Dominical @ A Coruña

O mar faime illa 
Non consigo sair da cidade
Ou xa non me interesa
Rodeamos os naufraxios da noite
Algunha rúa menor aínda cheira a mexo
As primeiras cafetarías botan as suas redes 
De croasáns e pan de noces
Teño certeza de estar na miña civilización
Polo arrecendo engaiolante do café
Azul e branco nas camisetas 
Do equipo local
Pesqueiros e iates

Sunday @ A Coruña

The sea makes me an island
I can't leave the city
Or I'm no longer interested
We surround the shipwrecks at night
Some minor streets still smell of urine
The first cafes cast their nets
Of croissants and walnut bread
I'm sure I'm in my civilization
By the captivating aroma of coffee
Blue and white on the shirts
Of the local team
Fishing boats and yachts

Deixome rodear polas altas herbas
deitaríame no medio delas se non for
polo desagradábel tacto das blue weeds

Adentro cheira a rato e humidade
e a couza apropiouse das madeiras
pero aquí afora correu o aire da primavera
sobre a terra agradecida

A parella de rabirrubios
traza as fronteiras do eido
dende o guiador dos restos
da segadora italiana
até ao galpón da leña
hoxe cuberto de arañeiras,
do pé da ameixeira
até ao aro do pozo

Os paxaros impacientes
agardan que a desbrozadora volva
ao seu anonimato de silencio
para recoller o froito agachado
baixo as herbas altas

Tall weeds

I let myself be surrounded by tall weed
I would lie down in the middle of it if it weren’t for
the unpleasant touch of blue weeds

Inside it smells of mice and damp
and the woodworm has taken over the furniture
but out here the spring air has flowed
over the grateful soil

The couple of black redstart
draw the boundaries of the garden
from the handlebars
of the Italian mower’s remains
to the woodshed
now covered with cobwebs,
from the foot of the plum tree
to the rim of the well

The impatient birds
wait for the brushcutter to return
to its anonymity of silence
to pick up the fruit hidden
under the tall grass

The knife runs into my blood
makes its journey through the absurd maze
of my inner impermanence

It keeps me constantly awake
its sharp theory opens a clear way
to the deepest end of my despair

Only the soil of my homeland
on the dirt path to the hazelnut tree 
could turn it into a blunt shovel

to dig a flowerbed 
in which two simple daisies 
would open their wings 

Toco un instrumento antiguo de mi pueblo
No es virtud, ni habilidad especial
El haber aprendido la técnica

Cuando los chicos se reunían en la plaza
Y tejían velas de viento 
Preparando sus travesías
Yo me escondía en los pedregales
Mimetizaba la lenta metamorfosis de la piedra

No es culpa de nadie 
Si ahora solo tengo este conjunto
De antiguas partituras
Sueltas, inconexas, casi ininteligibles

Amarrando mis banderas a sus dulces melodías
Me mantengo vivo aunque aislado
Seguro de que la plaza ya está vacía
Lento como las placas tectónicas
Me he trasladado a un lugar 
Al que ya no pertenezco


Stateless

I play an ancient instrument from my people
It's not a virtue, nor a special skill
Having learned the technique

When the children gathered in the square
And wove wind sails
Preparing their journeys
I hid in the rocky ground
I mimicked the slow metamorphosis of the stone

It's no one's fault
If now I only have this set
Of ancient scores
Loose, disjointed, almost unintelligible

Tying my flags to their sweet melodies
I stay alive even though isolated
Certain that the square is already empty
Slow as tectonic plates
I have moved to a place
Where I no longer belong

Escribo listas
Coas que rasco na tona do futuro
A ver o que agacha aló embaixo

Cando a tinta xa secou no papel
E algo do entrevisto sucede
Afróuxaseme a parte alta das costas

Entón mesmo se a maquinaria da vida
Cravou ganchos e dentes
Nos músculos e nervios

Mesmo se o centro da alma semella
Unha lesma esmagada no cemento
Por unha pesada bota do 45

Quizais haxa esta noite ás 3 e media
Un resplandor contra o leste
Conforme avanzamos camiño de Oxford

Lists

I write lists down
With which I scratch the future’s outer layer
To see what lurks beneath

When the ink has dried on the paper
And something of the foresaw happens
My upper back loosens

Then even if the machinery of life
Has driven hooks and teeth
Into muscles and nerves

Even if the center of the soul seems
A slug crushed on a cement slab
By a heavy size 11 boot

Maybe tonight at 3:30
There will be a glow coming from the east
As we head south towards Oxford

Na pantalla corren os datos monótonos
alleos ás decisións que están modelando

Esfórzome, anticípome, síguenos incansábeis
os ollos como cans de caza tropezando
nas manchas grises

De súpeto aparece unha cela en branco 
caio por ela cos cans e a présa
nun espazo singular irrepetíbel 
como creado por un inconmensurábel 
movemento sísmico

Abriuse unha sima no tempo 
onde estamos os dous xuntos
falando e rindo nun bar de tapas
como se fose un feito banal, porén 

baixo o lixeirísimo vestido estival
a paixón abandona a latencia 
alleos ao mobiliario de madeira
invisíbeis para a xente que nos rodeaba
fomos Eva e Adán abraiados 
na descuberta do paraíso 

Summer dress

The monotonous data runs on the screen
oblivious to the decisions they are shaping

I strive, I anticipate; my eyes 
like hunting dogs tirelessly follow them 
stumbling in the gray spots

Suddenly a blank cell appears
I fall through it with the dogs and the rush
in a singular, unrepeatable space
as if created by an immeasurable
seismic movement

A chasm has opened in time
where we are both together
talking and laughing in a tapas bar
as if it were a banal event, however

under the lightest summer dress
passion abandons latency
oblivious to the wooden furniture
invisible to all the people around us
we were Eve and Adam amazed
at the discovery of paradise

o derradeiro vento da primavera
e o primeiro do verán conseguiron
abrir as ventás todas da planta derriba

cargáronse de perchas os armarios 
varréronse tamén os cercos brancos
das lágrimas que nos tiñan atravesado

Wind

the last wind of spring
and the first of summer managed
to open all the windows on the upstairs floor

the wardrobes were loaded with hangers
the white water rings left
by the tears that pierced us 
also were swept away 

Nos días impares arrástrome
nalgún corredor sinistro

Nas mans enrugadas únicamente
o debuxo dunha nena de cinco anos
recortado dunha folla de papel

Se o corredor leva algures
quizais sexa o meu salvoconduto

Se so for un sinistro corredor
onde agardar pola morte
reconfortariame na espera

On odd days

On odd days I crawl
in some sinister corridor

In my wrinkled hands only
the drawing of a five-year-old girl
cut from a sheet of paper

If the corridor leads somewhere
maybe it’s my safe conduct

If it were only a sinister corridor
where to wait for death
it would comfort me in the wait

I thank Manuela Timofte for publishing today my poem Illusion in Globbers by Masticadores!

There are times when it is difficult to know the difference between reality and our reality, or if the only one that exists is ours.

Illusion

Ao inicio era un trebón irredento
e sobre todo había unha fame 
que como a argola no fuciño dun boi
nos mantiña dóciles e submisos

Non sei se existían maneiras 
de expresar o amor desbordante
as mans suxeitaban con forza a borda
bastaba un descoido para afogar

A educación era unha apisonadora
aprendías a esconder as lágrimas
se non te apartabas pasábache por riba
os primitivos carros agardaban á saída

No triángulo que forma a porta do xardín
cando se abre contra o sillón de falso vimbio
nacen ventureiras unhas minúsculas flores lilas
que atraen un diminuto insecto voador

A semana pasada chamou mamá 
conteille que vivimos nunha casa con xardín
mandoume fotos dos seus centos de flores
dixo que logo ían baixar até a praia

Love inside

At first it was an irredeemable storm
and above all there was a hunger
that like the ring in the ox's snout
kept us docile and submissive

I don't know if there were ways
to express overflowing love
the hands held the boat tightly
a carelessness was enough to drown

Education was a steamroller
you learned to hide your tears
if you didn't move away, they´d run you over
the primitive carts were waiting at the exit

In the triangle formed by the garden door
when it opens against the fake wicker armchair
minuscule lilac flowers are born freely
they attract a tiny flying insect

Last week my mother called 
I told her we live in a house with a garden
she sent me photos of her hundreds of flowers
and said they were going down to the beach later