Fins de xullo, sur de Inglaterra

Na cripta escura e fresca 
Pecho os ollos sinto medrar 
A conciencia sobre o meu corpo 
Aflora a tensión nos ombreiros

Pido aquí, á Nosa Señora da Bóveda
Quen sabe abondo de aguante
Que a vida non sexa unha lousa 

Entre o macizo destas pedras
A miña alma tórnase máis fluída
Nesta prisión de sombras
Asoma o camiño cara á luz

Summer Prayer

End of July, southern England

In the cool dark crypt 
I close my eyes and feel 
A growing awareness of my body 
The tension in my shoulders surfaces

I ask here, to Our Lady in the Undercroft
Who knows enough about endurance
That life may not be a burden

Among the massif of these stones
My soul becomes more fluid
In this prison of shadows
Appears the way to the light

chega a hora do repouso 
ao cabo podo pechar os ollos 
soñar cun mar azul feliz de arroases 
e bordeado por terrazas de veraneantes 
que fronte a fronte nos ollos descobren paraísos lonxe do metro 
do monótono xirar 
no tambor coa colada

Dolphins

after all        it's time to rest 
i can close my eyes 
and dream of a blue sea 
happy with dolphins 
and lined with terraces of holidaymakers 
who face to face in the eyes discover 
paradises far from the subway 
from the monotonous spinning 
of the drum with laundry

Today Masticadores publishes my poem Adrift. I would be pleased if you visit the page by clicking on the link:

Adrift

Many thanks to Manuela Timofte!

Hoxe que baixa o río cheo
Aproveito para regalarlle 
Á corrente cega e poderosa
As sabas máis novas, as velas de olor
Que tantas veces agardaron en van
Pola calor dos nosos corpos

Guindo o inmenso espazo brillante
Que o desexo nos abrira no corazón
Alí centos de veces entramos 
Tras sacudir na alfombra da porta
O balbordo das rutinas diarias
Para deixar expandirse
Esta ansia dos nosos corpos

Tiro pola fiestra que dá ao río
O perfecto sabor, a perfecta forma
Do teu corpo na miña boca
As pegadas que o teu sal
Deixou no meu recordo
A tua voz suplicante
Que nunca conseguín 
Apagar de todo

O mar ha saber
Onde arrombar
As nosas cinsas

Through the window facing the river

Today the river is full
I take this opportunity to give 
To the blind and powerful current
The newest sheets, the scented candles 
That have so often waited in vain 
For the warmth of our bodies

I drop the immense bright space 
That desire had opened in our hearts
Where hundreds of times we entered 
After shaking off the bustle of daily routines 
On the doormat
To let this longing of our bodies expand

I throw through the window facing the river 
The perfect taste, the perfect shape 
Of your body in my mouth
The traces that your salt 
Left in my memory 
Your pleading voice 
That I never managed 
To erase completely

The sea will know
Where to store 
Our remains

Today Manuela Timofte published my interview in Masticadores! You can access it from this link:

Abel Abilheira – Interview

In the photo I am in the Waterstones bookstore in Liverpool reading a book of poetry (Curiosidade by Estíbaliz Espinosa)

Ilusiónome coa idea de levarte de paseo 
De guiarte pola xeografía escarpada 
Que crearon os ecos dos meus remos

Non aos pozos de suor e aceiro 
Nin ao barranco dos cristais rotos
Tampouco ao vougo pedregal 
Que tiven que cruzar descalzo

As coordenadas gps apuntarían 
Ao territorio onde o amor foi arrolado 

Aí quixera que me acompañaras 
Aínda que algo como unha borrasca
Ameaza con nacerme no peito
De pensar que agora só quede alí: 

Un monte de entullo e terra batida 
Onde había unha fonda fonte fresca 

Ou o desconcerto dunha chatarrería 
En lugar do prado coas vacas pacendo

Gustaríame guiarte ata un outeiro 
De onde sentir a cálidez dos teus ollos 
Nas miñas costas mentres debando a madeixa do día 

Quizais así poderiamos soñar 
Outro manantial, outra herbeira vizosa
Onde os berces abalaran unha nova era 

GPS coordinates

I'm excited about the idea 
Of taking you for a ride 
Of driving you through the rugged geography 
Created by the echoes of my oars

I wouldn't show you the pits of sweat and steel 
or the ravine of broken glass 
or the desolate rocky terrain 
where I had to cross barefoot.

The gps coordinates would point 
To the territory where love was rocked

I would like you to accompany me 
Although something like a storm
It threatens to be born in my chest
If I think that now it just stays there:

A pile of rubble and rammed earth  
Where there was a deep cool spring 

Or the bewilderment of a junkyard 
Instead of the meadow with the cows grazing

I'd like to lead you to a hill 
Where I can feel the warmth of your eyes 
On my back as I weave the day 

Maybe then we could dream 
Of another spring, another lush meadow 
Where cradles would rock a new age 

Poema no que aparece breve mais intensa a silhueta do meu irmán,  tantos anos a miña metade

Aquel verán, tras limpala a fondo
bañámonos na presa da Eira de Pazos 
Onde o cano día e noite deita paseniño
A auga fría e transparente  
Que forma o sesenta por cento 
Da nosa familia materna 

El estaba probando a técnica do retrato
Na foto aparezo coa miña pel máis morena
A fronte da que aínda non se retirou 
O pelo húmido, peiteado para atrás
Asoma o cano da escopeta na composición
Texturas nos reflexos da tona da auga

Da imaxe desbordan beleza e arrogancia 
Eramos inconscientes donos do destino
Tiña eu a profunda convicción de que non
Me ía ver envolto naquela desfeita
Que podería manterme puro, sen me luxar 
Abandonándome aos mesmos erros dos pais
Semellabamos inmunes aos ataques da vida

Por suposto que anos despois daquela foto
Malia os esforzos feitos para lle escapar 
A vida logrou darme alcance 
Para facer entrega do pesado vulto 
Na dedicatoria do reverso do retrato
“non podes pretender esgotar o teu tempo
sen recibir a aprendizaxe que che corresponde”

Portrait in the Eira de Pazos

That summer, after cleaning it thoroughly
We bathed in the Eira de Pazos dam
Where the pipe day and night slowly pours
The cold and transparent water
What makes up sixty percent
Of our maternal family

He was testing the portrait technique
In the photo I appear with my darkest skin
The forehead where the wet hair, combed back 
It has not retired yet 
The barrel of the shotgun shows in the composition
Textures in the reflections of the water surface

Beauty and arrogance overflow from the image
We were unconscious masters of destiny
I had the deep conviction 
I was not going to be involved in that mess
That I could keep myself pure, without staining
Abandoning myself to the same mistakes of parents
We seemed immune to life's attacks

Of course years after that photo
Despite all the efforts made to escape it
Life has caught up with me
to deliver the heavy bulk
in the dedication on the reverse of the portrait
“you can't pretend to run out of time
without receiving the learning that belongs to you"

Today I stopped the turmoil of my head 

And took the time to hear attentively 

I realised the phrase my mind was repeating 

Wasn’t the same the voice in the radio 

Announced several times a day 

During the last two or three years.

This takes me to a state of distrust about all what happens in my life; could it be the reality is one thing different from what I am experiencing on a daily basis?

Maybe if someone would tell my life in some years I won’t identify with it, I am probably living another reality just existing in my mind.

Should I assume that the love that I believed powerful enough to divert riverbeds and reverse tides was just a story that took place within the confined space of my brain? That the world hasn’t received even a fraction of the light shining inside me?

Am I really alive? Is life just an illusion in my mind? Poor soul that has carried a giant load of suffering that no one else has ever been able to notice.

Ilusión

Hoy detuve el torbellino de mi cabeza 

Y tomé el tiempo de escuchar atentamente 

Me di cuenta que la frase que mi mente repetía 

No era la misma que la voz en la radio 

Anunciaba varias veces al día…

Durante los últimos dos o tres años

Esto me lleva a un estado de desconfianza ante todo lo que sucede en mi vida;  ¿Será que la realidad es algo diferente a lo que estoy viviendo a diario?

Tal vez si alguien contara mi vida dentro de algunos años yo no me identificaría con ella, probablemente esté viviendo otra realidad que simplemente sólo existe en mi mente.

¿Debo asumir que el amor que creía lo suficientemente poderoso como para desviar los cauces de los ríos y revertir las mareas era solo una historia que tuvo lugar dentro del espacio confinado de mi cerebro?  ¿Que el mundo no recibió ni una fracción de la luz que brilla dentro de mí?

¿Estoy realmente vivo?  ¿Es la vida tan solo una ilusión en mi mente?  ¡Pobre alma mía, que ha portado una inmensa carga de sufrimiento invisible para la humanidad!

Esta mañá sentín magoa 
por unha gaivota que me perseguiu 
dende o parking ata a oficina
e de volta ao coche no final do turno

Mentres lavo a leituga 
no chorro de auga
volven outras épocas 
nas que o contacto 
coas finas follas verdes 
branqueando cara á cerna
conéctame coas rutinas doutras vidas
nas que era tamén eu, noutras casas 
noutros países, noutras familias

Abaixo da fiestra, no río
ségueme a acompañar
a respiración maina do mar 
acada agora o canaval
loce fermosa a ribeira

Mentres preparo a ensalada 
a gaivota desta mañá
ségueme perseguindo 
voando en círculos 
centrados en min
lanzando simulacros de ataque
picados a uns metros
da miña cabeza 

Co desespero dos seres
que perden o niño
eternamente a chorar
os seus pitiños 
e pensei, por que me escolleu?

os dous somos de mar 
os dos fomos feridos

While preparing the salad

This morning I felt sorry
for a seagull that chased me 
from the parking lot to the office
and back to the car at the end of the shift

While I wash the lettuce 
in the water jet
other eras return 
in which the contact 
with thin green leaves 
blanching towards the core
connect me to the routines of other lives
in which I was also, in other houses 
in other countries, in other families

Below the window, in the river
the calm breath of the sea
keep accompanying me
now it reaches the reedbed
the riverside looks beautiful

While I prepare the salad 
the seagull of this morning
keep chasing me 
flying in circles 
centered on me
launching attack drills
making nosedives a few meters 
away of my head 

With the desperation of beings
having lost their nest
forever crying
theirs chicks 
and I thought, why did it choose me?

we are both from the sea 
we had both of us been injured

anos 

varrendo a grava 

en terras afastadas 

por horas de voo 

miles de millas náuticas 

interminables xornadas ao volante 

para sentir esta calor no peito 

ao botar a man ao peto traseiro

e descubrir que os diamantes 

estiveran todo o tempo

comigo

The Quest

years 

sweeping the gravel 

in distant lands 

separated by flight hours 

thousands of nautical miles 

endless days behind the wheel 

to feel this warmth in the chest 

when reaching into my back pocket

and discovering that diamonds 

had been all along

with me