Contenedores 2

En un cajón de mi conciencia
escondo tu nombre
por oscuras fotografías, papeles, hojas de inscripción,
entre tarros de tinta negra
y lentejuelas poquitas
-trocitas de todo
lo que yo espero

Pero a veces,
cuando estoy segura
que nadie me da cuenta,
yo le quito
y le escrito
para recordar
como le siente
entre mis manos


(*)

Containers

Inside a drawer in my awareness
I hide your name
with dark photographs,
papers, application forms,
in between jars of balck ink
and tiny sequins -
fragments of everything I hope for

But occasionally,
when I'm sure that no one's watching,
I take it out
and write it down
just to remember -
to remind myself
what it feels like in my hands

Contenedores 1 o Vaganbunda

En una caja de mi conciencia
guardo a una vagabunda -
una planeta,
cometa sin órbita
que vague entre deseo y odio,
furia y tanquilidad,
entre determinación y destino
en su espacio de infinidad

A veces yo puedo domarla,
e a veces ella me frustra;
pero cuando no puedo soportarla
yo la abandono
hasta ella se portará

Pero ella es mi estrellita:
en verdad, mi voluntad-
y a cambio de mi paciencia
ella guarda mi alma,
mi razón
y mi generosidad



(*)
Inside a box in my conscience
I keep a little vagabond -
a planet
like a comet without an orbit
that wanders between desire and hate,
fury and tranquility,
between determination and destiny
in her infinite, infinite space

Sometimes I'm able to tame her
and though, at other times she frustrates me,
when I can't deal with her anymore,
I leave her alone until she behaves herself

But the truth is,
that she is my little star:
my own willpower
and in return for my patience
she gaurds my generosity,
my reason
and my soul

Venus

Twilight tortures the twinkling star
Venus - goddess of goodness-what-you-are
If, even you,
in all your might,
can't change this heart or share some light

Forgive me if I smother you
but I need you like my mother's jasmine shrubs need the earth to spread their love

The Curse of the Locksmith (or the Secretkeeper)

the locksmith knows the working of locks -
their mysterious levers,
clutches and chinks;

he knows how to pry forth
from their machinations
treasures, fortunes and dark desires

can unravel their enigmas,

lay bare their twists and tricks

in the blink
of a broken promise

.but he doesn't.

-this secret keeper
is no oath breaker
- is no one to steal pleasure
from the prepetrator

Semi-colons

twelve leagues under a sea of darkness
sinking with the weight of summer,
the ghost of last year's unforgiving slumber
filled up my drowsy thoughtfloat bubble
with a series of
silly lemondrops

"Semi-colons!" I cried
much to my dismay -
but they hadn't a care
for my fullstops

they only shoveled and pummeled
every one of my memories
that would've rather just stayed away
from this fray,
from being dragged out into the open
into this melancholic display

I live precipitously from moment to moment,

sifting sand and dirt from
grimy thoughts that stray into my mind,
folding in wonton déjà vus
and prophetic lines
that bear no resemblance to a place or space
or any state to which I'm inclined
except in a wistful haze
of wanting-ness

wanting and not knowing-ness
of things locked in entangled mazes

In fortune's blissful whiff I found you
sitting by me
by the sea
on a seat made of heathen rope
and soft reverie...

trying to remember what it was i wanted to be

Mar / Sea

a veces
yo olvido como nombrar algunas cosas –
camas, tazas, sillones -
como se llama una idea en esa lengua
o en esta –

anoche
dentro de unos de estos peleas,
me subí a la espuma-
a las olas que no olvidan nada
y no recuerdan todo
pero ya lo saben la lógica de vivir,
conocimientos de ser
y la verdad sobre el lugar
donde amor se va
cuando no puede soportar su peso propio

yo las pregunté muchísimas cosas
pero ellas no me contestaron nada

solo adelantaron, me tocaron y volvieron a su rutina

de pronto
me di cuenta
que en lugar de cada ola atrasada
una mar me haya envuelto

(*)

At times
I forget the names of things –
beds, cups and armchairs –
how to call things in this tongue
or in that


last night
in the midst of one of these fights,
I went down to the surf –
to the waves that don’t forget everything
and don’t remember everything either,
but already know
the logic of living,
the knowledge of being
and the truth about where love goes
when it can no longer bear its own weight

I asked them many things
but they didn’t reply

they just rose up, and, touching me,
returned to their routine

and all at once
i realised
that in place of every wave that had abandoned me
a sea had risen to envelope me

Cornered

(*) from what corner of my mind
do I gather the memories of your voice,
your touch
when we have never met;
when you don't even know
how I feel
without you

No tengo las palabras

(*) I don't have the words
to tell you who I am
and who I am not

I only have these pages
to show you a window, an image
of a girl reflected in these mirrors

Si yo te dije

si yo te dije que haya una tormenta dentro de mi -
una mar furiosa por la que yo no puedo navegar sola
me acompañarías hacía la luna -
hasta llegaremos en un campo iluminado,
pinchado por memorias estrellitas
a un cama donde podemos soñar en paz -
el paz de los angelitos,
en el silencio de unos millones deseos?


(*) if I told you that there is a storm inside me -
a livid ocean that I cannot navigate alone,
would you accompany me to the moon
until we arrive in a twinkling field
pierced by starry memories,
and lie in a bed where we can dream in peace,
in the angelic peace
and the silence of a million little desires?

Upon learning a new language

Upon learning a new language,
one discovers - among other things
that pictures can be squares,
that sense is not always sensible
and that mothers - like the Universe - give light to new borns.

Now ensconced in the ruffling of meanings,
I realise that,
as if identity wasn't already a tricky creature pinned to a picture and a piece of card,
it becomes a looming idea
fraught with the travails of being,
becoming
and, having been,
of something thought -
fidgeting somewhere between flighty fancy
and the permanence of stone.

One discovers then,
that there are many ways of being,
many ways of seeing
and in a moment - in a word -
the act of collecting eternity and all its allusions
into a single string of sounds
played out in a melody
of beautiful syllables throbbing, alive and unbound.

(*work in progress)

Monday morning's a nice shade of blue

was it Monday after all
roads afresh
sparkling gold
alert, engaged
green-lit sentry poles
to gaurd my way
on a calm new day
when my hapless heart
was already astray?

was it Monday -
- sprightly, gay -
or was it just you

- or maybe me-

after all?

Even...

Even mariposas must wait
for autumn to turn to spring
for flowers to bloom


(*) mariposa = butterfly

¿Quien eres?

¿Quien eres?

¿imagen del que esta anhelado
O testigo de los trocitos de mi imaginación?


y porque no me vuelves
para volar un poco,
flotar un poco
en la sombra del verano
feliz, de las estrellas?


(*)
Who are you?

an image of one who is awaited
or a witness to the fragments of my imagination?

why not return to me
to fly a little
to float a while
in the shade of a happy, starry summer?

El futuro es espacio - II

(*) I wish I could understand my future
but the future is space-
space the colour of my soul
soul of a dream
where nothing exists
not even time
only a moment complete

up & home & away