a dor era unha porta coa que me aplastaba os dedos
unha e outra vez volvía pechala con forza sen retirar a man
buscando acabar coa dor derrubei esa casa maldita
levantei outra e fixen a posta de non porlle portas
acabouse a dor? xa vivo por fin feliz?
agora aplasto os dedos cada vez que pecho unha ventá
penso en volver derrubar esta outra e erguer
unha nova sen portas nin ventás e de paso sen nada que se mova
ou poida facer dano, sen cociña na que o lume me queime
sen enchufes, nin lámpadas, sen coitelas, nin electrodomésticos
sen espacio para camiñar e ter a oportunidade de tropezar
e cair e abrir a cabeza 
só se me ocorre un espazo reducido acolchado por dentro
do tamaño dun ataúde, aí seguro a dor non atoparía 
fenda pola que cravarme na carne os seus dentes de rata,
e me preparo e me estiro e poño as mans cruzadas sobre o ventre
disposto xa a disfrutar da ausencia de sufrimento
que me agarda aí dentro do meu cadaleito indoloro
rodeado polas moles paredes de tafetán branco.

pain absence

the pain was a door with which I crushed my fingers
over and over again I slammed it tightly without withdrawing my hand
looking to end the pain I demolished that damn house
I erected another and on purpose did not put doors on it
is the pain over? eventually, do I already live happily?
now I crush my fingers every time I close a window
I think about demolish this current house again and build
a new one without doors or windows and while I'm at it, with nothing that moves
or may cause harm, no stove in which the fire burns me
no plugs or lamps, no blades, no appliances
no space to walk and have a chance to stumble
and fall and hurt your head
I can only think of a small space padded inside
the size of a coffin, there surely the pain would not find
crack through which to sint its rat teeth into my flesh,
and I get ready and stretch myself and put my hands folded on my belly
willing already to enjoy the absence of suffering
waiting for me inside my painless casket
surrounded by the soft walls of white taffeta

teño a alma colgada a secar 
no arame da horta 
onde se lle botan as sabas ao vento 
para que as encha de vida 

córreme por ela a auga da chuvia 
arrinca e arrasta ao chan 
as letras todas que afogaban 
o pensamento 

a auga fai pozas e crea camiños 
e vías por onde devagar 
van desaparecendo 
ao fío da tarde 
as últimas sílabas duras 
que entupían o fluxo 
da harmonía 

teño a alma colgada a secar 
ela mesma outro arame 
descolorido polo sol e as xiadas 
que a dor xa non encontre
palabras nas que enganchar
as suas gadoupas

âme en fil de fer

j'ai mis mon âme à sécher
sur la corde à linge en fil de fer du jardin
où les draps sont donnés au vent
pour qu'il les remplisse de vie

l'eau de pluie lui coule dessus
arrache et traîne au sol
toutes les lettres qui noyaient
la pensée

l'eau remplit flaques et crée des chemins
et des voies par où doucement
disparaissent
au fil de l'après midi
les dernières syllabes dures
qui bouchaient le flux
d'harmonie

j'ai mis mon âme à sécher
elle-même un autre fil de fer
décoloré par le soleil et le givre
que la douleur ne trouve plus
des mots où accrocher
ses griffes

camiño de Llanfairfechan

on the way to Llanfairfechan

aquí 
asino o acordo 
para descansar
eternamente 
a peitear o vento
do mar de Irlanda
coa raíz abrazada
á terra galesa
o sal lambendo 
a casca
e a saiva a agardar
por un arrecendo

así
espreitarei no océano
as naos do estaño
portadoras de versos 
como dentes de serra 
e chuvia aceda
-de que se queixan
os nosos poetas?
nos ermos galegos
a dor alimenta
estrofas metálicas
imaxes de espiñas
a soñar outro chan
esmorecen as febras
enxoita area estéril

lonxe do meu rabaño
eternamente

Rest

here
I sign the agreement
to rest
eternally 
combing the wind
of the Irish Sea 
with the root embraced
to the Welsh soil
the bark 
licked by salt
and the sap waiting
for a scent

so
I will chase in the ocean
the vessels carrying tin
bringing verses
like sawteeth
and acid rain
-what do our poets 
complain about?
in the Galician wastelands
pain feeds
metal stanzas
images of thorns
dreaming of another land
the fibers weaken
dry barren sand

away from my flock
eternally

nesta espera felina
fágome as uñas 
no reverso
do teu retrato
desexando percorrer
os bordes escuros 
das tuas futuras
cicatrices
rabuñar as costras
do teu lamento

a agardarte
enchín a despensa
de latas de sardiña
e miaños condensados
menú para gatos
feridos
con morada
en tellados separados
pola corrente forte
da vida que parte
en dous
o noso album
de familia

feline wait

in this feline wait 
I scratch 
on the back 
of your portrait
wishing to walk 
the dark edges 
of your future 
scars
scrapping the scabs 
of your lament

waiting for you 
I filled the pantry 
with cans of sardines 
and condensed meows 
menu for injured 
cats
with dwelling 
on roofs separated
by the strong current 
of life that splits 
our family album 
in two

fake husband, fake lover
fake father, fake brother
widely fake human being
perfect for a fake world
an empty cardboard box

hollow fake reality
built of polluted air
and sustainable
biodegradable
material
called to fall apart just 
the day after the feast

fake engineer struggling
fake flocks and fake sheepdogs 
fake poet spitting verses 
like production reports 

Parfois le doute

faux mari, faux amant
faux père, faux frère
faux être humain
au plus large sens 
parfait pour un faux monde
tel un carton vide

fausse réalité creuse
construite d'air pollué
et matériaux
biodégradables
durables
appelée à s'effondrer juste
le lendemain de la fête

faux ingénieur en galère
faux troupeaux et faux chiens de berger
faux poète crachant des vers
comme des rapports de production

Entre os buratos que deixou a crónica da guerra
coouse a primavera no patio traseiro da casa
quixo a sucia nostalxia vir luxar este finde perfecto
de soidade e illamento
mais presentáranse as amantes convocadas 
a declarar na vista do xuizo
que me tiñan visto de noite noutra actitude
entre xemidos contidos e dedicación à la tâche
esa acuarela diluída polas chuvias dos invernos
brilla de novo quentada no sol de marzo
Polas fendas que as bombas non lograron selar
entrou a primavera a alterar a orde mundial
de novo, como adoita facer 
en canto o inverno e a humanidade lle deixan

Between the gaps

Between the gaps left by the war chronicle
spring has snuck into the backyard of the house
the dirty nostalgia wanted to foil this perfect weekend
of loneliness and isolation
but summoned lovers showed up
to testify at the trial hearing
that they had seen me at night in another attitude
between contained moans and dedication à la tâche
those watercolors diluted by the winter rains
shine again warmed by the March sun
through the cracks that the bombs failed to seal
spring has come to upset the world order
again as usual
as soon as winter and mankind allow it

eager to explore
the last territories
I climbed the mountain
a world of stone and echoes
inhabited by skulls 
of some horned animals
I scaled hours til got
stuck at a rock face
crying was purposeless
screaming would be 
just a pointless call 
to the mineral world
looking for the unknown 
I had unveiled 
the really unexplored region
I came across this fear
nesting within me 
deep inside, 
as part of the ADN
as a component of my blood 
and geological soul of my bones

a última fronteira

ansioso para explorar
os últimos territórios
subi a montanha
um mundo de pedra e ecos
habitado por crânios
de alguns animais com cornos
escalei horas até ficar
preso em una parede de rocha
chorar não fazia nenhum sentido
gritar teria sido apenas uma chamada inútil
para o mundo mineral
procurando o desconhecido
tinha revelado
a região realmente inexplorada
encontrei-me com esse medo
aninhando dentro de mim
lá no fundo,
como parte do ADN
como um componente do meu sangue
e alma geológica dos meus ossos

Très fier d’y avoir participé et d’avoir eu une deuxième mention

Very proud to have participated and to have had a second mention

https://wp.me/p1g7it-L5

busco un raio de luz
e un airiño fresco
por onde as rodas da silla
nos afasten do aséptico
almacén de persoas
a calor da miña man
na sua pel fina
borra por un intre
a soidade da prisión
e cun sorriso pillo
ensíname humanidade
falamos do pasado
o futuro non ten engado
segue a coidar 
do seu territorio
veciños, amigas, netos
qué é de todos eles?
…
pasan os meses
que logo suman anos
deteriórase a saúde
a vida convertida nun laio 
xa non quere sair ao frío
a cada paso máis
durmida
a cada semana máis
allea
…
para que a morte
non se perda
coma faro na noite
a pintura branca
das paredes de Paliativos 
márcalle o camiño
por onde marcharán
as tres derradeiras
imperceptibles exhalacións 
e os ataques de ansiedade
e as moscas
entrarán no oco 
deixado pola sua alma
…
orballo, xiada
neboeiro baixo
vento
pasan pola finca
de madrugada,
e non topan palliña de herba
folla, raíz, talo, rego
onde asir o desespero
nin sequera as duras
follas do limoeiro
toda a terra da finca
marchou nas uñas
de Loliña para que plante
tomates
alá onde agora estea
a horta é un deserto de pedra
dura ausencia 
de hortelán e macela

elegy to Lolinha

I  look for a beam of light
and a breath of fresh air
where the wheels of the chair
take us away from the aseptic
people warehouse
the warmth of my hand
on his thin skin
erase for a moment
the loneliness of prison
and with a mischievous grin
she teaches me humanity
we talk about the past
the future has no charm
she continues to care
of its territory
neighbors, friends, grandchildren
what about all of them?
…
the months go by
that soon add up to years
health deteriorates
life became a lament
she no longer wants to go out in the cold
with every step more
asleep
with every week more
distant
…
the white paint
on the walls of Palliative Care
marks the path
like a beacon in the night 
so that death doesn’t get lost
this path where the last three
imperceptible exhalations
will go away
and so anxiety attacks
and flies
will occupy the gap
left by his soul
…
dew, frost
low fog
wind
they pass by the farm
at dawn
and find no blade of grass
leaf, root, stem, furrow
where to grab despair
not even the firm
lemon leaves
all the soil of the farm
is gone on Lolinha’s fingernails
for her to plant tomatoes
wherever she is now
the garden is a desert of stone
hard absence
of mint and chamomile

non souben ensinar o amor, 
só adoitaba ser exemplo cumprindo as obrigas
mostrei o desapego, o desarraigo
e finalmente desapegáronse 
era un pai imperfecto, 
só importaba o afecto, tan escondido
tralos deberes, que non puideron velo
agora quero deixar o traballo,
sentar á porta do supermercado
onde elas compran a cola do desapego
e barrer ca língua as baldosas 
cun cartón marrón coa miña demanda
“oubliez tout ce qui n'a pas été dit”
se aínda falades a nosa língua
mulleres que andaredes batendo na vida 
polo mundo adiante, cargadas de indiferenza
como un peixe que deixa os ovos na corrente
desperto nas noites co que evito ver de día
son un papá desherdado, un papá sen fillas
o amor era unha novela que se acabou un día
na porta do súper, agardo súper delgado
apenas me alimento, so lambo as baldosas
no reverso da cartolina de mendigo
“even if I close my eyes je vous vois encore à mes côtés”
non hai máis aprendizaxe que a indiferenza
despois dos miles de contos para durmir
dos biberóns e os cueiros 
pasou algo através da miña pel que se metera na vosa?
só o desapego deste último Mohicano 
que non foi quen de entregar todo o amor que tiña
e agora nas noites cúbrome co meu cartón de lágrimas e aquel residuo abrasa
un fracaso de papá, comesto polo acedo esquencemento 
meus cariños, meus alevíns de maragota, miñas fillas afastadas 
a soidade aplástame e leva o aire
non quero máis…
só sentar á porta do supermercado, escualido malnutrido, apenas xa un ser humano
un día baixarán os ollos e non recoñecerán
esta alma escachada que xa non consegue máis
apartar a verdade, a inmensa dor de non vos ter
mírase mellor canto máis pecho os ollos
e canto máis avanza a noite máis o insomnio me cobre

imperfect father

I didn't know how to teach love,
just used to set an example of fulfilling my obligations
I showed detachment, uprooting
and finally they left
I was an imperfect father,
all that mattered was affection but it was so hidden
behind duties that they could not see it
now I want to quit my job
and to sit down by the supermarket door
where they bought the detachment glue
and sweep the tiles with my tongue
showing a brown card with my demand
“oubliez tout ce qui n'a pas été dit”
if you still speak our language
women fighting for life
around the world, laden with indifference
like a fish that lays its roes in the ocean current
I wake up at night with what I avoid seeing during the day
I’m a disinherited dad, a daughterless dad
love was a novel that ended one day
at the supermarket door, a super skinny man is waiting for
I barely feed myself, I just lick the tiles
on the back of my beggar card
"incluso si cierro los ojos je vous vois encore à mes côtés"
there is no more learning than detachment
after thousands of bedtime stories
of baby bottles and nappies
did something pass through my skin that has embedded in yours?
only the disregard of this last Mohican
unable to deliver all the love he had
and now in the nights I cover myself with my cardboard of tears and that residue burns me
A failure of Dad, eaten by the acid callousness 
my loves, my young fishes, my distant daughters 
loneliness crushes me and takes my breath away
I don't want any more ...
I just want to sit down by the supermarket door, a malnourished emaciated, barely a human being
one day they will lower their eyes and won’t recognize
this broken soul that no longer reaches
to set aside the truth, the immense pain of not having you
the more I close my eyes, the better it looks
and the further the night progresses, the more insomnia covers me.