Showing posts with label Piedad Bonnett. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Piedad Bonnett. Show all posts

Sunday, June 9, 2019

Piedad Bonnett / A Matter of Statistics






A MATTER OF STATISTICS
by Piedad Bonnett
BIOGRAPHY
Translated by Nicolás Suescún


They were twenty-two, said the report.
Seventeen men, three women,
two children with bewildered eyes,
sixty-three shots, four Creeds,
three deep, muffled curses,
forty-four feet with their shoes,
forty-four unarmed hands,
a single fear, a hatred that sizzles,
and a thousand silences putting on
bandages on the mangled soul.





Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Piedad Bonnett / Something Beautiful Ends


Something Beautiful Ends

By Piedad Bonnett
BIOGRAPHY
Translated by Nicolás Suescún

Every day of the world
something beautiful ends.
Jaroslav Seifert

Suffer:
as if you were an old, tired star,
light has left you. And the creature
you lighted
(and who lighted
your eyes, blind to the world's
trivial things)
is now mortal again.
Everything recovers
its density, its weight, its volume,
the poor balance that supports
your new winter. Be glad.
Your entrails are now again your entrails
and not coarse food of anxiety.
You're no longer that drunk and uncertain god
that you turned out to be. Bite
the bone they give you,
down to the marrow,
pick up the crumbs memory leaves behind.


Monday, December 19, 2011

Piedad Bonnett / From Time to Time


FROM TIME TO TIME
By Piedad Bonnett
BIOGRAPHY

Translated by Nicolás Suescún

My mother likes to go to this café with sober lamps,
to order vanilla cookies,
drink unhurriedly two cups of black tea
as in a ceremonial act.
I have brought her here, then, giving up my laborious afternoon to this filial gesture.
Through the enormous windows we see life pressing on outside
while we talk about bygone days
And the lukewarm ambiance of the place suggests that happiness is no more than this.
Suddenly, as if recovering words from a dream
she says: “It’s a pity everything has an end.”
She says it with a slight smile, because she knows
that being solemn does not go well with the afternoon.
(My mother is already seventy-four years old
and she was at some time beautiful.)
In the bottom of the cups the tea paints its signs.
I don’t know what to say.
We look at the avenue, the blurred faces of the passers-by,
the trees that keep silent.
Night is falling.


Gustavo Caillebotte
Calle de París en un día de lluvia, 1877
Art Institute of Chicago
Piedad Bonnett
DE TARDE EN TARDE

A mi madre le gusta ir a ese café de sobrias lámparas,
pedir galletas de vainilla,
tomar dos tazas de té negro con parsimonia
como un acto ceremonial.
Hoy la he traído, pues, cediendo al gesto filial mi tarde laboriosa.
Tras los enormes ventanales vemos correr la vida afuera
mientras hablamos de otros días
y la tibieza del lugar sugiere que la felicidad no es más que esto.
De repente
como recuperando las palabras de un sueño
ella dice: “Qué lástima que todo se termina”.
Lo dice con sonrisa liviana, pues sabe
que ser trascendental no conviene a la tarde.
(Mi madre cumplió setenta y cuatro años
y alguna vez fue bella)
Al fondo de las tazas el té pinta sus signos.
Yo no sé qué decir.
Miramos la avenida, las caras planas de los transeúntes,
los árboles que callan. Anochece.


Sunday, December 18, 2011

Piedad Bonnett / Prayer


Woman at Prayer, 1917
by Ivan Mestrovik
PRAYER
By Piedad Bonnett
BIOGRAPHY
Translated by Nicolás Suescún

For my days I ask,
Lord of shipwrecks,
not for water for my thirst, but thirst,
not for dreams,
but for the desire to dream.
For the nights,
all the darkness that will be needed
to drown my own darkness.


Moonlight Prayer
by Michael Chamel
Piedad Bonnett
ORACIÓN

Para mis días pido,
Señor de los naufragios,
no agua para la sed, sino la sed,
no sueños
sino ganas de soñar.
Para las noches,
toda la oscuridad que sea necesaria
para ahogar mi propia oscuridad.