MICHELINY VERUNSCHK
...
CONTO
Translated from the Portuguese by Flávia Rocha & Idra Novey
SHORT STORY
Existem minas
There are mines To the north of a great city Where the miners Haven’t seen sunlight For at least 25 years. It’s said that they have Fluorescent eyes like fish From the deepest regions of the sea. It’s said they have altered lungs And that they never cry Because it hurts too much. But they are men, Still men, The miners of the north.
Ao norte de uma grande cidade, Onde os mineiros Não vêem a luz Há pelo menos 25 anos. Dizem que têm Olhos fosforescentes Como peixes de regiões abissais. Dizem que nascem da terra E se proliferam por bipartição. Dizem que têm pulmões modificados E que nunca choram Porque dói muito. Mas são homens,
RAÚL ZURITA
...
BAJO EL RÍO DE LAS ESTRELLAS
UNDER THE RIVER OF THE STARS
(Lidia Ibáñez bajo el cielo del Yelcho)
(Lidia Ibáñez under Yelcho’s sky)
Mi amor está triste porque me morí. Dice que
My love is sad because I died. He says that never again will the flowers open and never again will he see my smile. He also says that once again the great rivers will swell to flood the earth and that now they will never change course. He repeats that he wants to go away with me. No the thorns that he pierces himself with do not hurt him, nor the boiling water that he pitches on himself. He claims that just like the animals a relative dies, wordlessly, leaving the night black and the day as well. My sister retorts that only shedding tears makes the rain and that neither she nor anyone will stop raining, and neither birds nor sweet nothings will she hear again. My love says that up north, where the waters come from, the eyes are consumed in pure blue. In love, he says, the young men and the young women look at each other’s blue eyes and I only see his little eyes, the color of mud, the fold of his eyelids, his little eyes. He was moaning, and he glued his mouth to mine as if he were humming and the moan was ascending to him from my face, yes, father, opening to him as if through the long night that was coming, oh, yes, beloved rivers, beloved trees, beloved mountains, beloved winds, belove skies, beloved people. Beloved rivers.
nunca más las flores abrirán ni mi sonrisa verá más. El también dice que volverán a crecer los grandes ríos sobre la tierra y que ya jamás se voltearán. Repite que quiere irse conmigo. No las espinas que se clava no le duelen ni el agua hirviendo que se arroja. El suelta que mismo que los animales el pariente muere, sin palabras, dejando negro el noche y el día también. Mi hermana le contesta que sólo el lloro es lluvia y que ella ni nadie parará de llover ni pájaros ni arrumacos oirá más.
Ainda homens,
El amor mío cuenta que para el norte, de donde
Os mineiros do norte.
vienen las aguas, los ojos se comen de puro azules. De amor, dice, los muchachos y las muchachas se miran los ojos azules y yo no más del color lodo veo sus ojitos, su arrugo de
RAÚL ZURITA
Translated from the Spanish by José Castañeda & Rose Shapiro
párpados, sus ojitos. Así en gemido él me pegaba la boca como canturreando y el gemido se le iba subiendo desde mi cara más alto, sí
INSCRIPCIÓN 15
INSCRIPTION 15
padrecito, abriéndosele como por la larga noche que se venía oh sí queridos ríos, queridos árboles, queridas montañas, queridos vientos,
Si solamente supieras como lloro y no puedo
If you only knew how I cry and I can’t wake up, how sweet you would think me if you were like me before the rivers of my country crying for you. I was told, and it’s not true; I alone have seen you, I saw your face the color of jet and of the sky, but no. The boys waved white flags in the compound, but they beat us just the same. Are you among the beaten, the weeping ones, the dead? Are you there, too, my God, sleeping upside down? There is no forgiveness for this new land, I am told, and nothing we do will change our fate; but I cry and I can’t wake up, and my God is departing like a ship.
despertar, qué graciosa me verías si estuvieras como yo frente a los ríos de mi país llorando por ti. Me contaron y no es cierto, únicamente yo te he visto, vi tu cara color del azabache y del cielo pero no. Los muchachos sacaron banderas blancas en el campamento, pero igual nos golpearon ¿Estás tú entre los golpeados, los llorosos los muertos? ¿Estás tú también allí mi Dios durmiendo cabeza abajo? No hay perdón para esta nueva tierra, me dicen y nada de lo que hagamos cambiará la suerte que tendremos, pero yo lloro y no
queridos cielos, querida gente. Queridos ríos.
despierto y mi Dios se aleja como un barco.
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Translated from the Spanish by José Castañeda & Rose Shapiro
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