Lorsque la bille du stylo
s'appuie sur la page du cahier
toute la poésie qui flottait dans l'eau 
comme une mince couche de graisse
reçoit une goutte de lave vaisselle
et au lieu d'écrire des vers 
c'est des manuels d'instruction
des mots prisonniers de l'excel
des raports truffés des "donc"
moi même je deviens ver
locataire des terres moites
le cri de l'aigle ricochant dans la vallée
faible mémoire d'un poète
sans griffes, ni armée
qui reprenne son chant érodé

Prose mood

When the ball of the pen
leans on notebook page
all the poetry that floated in the water
like a thin layer of fat
receives a drop of washing up liquid
and instead of writing verses
they are instruction manuals
words trapped in excel
reports full of "therefore"
I myself become a worm
tenant of moist lands
the scream of the eagle ricocheting in the valley
faint memory of a poet
without claws or army
which resumes its eroded song

O sábado pola mañá
como un banco de rinchas
á procura de alimento
pola M60 dirixímonos cara ao norte 
encollendo e estirando
ao paso por Stockport

no asento do acompañante vai
a cabeza decapitada 
do cabalo de Roberts
construíndo o substrato
no que alimentar as raíces

e como no poema el comeza a falar
e si entendo o sinsentido 
aproveitando a música de gaita
que sae pola radio do coche
repíteme os cantos da infancia

“Fuches tu, fuches tu 
fuches tu quen cagou no palleiro
Fuches tu, fuches tu 
que aínda levas as pallas no cu”

dun país esvaecido
o mar rompe contra Zamora
baña as costas de Trás-os-Montes
e das aldeas de Tinéu

Mentres os acordes da gaita 
e as palabras do cabalo
se mezclan na miña cabeza
escorrega unha lágrima discreta
poderoso lazo cos expatriados
de calquera cabo da terra.

Shoal

On Saturday morning
like a shoal of mackerels
in search of food
We headed north on the M60
shrinking and stretching
when passing through Stockport

in the passenger seat goes
the decapitated head
of Roberts' horse
building the substrate 
to feed the roots

and as in the poem, it speaks to me
but not the original nonsense
taking advantage of bagpipe music
coming out of the car radio
it repeats to me the songs of childhood
"It was you, it was you
it was you who pooped in the haystack
it was you, it was you
because you still carry straws in your bum"

of a faded country
the sea breaks against Zamora
bathes the shores of Trás-os-Montes
and the villages of Tinéu

While the bagpipe chords
and the words of the horse
both mix in my head
a discreet tear slips
powerful bond with expats
from any corner of the earth.

auga
auga espello escuro
auga cristal inmóbil
auga fría indiferente

para que moverte auga
para que tirache pedras
se as ondas son iguais
eternamente as mesmas

auga
auga na tona da auga
auga no escuro fondo
auga que todo envolves

mira o meu lombo auga
quedoume a boca seca
se algo tiña que dicirche
afogouno a dor mesta

para que romperte auga
mellor o silencio cego
e unha fermosa imaxe
mellor que gabar o ego

auga
indiferente fría auga
inmóbil cristal auga
escuro espello auga

quedate cunha foto auga
silueta esvaendo
humano que se afasta
banda sonora de vento

Water

water
dark mirror water
still crystal water
indifferent cold water

why to move you, water?
why throw stones at you?
if the waves are equal
eternally the same

water
water in the surface of waters
water in the dark bottom
water that surrounds everything

look at my back water
my mouth went dry
if I had something to say to you
it was drowned in grief

why break you, water?
blind silence is better
and a beautiful picture
better than boasting the ego

water
indifferent cold water
still crystal water
dark mirror water

stay with a photo, water
fading silhouette
human that moves away
wind soundtrack

La lame de la faux chuchote 
son chant métallique 
aux oreilles de l'enfant 
lui siffle:
“fauche
bêche
grimpe en flèche,
défriche
cherche
charpente”
l'enfant sent la puissance
de ses petits bras
il y a un monde d'herbivores 
à nourrire 
*
Le bourdonnement de la tondeuse
ne transmet pas de message
avec sa langue monotone et incompréhensible
par contre l'herbe si
l'herbe coupée dégage un parfum
qui cinquante années après
parle directement à l'enfant
et va chercher le courage 
et l’illusion
dans les puits apparement taris
des recoins les plus sombres
du cerveau 

The child and the herbivores

The blade of the scythe whispers
its metallic song
in the ears of the child
it hisses to him:
“scythe
dig
skyrocket!
clear
look for
build!”
the child feels the power
with his little arms
there is a world of herbivores
to feed
*
The hum of the lawnmower
does not send a message
with his monotonous and incomprehensible language
but the grass it does
the cut grass gives off a scent
who fifty years later
speaks directly to the child
and goes to  get the courage
and the illusion
in the apparently dry wells
from the darkest corners
of the brain

Eran vellos quen paseaban 
a bandeira revolucionaria
esta mañá pola vila
ela coa xuvenil estrela vermella 
eles arrastrando os pes 
como nun cortexo fúnebre
*
A soñar soñando foiselles marchando a vida
e o mundo cruel e inxusto por natureza
non respectou os plans que lle tiñan preparados
seguiu o seu avance sen sequera miralos
*
Pasaron como unha santa compaña
folerpas incompatibles co quecemento global

Global warming

They were old people who took
the revolutionary flag for a walk
around town this morning
the flag with the youthful red star
the old people dragging their feet
as in a funeral procession
 *
Dreaming dreams, their lives went away
and the world cruel and unfair by nature
did not respect the plans prepared for it
it continued his advance without even looking at them
 *
They passed like a tormented ghosts procession
snowflakes incompatible with global warming

Unha lista é 
como unha lente
que atravesa paredes de cartón
permite ver os libros 
dunha caixa fechada 
sen a desprecintar
*
Este poema é como unha ventá
que através os anos opacos 
mostra un corpo moreno e áxil 
sen salpicar de cabeza entra na auga 
demórase avanzando devagar
como unha foca no fondo frío
na superficie unha fada branca 
vela voluptuosa levada do vento
Segue a sua travesía circular 
afástase para voltar dende a liña azul
do horizonte cargada de sol e sal 
á procura de osíxeno a pel escura
encontra esa pel clara
interior e corteza nun mesmo afán
* 
ao contacto dos beizos que debecen
do gradiente salino abrolla unha enerxía
erosionando nuns segundos xeolóxicos
os cofres de pedra 
onde ambos encerraban a paixón
na area amarela acumulada aos seus pés 
deitanse para recibir a marea 
de pétalos de magnolia
tanto tempo encorada
*
Os versos tocan aquel momento 
con dedos de luz, sen despertar
os dous corpos que durmen abrazados
A poesía ten ese inmenso poder

The power of poetry

A list is
like a lens
that goes through cardboard walls
allowing you to view the books
inside a closed box
without unsealing it
*
This poem is like a window
that through the opaque years
shows a tanned and lithe body
without splashing his head he enters the water
slow moving forward
like a seal on the cold bottom
on the surface a white fairy
voluptuous sail blown by the wind
follows its circular journey
she moves away to return from the blue line
of the horizon loaded with sun and salt
in search of oxygen, the dark skin
finds that clear skin
inside and crust in the same effort
*
At the contact of the eager lips
the saline gradient develops an energy
eroding in a few geological seconds
the stone jewellery boxes
where both locked up the passion
in the yellow sand accumulated at his feet
they lie down to receive the tide
of magnolia petals 
dammed so long
*
The verses touch that moment
with fingers of light, without awakening
the two bodies that sleep embraced
Poetry has that immense power

A madeira dos remos en contacto
coas mans voluntariosas dun neno
avanza decote mirando a popa
afástase
da cidade gris como unha chapa
de aceiro bañada en aceite
que escorrega e corta a pel
ruído e metal xa un recordo
apagado polo choupar da tona do mar
*
Na visita dos avós cociñáralles arroz
que saira un chisco queimado 
ela dixera que lle gustaba máis así
dende as ventás do salón 
aparecía un triángulo de ría
para ela que estaba afeita 
á vista dos prados e montes
aquela superficie de auga 
semelláballe algo inútil
non podería haber nunca alí unha casa
ou un prado ao que levar as vacas
eu díxenlle que aquilo todo era un camiño
e hoxe diríalle tamén que era necesario
para que o neno puidese moverse
aínda que fose mirando atrás
aínda que fose con saudade do gando
que sempre estaba onde a familia
*
madeira dos devanceiros
nas mans teimudas dun neno

Wooden oars

The wood of the oars in contact
with the willing hands of a child
he always moves forward looking aft
he moves away
of the gray city as a sheet of steel
coated in oil that slips and cuts the skin
noise and metal already a memory
extinguished by the splash of the sea surface
*
At my grandparents visit, I had cooked rice for them
that had been a little burnt
she had said she liked it better that way
from the living room windows
a estuary triangle appeared
for her, used to meadows and woods
that water area
seemed something useless
there could never be a house 
or a field to drive the cows to
I told him that it was all a way
and today I'd also tell her that it was necessary
so that the child could advance
even if it was looking back
even if it was with longing for cattle
lucky to always be close to family

*
wood of the ancestors
in the stubborn hands of a child

Goodbye 2022, year of poetry

Feliz ano a todos os que visitades o meu blog, aínda que non o diga alégranme moito as vosas visitas.

Happy New Year to all of you who visit my blog, even if I don’t say it, I’m very happy about your visits.

Para min este foi o ano da poesía, desde que lera a Rosalía aos 15 anos sempre tiven ganas de escribir pero nunca me atrevera en serio ata o de agora. Agradézolle sobre todo a Cristophe Condello e a Flavio Almerighi polo apoio que supuxeron para que eu continuase tentándoo.

For me, this was the year of poetry, ever since I read Rosalía de Castro at the age of 15, I’ve always wanted to write, but I’ve never dared to do it seriously until now. I am especially grateful to Cristophe Condello and Flavio Almerighi for the support they provided for me to continue trying.

Como unha axuda para a memoria, deixo a lista dos libros de poesía que lin este ano:

As a memory aid, I leave the list of poetry books I read this year:

• Selected Poems – Sylvia Plath – en
• Denuncia do equilibrio – Xela Arias – gl
• Fiore di Poesia – Alda Merini – it
• Poemas escolhidos de Alberto Caeiro – Pessoa – pt
• Vertigo & Ghost – Fiona Benson – en
• Magnetic Field: The Marsden Poems – Simon Armitage – en
• Ninguen morreu de ler poesía – Aldaolado – gl
• Selected Poems 1923 – 1958 – E E Cummings – en
• A Blood Condition – Kayo Chingonyi – en
• The Last Lochan – Henry Bell – en
• Uralita – Iria Pinheiro / María Lado – gl
• La extracción de la piedra de locura. Otros poemas – Pizarnik – es
• Lente dérive de sa lumière – Arnaud Delcorte – fr
• The Bonniest Companie – Kathleen Jamie – en
• Under the Ice – Stewart Conn – en
• Black Girl, Call Home – Jasmine Mans – en
• Materia – Yolanda Castaño – gl

E aínda que sexa prosa, pareceume tan poético que non podo deixar de citalo aquí:

And even though it’s prose, I found it so poetic that I can’t help but quote it here:

• I Pesci non chiudono gli occhi – Erri de Luca – it

Feliz ano / Bonne Année / Happy New Year / Feliz año / Buon Anno

2023

e viñeron cunchas e barcos 
e mamíferos mariños 
carrexando todas as gamas 
do arrecendo a liberdade 
e unha pinga de melancolía 
por carecer da pel lisa da balea 
coa que explorar a inmensidade 

coa fin de evitar a vertixe 
nunha licenza poética 
condensei o espazo inabarcable 
en tres letras que poder levar 
agarradas baixo a língua 
como un complexo vitamínico 
feito de extractos de algas 

como unha ladaiña 
pronuncio o seu nome 
aprópiome da  sua esencia 
cando quero darme forzas 
digo mar e o mar me envolve 
e cada metro cúbico de océano 
percorre as miñas veas 
alimenta a miña coraxe 

I pronounce its name

and shells and ships came 
and marine mammals 
carrying all ranges 
of freedom´s scents 
and a drop of melancholy 
for lacking the smooth skin of the whale 
with which to explore the immensity 

in order to avoid dizziness 
in a poetic license 
I condensed the unfathomable space 
in three letters easy to keep 
hold under the tongue 
as a vitamin complex 
made from algae extracts 

like a litany 
I pronounce its name 
I seize its essence 
to give me strength 
I say sea and the sea surrounds me 
and every cubic meter of ocean 
runs through my veins 
feed my courage 

Á nacenza tocáronme uns terreos afastados 
Un penedío estéril no que o lobo debuxaba 
as fronteiras durante as suas travesías 
No primeiro impulso saíu un laio 
Devólveme a ti, é desolación aquí afora! 

Alí 
Aprendín os nomes das distíntas formas da materia 
Xogando co luar nas láminas de mica do granito 
Na aridez soñaba co roxo veludo do trigo 
Ondeando so os dedos rebuldeiros do vento 
Mais só medraban naquel ermo frío 
Carballuzos isolados nos que o corvo 
Ensaiaba as suas gamas monótonas 

Os oficios dispúñanse arredor da cantaría 
Así que me adiquei a picar naquela pedra 
E aínda que se me deu ben 
O ver as formacións cristalinas 
Que tan fácilmente arrincaban os outros 
Sentín envexa e maldecía decote a area amarela 
Único produto do meu esforzo 
Podería ter parado a tarefa 
adicarme de cheo a chorar a desgraza 
Houbera xerado un lago salgado 
Onde as pingas da chuvia 
Loubasen o ceo co seu repenicar 

Non tiven constancia no pranto 
seguín picando ate crear un areal inmenso 
Que chamou polo mar coas palabras melosas 
Que só os amantes saben murmurar 
Ata que unha tarde sentín 
Nos meus pés cubertos de area 
A auga fría do oceano que, sen eu sabelo 
respondera á constancia do meu labor


... 

Fate plasticity

At birth I was allocated with a distant plot 
A barren stony ground on which the wolf drew 
The borders during its long wanders 
At the first impulse arise a moan 
Take me back to you, it's desolation out here! 

There 
I learned the names of the different forms of the matter 
Playing with the moonlight on sheets of mica held in the granite 
In the aridity I dreamed of the blond velvet of wheat 
Waving under the playful fingers of the wind 
But in that cold wilderness only grew 
Isolated twisted oak trees in which the crow 
Rehearsed its monotonous scales 

The occupations were organized around the stonework. 
So I set about chipping away at that rock 
And even if I was good at it 
Seeing the crystalline formations extracted by others 
I was envious and cursed the yellow sand 
Only product of my effort 
I could have stopped the task 
Dedicated myself full time 
To mourning the misfortune 
A salty lake would have been created
where raindrops would praise 
The sky with their tapping 

I did not have constancy with the tears 
I went on breaking stones until an immense sandy area 
was built calling for the sea with honeyed words 
that only lovers know how to whisper 
until one afternoon I felt in my feet covered with sand 
the cold water of the ocean, which, unbeknownst to me 
had responded to the constancy of my work 

...