Ce matin la francophonie 
s’est réveillée au rayon fromages
la Normandie est revenue 
me mener par le bout du nez

pas si loin 
juste de l’autre côté de la Manche
je vous en prie, 
non pas que j’y aie mangé 
les pommes de mon enfance
mais les joies de l’amour et la paternité
m’ont fait tremper dans la culture
à en être imbibé jusqu’à l’adn

mes navires se prelassèrent 
aux bassins de paix
tandis que je dormais 
mes yeux ont capturé
la lumière qui éclaire 
les peuples du je t’aime

French-speaking world

This morning the French-speaking world 
woke up in the cheese aisle
Normandy comes back 
to leads me around by the nose

Not so far, just across the Channel
Please, not that I ate 
the apples of my childhood there
but the joys of love and fatherhood 
made me drench in the culture
to be soaked in it right down to the DNA

my ships lounged 
in the docks of peace
while I slept 
my eyes captured
the light that illuminates 
the people of je t’aime

Gobblers Masticadores published today the English version of Meus Versos, a second life for my poems that brings warmth to this cold April.

You could read them here…

My Verses

I’m busy doing important things
without time to slow down
Always looking for deeper oceans to dive
for thicker entangled forest to explore

So I don’t stay anywhere long
I can only be reached 
with short sentences

Before to stay drowsy again 
caressing the surface of the see 
in the curved glass of a fish tank 
The edge of the woods 
in the docile moss of a windowsill

Always fleeing like a blind bird 
The greatest universe hidden 
inside the tiny human being

Frases cortas

Estoy atareado con cosas importantes
sin tiempo para aminorar el paso
Siempre buscando océanos más profundos donde bucear 
bosques más densos y enredados para explorar

Así que no me quedo mucho tiempo 
en ningún sitio
Sólo se me puede contactar 
con frases cortas 

Antes de volver al estado somnoliento 
acariciando la superficie del mar 
en el cristal curvado de una pecera
La linde del bosque 
en el musgo manso de un alféizar

Siempre huyendo como un pájaro ciego
El universo más grande escondido 
dentro del diminuto ser humano

Os meus soños móstranse distantes comigo,
esperan algo de min que non son quen de dar

Estou nunha granxa, gústame andar ao seu lado mentres ela se ocupa das tarefas nos establos, sinto o magnetismo

Pasamos por un tractor vello de cor verde, pregunto con sorpresa por el, ela responde cansa que xa mo contou noutra ocasión 

Excúsome sen forza, no soño anterior o tractor non estaba no mesmo sitio

Nos galpóns hai unha orde onírica, o tractor non mostra ningún signo de decrepitude 

The green tractor

My dream is cold with me, it expects something from me that I am not able to give

I'm on a farm, I like to walk beside her while she does stable tasks, I feel the magnetism

We pass an old green tractor, I ask with surprise about it, she answers tiredly that she already told me about it on another occasion

I apologize without force, in the previous dream the tractor was not in the same place

In the sheds there is a dreamlike order, the tractor shows no signs of decrepitude

You, fellow poet 
when the storm recede 
and the dust returns to the ground 
or to the top of the dead things

You could spend a while 
to think about your thorn 
to research into the deep wound 
that has brought all those verses

Me, in turn 
I show some poems to my therapists 
so they'll be able to help 
finding the places where 
I have been stabbed 
by the roots of my brambles 
a thorny thick that has grown out of reach 
and it has hurt too many people

La espina

Tú, compañero poeta 
cuando la tormenta retroceda 
y el polvo vuelva al suelo 
o a depositarse sobre las cosas muertas

Podrías dedicar un rato 
a pensar en tu espina 
a investigar en la profunda herida 
que te ha traído todos esos versos.

Yo, por mi parte 
muestro algunos poemas a mis terapeutas 
para que me ayuden 
a encontrar los lugares donde 
me han apuñalado las raíces de mis zarzas 
una mata espinosa que ha crecido desmesuradamente 
y ha dañado ya a demasiada gente

Os donos da terra 
amarrados coa cadea da propiedade
padecen a condea da eterna domesticación
é un animal salvaxe a terra 
require constancia e esforzo
para que acepte a nosa vontade

Os soñadores da terra
con mans brancas e as uñas limpas
voan nas noites frías con ás de colibrí
técenlle en traxectorias de fíos de prata
traxes brillantes de lua e xazmín
vistena fermosa para o baile das identidades

Eu que nunca aprendín 
o manexo fluído da gadaña
nin son quen de colarlle adxectivos ás pedras
para que lozan maxestuosas e acolledoras
non encontro a categoría que me acaia
aboio na atormentada nebulosa de aire 

sen raíces, nin poemas

No roots, no poems

The owners of the land
tied with the chain of ownership
suffer the curse of eternal domestication
it is a wild animal, the land
it requires persistence and effort
so that it accepts our will

The dreamers of the land
with white hands and clean nails
fly in the cold nights with hummingbird wings
they weave in trajectories of silver threads
bright suits of moon and jasmine
beautiful dress for the dance of identities

I never learned
the handling of the scythe in a confident way
nor am I able to attach adjectives to the stones
so that they look majestic and welcoming
I can't find the category that suits me
I float in the tormented nebula of air

no roots, no poems

Na entrega de chaves topamos o apartamento sucio 
faltaban chaves, había marcas de descoido nas paredes
Mentres agardamos a quenda no mostrador do concièrge 
outro inquilino fai as suas xestións, falando sen apenas movementos corporais
o seu galgo mira para nós coas orellas hacia atrás e os ollos tristes
imaxínoo preso no apartamento, cando o dono sae traballar 
de cando en vez o can dá uns pasos mira para nós 
entre a xaula e o ar libre o ascensor como impoñente nave do tempo
Penso nos campos andaluces, nos campos casteláns 
onde o galgo corre centos de millas atrás das lebres 
quizais alí a sua mirada sexa viva e tranquila
pero aquí os seus ollos parecen ver o meu interior 
O conserxe cerimonioso leva un traxe que recorda o da miña voda 

The greyhound gaze

At the inventory check we found the apartment dirty
some keys were missing, there were signs of neglect on the walls
while we wait for our turn at the concierge desk
another tenant goes about his business, speaking without any body movement
his greyhound looks at us with ears back and sad eyes
I imagine him locked in the apartment, when the owner leaves for work
every now and then the dog takes a few steps and looks at us
between the cage and the open air the elevator as an imposing ship of time
I think of the Andalusian fields, the Castilian fields 
where the greyhound runs hundreds of miles behind the hares
maybe there his gaze is alive and calm
but here his eyes seem to see inside me
The cerimonious concierge wears a suit reminiscent of my wedding’s

Como quen lanza os dados 
boto eu ao chou
unha manchea de palabras 
sobre o chan de terra:
- camiño fillo devesa 
- espello madeira fouciño
Apáñoas de novo 
e volvo agora tiralas:
- foicinha madeira espelho 
- devesa filho caminho
ainda envoltas noutro traxe
locen as mesmas estrelas
da galaxia da nosa infancia

nós os parentes máis achegados 
dos vizinhos portugueses
que desprezamos co mesmo ímpeto
co que alimentamos o auto odio
bloqueamos o aprezo
de nada que se nos asemelle

Así a cultura galega
no canto de florecer
tal abril de cereixeiras
sobrevive como liques
apegados a unha pedra 
que a teimosía do Atlántico
acabará volvendo area

Lusophony

Like a dice roll
I throw at random
a handful of words
on the dirt floor:
-path, son, grove
-sickle, wood, mirror
I bring them back
and  throw them again now:
-“mirror, wood, sickle
-grove, son, path”
even wrapped in another suit
of our childhood galaxy
the same stars shine
 
we the closest relatives 
of the Portuguese neighbours
which we despise with equal vehemence 
with which we feed our self-hatred
block the esteem 
of anything that resembles us

Thus the Galician culture
instead of flourishing
such April of cherry trees
survive as lichens
attached to a stone
than the stubbornness of the Atlantic
will eventually turn into sand

Naceu rodeada de años 
e pétalos de cereixeira 
no meu mundo de silvas, estrugas 
e labradíos de paciencia

con lindas manciñas de fada
e dous quilos seiscentos cincuenta 
culminaron os meus trinta anos 
naquela obra tan ben feita 

vintesete anos mais tarde 
na terra erma da ausencia
medra un arbusto de bagas
bálsamo para a conciencia

nos bosques caducifolios
onde sua maxia ten reinado
o humus que os seus pes pisan 
é das follas dos meus coidados

Love song

She was born surrounded by lambs
and cherry tree bloom petals
in my world of brambles, nettles
and arables of patience

with cute little fairy hands
and two kilos six hundred and fifty
my thirties culminated
in that masterpiece of beauty

twenty seven years later
in the wasteland of absence
a berry bush grows
balm for the conscience

in deciduous forests
where her magic has its realm
the humus their feet tread on
it's from leaves of my loving cares

As palabras poden aproximar o que sinte quen pode con todo, só dar unha idea do que sucede cando foxe o amor e un segue dicindo podo con todo e ao final podes seguir adiante sen pernas estás no teu recuncho dicíndote podo con todo e non te decatas dos lixeiros cambios que o sufrimento foi traendo, que pasados os anos un é un gollum, pero pensa “meu tesouro, sigo sendo un ser humano”. Ninguén pode verme, niguén se asombra deste cambio radical do que era e xa non son, corpo liso deforme sen pelo encolleito arrastrando esta lousa que deixa o amor cando foxe

Little changes

Words can approximate what it feels like to be able to do everything, just give an idea of ​​what happens when love runs away and you keep saying I can do everything and in the end you can move on without legs you are in your corner saying I can do everything and you don’t realize of the slight changes that suffering has brought, that after the years one has become a gollum, but thinks «my treasure, I’m still a human being».  No one can see me, no one is amazed at this radical change from what I was and am no longer, smooth deformed hairless body shriveled dragging this slab that love leaves when it flees