Poemas de «A ras del mar» traducidos a inglés (Some of my poems from «Skimming over the Sea» translated into English)

Con la ayuda inestimable de Roger Swanzy algunos de mis poemas de A ras del mar (Torremozas, 2014) han sido traducidos a inglés. Le quedo muy agradecida.

Some of my poems in «Skimming over the Sea» has been translated into English thanks to Roger Swanzy. I feel really grateful for his help.

You say…

You say I don’t know you.

Even in the distance,

I take your pulse every day,

I breathe you every instant.

I read you

in the ebb and flow of your tides.

I decipher you

in the hidden atlas of your longings.

I sail

at the mercy of your laughter,

of your fears,

of your yearning for me.

When you bring me closer,

when you avoid me,

when you adore me,

when you loathe the shadows

I spread out

on what you thought was

real life.


I know you.

I was always there.


Dwell in your memory


I want to dwell in your time,

be a constant thread in the gears

of your memories.

I want to be a part of the distant past

in which you forgot the beginning.

I want to be there when you look back,

behind everything,

beyond you.

I want to be the crystal in your routine,

an atom of your first yawn,

the tail end of your last thought.


I want to dwell in you

and let time go by…



Think about me.

Don’t forget the date.

When the three fives

merge every day,

when the spirit of laziness

invades all bodies

in the afternoon minutes,

our rivers melt together:

the embrace of my light which flows

to relieve the rain

in your leaden heart.


Think about me.

Remember our date.


When I become the squall

at five minutes to four,


the radiant hug

which will overwhelm me

with summer.


The rose bush

I’ll plant a rose bush.

I’ll plant a rose bush in your memory.

A unique rose bush in the withered rust at the bottom of your sea.

An exceptional rose bush from your hidden garden

surrounded by walls which do not define you.

My essence will remain

pinned upon its docile thorns,

its petals will distil me in the light,

bees will sip my name.

I will remain, as I have lived in other flowers

and I will inflame your garden with my presence.



Barely a scratch in time

your absence and I already drift.

Blinking from my chair

is a quest without a captain,

unbalance which shakes your shoulders,

an assault on the night watchman

with the eyes of the labyrinth

to rob his route from him;

the circle that dissolves

the hook when it yearns

to reach the vortex;

the key, at last,

which survived its keyhole

and finds no rest

till death.


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