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…
15:55
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,
return
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.
Absence
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.
