

Responding to everything it already knows 

Along the riverbed passes the gentle current

That it could play with my corpse 

Or like with Sidhartha whisper to me 

The secret of life

Logo dunha ducia de mudanzas, confeso

aínda non aprendín a montar as caixas

*

si descubrín porén, 

que ao abrilas un ano despóis

os obxectos terán perdido a carga afectiva 

que os envolvera en xornal ou plástico de bólas 

*

Nada pesa xa como na última casa 

o espírito dela é só memoria borrosa

foi inútil quedarse cos rotuladores 

que sen a calor daquel fogar 

decidiran deixar secar a sua tinta

*

Ephemeral

*

After a dozen moves, I confess,

still haven’t learned how to pack cardboard boxes

*

I did discover, however,

that when opening them a year later

the objects will have lost their emotional baggage

that had wrapped them in newspaper or bubble wrap

*

Nothing weighs as much as in the last house

its spirit is just a blurred memory

it was useless to keep the felt tip pens

that without the warmth of that home

had decided to let their ink dry

As cousas mudaran de nome 

eu só pasei a chamarlles correctamente 

porén o doutor considerou interesante 

para a nova nomenclatura do universo

buscar unha explicación adentro 

*

A enfermeira, seria, distante, profesional 

mentres enchía os tubos co meu sangue 

máis escuro, advertiu en silencio 

a miña excesiva rixidez e a alta porcentaxe

de tristura disolta na mostra

*

The name of the things

*

Things had changed their names

I just started calling them correctly

but the doctor considered it interesting

for the new nomenclature of the universe

to look for an explanation within

*

The nurse, serious, distant, professional

while filling the tubes with my darker blood 

silently noted my excessive rigidity 

and the high percentage

of sadness dissolved in the sample

Dentro, abajo en el fondo oscuro

Cubiertos por el cieno de la prisa 

Reposan casi en perpetuo olvido 

La rosa del amor y la creatividad 

También ansioso de protagonismo

El brillo frío de la hoja del cuchillo 

*

The rose and the knife

*

Inside, down in the dark depths

Covered by the mud of haste

They rest almost in perpetual oblivion

The rose of love and creativity

Also eager for prominence

The cold gleam of the knife blade

Voltei á escola trinta anos despois 

aparquei lonxe 

entre as naves industriais da beiramar

camiñei rodeado polos olores das navieiras 

e os sons do estaleiro 

Non conseguín o certificado que precisaba

nin sentín nostalxia daqueles tempos

*

Había uns versos de Olga Novo 

na parede dunha multinacional 

logo, no centro, a rúa do Príncipe 

cargada xa de Nadal prematuro 

tiña poemas grabados sobre o chan 

como unha metáfora desta cidade obreira 

de aceiro e granito, de barcos e automóbiles

sustentada na lírica galega 

*

a nosa língua acadou xa a sua minoría oficial 

cada vez máis, só útil como adorno 

*

Hoxe agóbiame ese mar 

que nunca chegarei a coñecer a fondo

decátome de novo que a exploración primeira está no interior 

consulto o número de neuronas que hai nun humano adulto

por ver se o cerebro podería ser máis diverso que o océano

o mar lévame a outro tempo no que estaba perdido 

non me gusta que me mostre antigos defectos

Lévaos de volta ao fondo!

Foran tempos tristes, de soidades fondas

*

Visit to my hometown

I went back to school thirty years later

parked far away

among the industrial buildings on the waterfront

I walked surrounded by the smells of the workshops

and the sounds of the shipyard

I didn’t get the certificate I needed 

nor did I feel nostalgic for those times

*

There were some verses by Olga Novo 

on the wall of a multinational company

Then, in the city centre, the Príncipe Street 

already loaded with premature Christmas

had poems engraved on the floor

As a metaphor for this working-class city 

of steel and granite, of ships and automobiles

Sustained by Galician lyricism

*

Our language, has now reached its official minority 

increasingly, only serves as an ornament 

*

That sea I’ll never get to know in depth 

today it weighs on me

 I realize again that the first exploration is inside

I look up the number of neurons in an adult human

To see if the brain could be more diverse than the ocean

The sea takes me to another time in which I was lost

I don’t like it showing me old flaws

Take them back to the bottom!

Those were sad times, of deep solitudes

In the 5 to 14 year old group, only 16.19% speak Galician always or more than Spanish. In 2003, the corresponding percentage was 43.33%.

Agora ou nunca, H. Monteagudo, 11/10/2024

Aparto os ollos do show que nos une na pantalla do teléfono 

a través dos cristais que comezan a empañarse 

vense as pólas dos pradairos sacudíndose as follas vellas 

Ás veces, unha delas bate no teito do coche e nos asusta 

*

O cemiterio, onde van os seus, 

comeza xusto atrás daquela porta de reixa 

Cando chegamos de noite non quere entrar 

xa non ten forzas e as almas necesitadas 

poderían solicitar a sua axuda

*

Somos os nómades do mar, ela e eu á deriva 

amarramos no adro desta igrexa familiar

tomamos fiambre con crackers 

mentres miramos programas en diferido 

ao abrigo da fenomenoloxía cotiá

*

Familiar Harbour

*

I look away from the TV show that unites us on the phone screen 

through the windows starting to fog up 

it can be seen the maple trees branches shaking their old leaves 

Sometimes, one of them hits the car roof and scares us 

*

The cemetery, where her people end, begins right behind that barred door 

When we arrive at night, she no longer wants to enter there

The souls in need could ask for her help and she no longer has the strength 

*

We are the nomads of the sea, she and I adrift 

We moor to the atrium of this familiar church 

eating ham with crackers while watching pre-recorded programmes

sheltered from everyday phenomenology

I am really grateful to Manuela Timofte for the publication of Leaves and Roots in Masticadores. You can take a look at it in the following link:

Leaves and roots

I wrote this text when after three years living in Manchester I finally started to feel at home

E cercarom-mi as ondas, que grandes som!

Nom hei [eu i] barqueiro nem remador

–

Galician-Portuguese medieval lyric

“Sedia-m’eu na ermida de San Simión”

Meendinho (13th-14th c.)

Buscaba un mentor de poesía

Revolvendo entre mails vellos

O filtro devolveu doces 

Palabras de amor 

Que soterradas por anos

Colleran fío aceirado

Craváranseme nos ollos 

Anegáraseme o teclado

Nom hei conselheiro

Nem assesor

Cercaron-mi as ondas

Que grandes som!

Lyrical Advisor

I was looking for a poetry mentor

Rummaging through old emails 

the filter returned sweet words of love 

That buried for years 

they become sharp as steel 

stuck in my eyes 

drowned my keyboard

I have not a counselor 

nor an advisor

The waves surrounded me 

how big they are!