Non só o ser humano se rebela;
cando as árbores miraron 
no que se convertera esta cidade
viñeron en masa dende hábitats afastados
nos peteiros das aves,
arroladas polo río ou no colo do vento,
no intestino de mamíferos corredores
e se instalaron nas rúas estériles de ladrillo
para oporse a este mundo mineral morto
trouxeron a cor, a danza do murmurio
das suas polas a xogar co aire
así o pobo arbóreo 
formado por castiñeiros e faias,
carballos e pradairos
cerdeiras e bidueiros
chantou os seus pés na terra fértil 
oculta baixo a beirarrúa
e espallou a vida no cemiterio de ladrillo
e os centos de etnias que aquí viñemos
arrastados pola marea
agarrámonos das suas follas
e puidemos seguir respirando 
lonxe das nosas terras

Tree rebellion

Not only the human being rebels;
when the trees saw
what had this city turned into
they came en masse from distant lands
on the beaks of the birds,
rocked by the river or in the lap of the wind,
in the gut of running mammals
and settled in the barren brick streets
to oppose this dead mineral world
they brought the color, the murmur dance
of its branches playing with the air
thus the tree people 
formed by chestnut and beeches,
oaks and maples
cherries and birches
it planted its feet in the fertile soil
hidden under the pavement
and spread life in the brick graveyard
and the hundreds of ethnic groups thrown here
washed away by the tide
we clung to its leaves
and could keep breathing
far from our territories

Mentres lavaba a louza a auga morna correndome polas mans trouxome o recordo da cuarto escuro que necesitaba para illarme do mundo. Ás veces a mente traballa así, hai unha sensación física asociada a unha memoria e ao reproducirse aquela preséntase de volta esta de maneira diáfana.

Ante a miña inadaptación á sociedade usei do alcohol para tentar encaixar, e funcionaba pero só cando levaba moito bebido e logo volvía estar máis illado aínda, e necesitaba esconderme nun cuarto escuro, onde ninguén me vise. Era a única forma de soportar a vida.

Bloqueado polo feito de só sentirme a gusto separado do mundo, fun pensando que se o cuarto fose mais pequeno me seguiría protexendo, e funo reducindo ata convertelo nunha caixa dentro da cal podía viaxar a calquera sitio, seguro, protexido, illado da xente.

O seguinte paso, para facilitar a mobilidade foi ir reducindo a caixa ata ila pegando máis e máis ao corpo, para facer máis doado o paso polas portas, o subir ao tranvía ou baixar polas escaleiras do metro.

Cun gran esforzo de adaptación conseguín pegar a caixa completamente ao meu corpo e convertila en algo así coma un traxe de bucear de 5 mm de gordo. A xente via o “meu” traxe pero non me vían a min e seguía podéndome desprazar con confianza.

O seguinte paso e o definitivo foi descubrir que así como o meu traxe non era eu, tampouco a miña pel o era. O meu ser non era unha uña o un cabelo, ou a derme que cobre todo o corpo. Decateime de que a xente podia verme por fora, ver os meus ollos, os meus dentes e era como se visen as paredes do cuarto no que vivira escondido. O meu ser non estaba aí, ao aire, por iso non sufre polo contacto das persoas. Eu son máis ca ese envoltorio e estou ben protexido na miña alma, non preciso esconder o exterior porque este é só unha parte insignificante e mesmo desprezabel comparado co resto de min. 

Por iso acepto que xa non necesito barreira, máis ca necesaria para manter a temperatura corporal en cada estación.

The fall of the barriers

While doing the washing-up, the warm water running through my hands brought me the memory of the dark room I needed to isolate myself from the world. Sometimes the mind works like this, there is a physical sensation associated with a memory and when years later the body feels the same sensation, it triggers the reappearance of that memory.

In the face of my poor adaptation to society I used alcohol to try to fit in, and it worked but only when I drinked heavily, however with the hangover I became even more isolated, and needed to hide in a dark room, where no one saw me. It was the only way to endure life.

Blocked by just feeling at ease apart from the world, I started to think that if the room were smaller it would continue to protect me, and I was reducing it to a box inside which I could travel anywhere, safe, protected, isolated from people.

The next step, to facilitate mobility, was to reduce the box to bring it progressively closer to the body, so that it would be easier for me to go through the doors, get on the tram, go down the subway stairs.

With a lot of adaptation effort I managed to stick the box completely to my body and turn it into something like a 5mm thick diving suit. People saw “my” suit but they didn’t see me and I could still move around with confidence.

The next and final step was to discover that just as my suit was not me, neither was my skin. My being is not a nail or a hair, or the dermis that covers the whole body. I realized that people could see my outside, my eyes and teeth and it was as if they looked at the walls of the room where I lived hidden. My being wasn’t there, exposed to air, so he doesn’t suffer from people’s contact. I am more than that wrapper and I am well protected in my soul, I don’t need to hide the outside because it is just an insignificant and even despicable part compared to the rest of me.

So eventually I accept that I don’t need a barrier, more than what is necessary to maintain body temperature at every season.

Salade composée à base de carottes et courgette râpées
laissées en macération dans du jus de citron
le temps de lire quelque poèmes de Néruda
après les vers y ajouter les compléments
pissenlit, tomate, olives, grains de grenade, raisin secs
arrosé de la vinaigrette à la bonne huile d’olive, 
vinaigre de pomme et un chouya de miel;
à l’objet d’y ramener une pincée du goût de mer 
ainsi que pour l’affaire protéique
ouvrez une boîte de maquereaux bien huileux
et mélangez le tout jusqu’à ce que vos yeux en soient rassasiés.

Faire la cuisine est devenu ma dernière frontière pour éviter la mort de la créativité. Le micro-ondes et les plats précuits sont la menace toujours à l’affût de ma faiblesse

Aujourd’hui est apparu dans la boîte au lettres mon diplôme DELF B2 après deux années d’attente. Chouette!

Mixed salad

Mixed salad made with carrot and zucchini grated
left to marinate in lemon juice
just the time to read some of Neruda's poems
after verses add in complements
dandelion, tomato, olives, pomegranate seeds, raisins
drizzled with the good olive oil vinaigrette,
apple cider vinegar and a little honey;
and to bring back a pinch of sea flavor
as well as for the protein issue
open a can of very oily mackerel
and stir everything until your eyes are satiated

The kitchen has become my last frontier to avoid the death of creativity. The microwave and ready meals are the threat, always on the lookout for my weakness

My DELF B2 diploma appeared in the mailbox today after two years of wait. Nice!

A nosa cama, como unha lata de sardiñas aberta aboiando á deriva nun océano en tormenta

Memória da dor e do baleiro coberta con sabas de flanela que viaxa levada polas ondas lonxe dos países onde fomos infelices, lonxe dos cristais rotos que cubriron o chan da nosa casa un ano tras outro.

Polo menos aquí hai aire dabondo para non asfixiar, e anque non veña o día podemos seguir deitados indolentes, sen medo xa á morte porque isto só é un soño.

Mires onde mires só hai mar e ceo e a roupa da cama que cada vez está máis mollada, pero seguimos flotando e navegando sen coñecer o rumbo. 

Seguro haberá un día un porto, ou a cama afundirá sen remedio, non se sabe o que chegará primeiro. Algo sucederá tarde ou cedo que mude o noso destino, pero polo momento estamos ben aquí deitados, xuntos, arrolados polo vento salgado gozando da paz deste temporal que non nos toca.

Fomos ficando sós
o mar a cama e máis nós

Adrift

Our bed, like an open sardine can floating adrift in a stormy ocean

Memory of pain and emptiness covered with flannel sheets traveling carried by the waves away from the countries where we were unhappy, away from the broken glass that covered the floor of our house year after year.

At least here there is enough air not to suffocate, and even if the day does not come we can continue lying lazyly, without fear of death already because this is just a dream.

No matter where you look there is only sea and sky and bedding that is getting wetter and wetter, but we keep floating and sailing without knowing the course.

Surely one day there will be a port, or the bed will sink hopelessly, it is not known what will come first. Something will happen sooner or later that will change our destiny, but for the moment we are well here lying, together, rolled by the salty wind enjoying the peace of this storm that does not touch us.

We were progressively left alone
the sea the bed and us

Marchar é sempre triste. Anque esa tristura agáchase tras os nervios e as presas, os controis e os cacheos, a exposición en ringleiras como unha mercadoría máis

A preocupación por ter toda a documentación en regra fai parecer a pena da partida como un sentimento secundario, algo de entidade menor que non debe estorbar o desenrolo da viaxe.

Cando por fin chegas a destino e desaparece a neboa só che queda o cansazo nas articulacións

e a magoa de ter que vivir lonxe do teu pobre país que se encontra cada vez máis aillado e receloso do exterior

cun excedente de man de obra barata, debecendo por subvencións, por un posto na administración pública onde poder descansar, pola chegada da xubilación canto antes, pola vinda da morte

Meu país do que fuxe o talento e no que a mediocridade bota raíces fondas

preparas nas universidades á xuventude lista para a exportación,

paxaro de alas mutiladas condenado a correr nun galiñeiro

pobre país meu, non sei xa se te soporto, e canto te boto de menos!

Foto do derradeiro solpor desta visita  – Photo of the last sunset of this visit

Emigrant

The depart is always sad. Although that sadness hides behind the nerves and the rush, the controls and the frisks, the exposure in rows as another good.

The concern of having all the documentation in order makes it seem worthwhile to leave as a secondary feeling, something of a minor entity that should not hinder the development of the trip.

When you finally reach your destination and the fog disappears, you only have fatigue in your joints and the pity of having to live far from your poor country which is increasingly isolated and wary of the outside

My country, with a surplus of cheap labor, longing for subsidies, for a position in the public administration where you can rest, for the arrival of retirement as soon as possible, for the coming of death

My country from which talent flees and in which mediocrity has deep roots

you prepare the youth in the universities, packaged for export,

mutilated-winged bird doomed to run in a chicken coop

poor my country, I don’t know if I can stand you anymore, how much I miss you already!

Despois dunha viaxe tan longa
a luz do amencer chega lixeira e cálida
para acariñar a superficie das cousas
e darme unha nova oportunidade
de reconstrución

Sería idiota o desaproveitala
ancorándome ás sombras da noite

The light of dawn

After such a long journey
the light of dawn comes light and warm
to caress the surface of things
and give me a new chance
of reconstruction

It would be stupid to waste it
anchoring me in the shadows of the night

Os que temos un nivel básico de inglés coma min, cústanos moito entender a língua nun rexistro distinto do estándar. O B1 que saquei hai catro anos, nunha escola do meu país, permíteme sobrevivir a duras penas no noroeste de Inglaterra. 

Quitando os temas nos que estou traballando, as máis das veces intúo o que din e case sempre perdo unha parte da mensaxe. Isto fai que me sinta torpe e non logre integrarme co que resulta un sentimento de soidade como un zumbido de fondo, ao que te afás pero que o cobre todo permanentemente.

Not fluent

Those who have a basic level of English like me, find it very difficult to understand the language in a register other than the standard.  The B1 level exam that I have passed four years ago, at a school in my country, allows me to barely survive in the North West of England.

Except for the topics I’m working on, most of the time I intuit what they say and I almost always miss a part of the message. This makes me feel awkward, have difficulties settling in so that results in a feeling of loneliness like a background buzz, even if you get used to, it covers everything permanently.

As semanas das victorias 
un debera deitarse e pechar os ollos 
ata que pasen os días 
e entremos noutra semana 
con novas tarefas.
Os éxitos desta semana enchéronme o peito
a autoestima levou un impulso ascendente
e xa me cría capaz de todo
debía estar eu celebrándoo
ou simplemente mirando cara a outro sitio
que os putos éxitos escorregáronme das mans
e cruzaron o aramado da fronteira
dun país para o que non teño visado
nin vacunas, à tout jamais mes bijoux!
E agora estou 
aqui agachado de novo trala sebe
ou fuxido a por leña no monte
calquera cousa con tal
que a noite non me descubra
cos seus ollos podres de morte
non podo pechar os meus
nin finxir que non a vexo
as pálpebras teño grapadas
os pes presos no cemento
achégase a noite en tromba
cos seus ollos grandes e feos
anque quixer fuxir non podo
cóbreme o suor de sangue
machúcanse os nervios
a miña pel é portadora 
do mal incurable do medo

Short-lived victory

The weeks of victories
one must lie down and close his eyes
until the days go by
and let's get into another week
with new tasks.
This week's successes filled my chest
self-esteem took an upward boost
and I already believed myself capable of everything
probably I was celebrating the achievement
or just looking elsewhere
when those damned triumphs slipped out of hand
and crossed the border fence
from a country for which I have neither visa
nor vaccinations, à tout jamais mes bijoux!
And now I am
here crouched again behind the hedge
or fled in search of firewood to the forests
whatever with the only condition
That the night does not discover me
with his eyes rotten with death
I can't close mine
nor do I pretend that I don't see her
my eyelids are stapled
feet stuck in the cement paste
the night is coming like a whirlwind
with his big ugly eyes
even if I want to run away I can't
I'm covered in blood sweat
nerves crushed
my skin is carrier
of the incurable disease of fear

Asi é o noso fogar 
construido na tormenta
arrecende a graos de liño
e a fariña de espelta
non houbo outro camiño
nin mais manso, nin por terra 
dez anos a navegar(e)
deixou salitre no pelo
e a esta pel morena 
debecendo pola túa
miña fada da ribeira
meu hábitat cristalino
miña rosa na silveira
sabendo que as lágrimas
regan parte desta vida
volvería abrazarte
naquela tarde na area
Así é o noso fogar
construido con paciencia
arrecenden a amor limpo
as tuas pegada na terra

alma lixeira de folla de lata 
cativa no magnetismo da materia
voa, escapa libre, na folla dun libro
alma metálica lastrada
polo peso das cousas que se lle apegan
alma oxidada, alma prisioneira nun océano
de horizontes despexados
alma con aristas e rugosidades 
nas que se agarraron as leis doutrora
que apresan cun peso absurdo o presente
alma que sabe que pode 
anque só vexa barrotes
alma, a miña alma
como un globo de helio
atado a unha botella de soños
esfórzase por desfacer o nó 
que lle permitirá soñar
esvelta e liviá
no ar do serán

tied soul

light tinplate soul
captivated in the magnetism of matter
flies, escapes free, on the page of a book
metal soul ballasted
with the weight of the things that stick to it
rusted soul, soul trapped in an ocean
of clear horizons
soul with edges and roughness
In which the laws of yore clung to
that oppress the present with an absurd weight
soul that knows it can
even if it only see bars
soul, my soul
like a helium balloon
tied to a cylinder of dreams
struggles to undo the tie
that will allow it to dream
slim and light
in the evening air