martes, 27 de enero de 2015

De la casa (poetas por ayotzinapa)




El siguiente poema forma parte de la antología Poets for Ayotzinapa, realizada por el portal Mexico City Lit (mexicocitylit.com). Las traducciones estuvieron a cargo de María Cristina Fernández Hall y de John Z. Komurki.




Tongue That Says Nothing

Black your tongue black your midday black your hope
Vasko Popa
Now I am writing my tongue
turns black. The cows
in the meadows’ tongues
now are black

the children in the street
playing with black tongues,

the lovers in their cowardice
shield with terror their black tongue,

black from shame, black
like my eyes’ tomb, black
like my aunt Blackie, black
fewer parties, less flashy, but black.

The wolves hiding in the bathroom
have black tongues,

your mother as she cooks the black
tongue of the cows in the meadow,
tastes the dish
with her black tongue,

the wind ruffles the hair of the dogs
with their black tongue,
now in all the vomit my tongue
sports the proclaimed mourning of the black death,
like the storm over the city, black
as the windows’ blind song, black
without any other companion than blackness, black
as the marbles of the black-tongued children, black
as the mercurial lights of the street, black
as the apples in the field, black
and black serpents with black tongues, black
as the eyelashes of the black clouds.

The cats cough up black balls
off their black tongues,

the cows lick with their black tongues
the putrid smirks of the corpses,

Margarete’s hair has turned black
your golden hair Margarete.

The concierge who lets loose the wolves
Lets loose the wolves with his black tongue.

On the meadow the night’s black tongue falls
like the tongue of the old ladies outside the church,
like nostalgia for a light that doesn’t come,
like nostalgia for a light that won’t come.

Arturo Loera (Chihuahua, 1987) has written the books El poema vacío (ICM/Conaculta 2013), Cámara de Gesell (Praxis 2013) and La retórica del llanto (Tierra Adentro 2014). He is a Mexican Literature Foundation scholar.