Tuesday, January 31, 2012

José Manuel Arango / Mountains / 3


MOUNTAINS / 3
By José Manuel Arango
Translated by Nicolás Suescún

1

With a glass in my hand, looking at the mountains,
I caress the back of my dog.

These mountains of ours
in the interior,
so familiar they are almost forgotten,
seen so much they are almost invisible,
it is not even sure that they are not
the furniture of a dream.

These sullen mountains
that become thinner,
that engross us.

Now perhaps only a manner
of the voice,
of the step,
of the gesture.


2

I like to caress them slowly following
with  my eyes
their rugged lines,
while on their backs light
imperceptibly
changes from green to blue
to violet.

I like to caress them with my eyes,
as I caress
the back of my dog with my free
hand.



Sunday, January 29, 2012

José Manuel Arango / Two Poems

Cold Feet
by Krikit Haiku
TWO POEMS
By José Manuel Arango
Translated by Nicolás Suescún

I

men rush out on the streets
to celebrate the coming of night

the sound of a flute goes thinly into the ear
and the plazas are again places of festivity

where girls with bare backs that meet
the eyes of adolescent tellers

repeat the movements of an ancient
sacred dance

and in the clamor
of the fruit vendors
forgotten gods speak


II

the repeated shipwreck of the parks
at nightfall

the hour in which closed
by the graze of a somber
wing
the heart descends to cold abodes



Sunday, January 22, 2012

Forough Farrokhzad / The Window



The Window
by Forough Farrokhzad

A window to see,
A window to hear,
A round window –
like an unending well:

It should reach–
to the garnet core of Earth.

And it should release–
into its gentle, lightly air.

A window that loads lonely, little hands–
with the nocturnal scent of generous stars.

A window that invites the sun–
to the glacial exile of the blooms.
A window,
A window is enough for me.



Monday, January 16, 2012

Gustavo Adolfo Garcés / Pupema

El rostro del durmiento
Barranquilla, 2011
Fotografía de Triunfo Arciniegas
PUPEMA
By Gustavo Adolfo Garcés
BIOGRAPHY
Translated by Nicolás Suescún

I wonder what became of Pupema
the alcoholic
the bum
who deliriously told us
about a night during the war
when three soldiers
with their heads bandaged
played dominoes
while the chaplain
and the musicians of the regiment
sang and got drunk
and an enemy soldier
tied to a tree
looked at the quagmire

I wonder what became of Pupema



Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Gustavo Adolfo Garcés / Invisible Stars


INVISIBLE STARS
By Gustavo Adolfo Garcés
BIOGRAPHY
Translated by Nicolás Suescún
There are nights
in which one discovers
the stairs
the door
and the lock

but the room
remains secret



Sunday, January 8, 2012

José Manuel Arango / Whose whose job it is to wash the streets


THOSE WHOSE JOB IT IS
TO WASH THE STREETS
By José Manuel Arango
Translated by Nicolás Suescún

LOS QUE TIENEN POR OFICIO LAVAR LAS CALLES

Those whose job it is to wash the streets
(they get up early, so God helps them)
find on the stones, every other day, puddles of blood

And they also wash them: it is their job
Fast
so that the first passers-by don’t step on them



Friday, January 6, 2012

José Manuel Arango / Hölderlin


Deangel
On A Blue Cross

HÖLDERLIN
By José Manuel Arango

perhaps madness
is the punishment

for he who violates a secret precinct
and looks in the eyes of a terrible
animal



Wednesday, January 4, 2012

José Manuel Arango / Dance With Me, Girl

Shadow Dancer
by Michon

DANCE WITH ME, GIRL
By José Manuel Arango
Translated by Nicolás Suescún
                                 (after Anacreon)

The girl, with the hair almost blue
and large, sparkling eyes
waves, excited by the music.

She spins round her slender hips,
she shakes her bare arms,
she wiggles her bosom.

I have been, with a glass in my hand,
lingeringly watching her dance.

Until I make up my mind and get up
and stretch out my arm inviting her,
and muttering, in the uproar of the music,
under my breath:

Dance with me, girl.
I will not let you see my loose
and brittle teeth,
or notice my hoary temples.

And she turns her smiling eyes
and comes dancing in my direction
and passes by my side and

goes to embrace an adolescent
with splendid teeth.




Tuesday, January 3, 2012

José Manuel Arango / As if crossing a river

Starry Night Body Painting
X
By José Manuel Arango

as if crossing a river
I undress beside her body

risky
like a river at night



Sunday, January 1, 2012

José Manuel Arango / About the Boy Born in The Whorehouse

Nicoleta Tomás Caravia
ABOUT THE BOY BORN
IN THE WHOREHOUSE
By José Manuel Arango
Translated by Nicolás Suescún

ACERCA DEL NIÑO NACIDO EN LA CASA DE PUTAS


About the boy born
in the whorehouse

And if in the whorehouse a child is born

And if the men
when they finish undressing
to fornicate at night

hear him cry at the back of the house
or of their empty heart