issue 22: winter 2020
The Clear Marble Slab: Three Poems
Translated from the Spanish by Philippa Page.
Hora del lobo: reliquia andina
con esfuerzo, al amanecer, algunas veces las nubes
me dejan ver entre dos torres
un rectángulo donde emerge, soberano, el sumaq urcu
del huayna potosí
en pleno modesto barrio trece de parís estoy −quiera o no
aunque la borre con el codo, veinteañera, en bolivia
y cuando llega aurora solloce quedo, desafinada
qué hago con las vetas, qué hago con las venas y las velas
que dejé en la casa de moneda
mi bastón de mando en el cristo de la caña
mis pies, la sonrisa entregada en el portal de san francisco
polvo y chicha me fermentan la palabra
fijate que arde el predio, estaqueada
de memoria
qué hago
sin mí
Hour of the Wolf: Andean Relic
with a little effort, at dawn, the clouds sometimes
let me catch sight of
a rectangle in which the sumaq urcu, sovereign
of the Huayna Potosí, emerges
in between two towers
in the middle of the modest 13th arrondissement in Paris I am—like it
or not
even if I erase it with my elbow—a twenty-something once again in Bolivia
and when dawn breaks I let out a muffled sob, out of tune
what should I do with the veins of silver, what should I do with my own
veins and the candles
that I left at the mint
my sceptre in the Christ of the Sugar Cane
my feet, the smile turned in at the gateway to San Francisco
dust and chicha[1]
fermented my words
take note that the land is burning, my memory
stretched out between the stakes
what to do
without me
Con los dedos
qué se espera de un viejo? que pida turno con especialistas
que le confirmarán por si falta le hacía
el deterioro irremediable
que mate el tiempo
que sus deseos como él se jubilen sin júbilo de la vida del paso y el respiro
sus allegados, la ciudad, se vengan de sus antiguas perrerías y petulancia
le multiplican escaleras
veredas jabonosas
apenas con un alfiler
un martillito de viento le quiebran la dentadura postiza
en el lavabo del hotel
y para rematarla los duendes de la noche la tiran por la ventana
y el vecindario se queja por ruidos molestos
intempestivos
joder con los viejos
hay quien dice que huelen tan mal como los linyeras
o los muros de las prisiones
porque el olor de una clase de adolescentes en verano
voltea marea
distinto
el viejo vive en un inmenso país de gente resfriada
por el arrepentimiento y los tiempos condicionales un país de peter pan
de principitos destronados y cochambrosos
que la parsimonia con que abren sus chequeras no ventila
país de excrecencias, temblores, toses
alfombrado de pesadillas
yo lázaro transmito
al volver de la academia
tradición obliga
preciosos mendrugos, edictos de cariño
el arcoiris se come con los dedos
el rocío aminora el mal aliento
las piedras preciosas en los bolsillos dificultan el vuelo
soltarlas en el firmamento lo aligeran
descifrar alfabetos en la forma de las nubes desempolva la penuria
tirar del cántaro
hasta que por fin se rompa
en una luminosa astilladura de partículas
para qué otra cosa están hechos acaso los cántaros
la gente
las medias las casas
los elefantes
sino para romperse
así
de repente
y a sabiendas
(De Ortigas, 2010)
With the Fingers
what can be expected of an old boy? That he books an appointment with
specialists
merely for them to confirm his irredeemable deterioration
as if he really needed to be told
that he’s killing time
that his desires like him are retiring without rapture from a life of stepping
forth and drawing breath
his kin, the city, take revenge for his dirty old tricks and petulance
stairs multiply in front of him
soapy pavements
barely a pin
a little hammering of the wind break his dentures
in the hotel sink
and just to finish them off the night elves hurl them out of the window
and the neighbours complain about the unearthly racket
damn these old codgers
some say they smell as foul as tramps
or prison walls
because the stench of a class of adolescents in summertime
turns one’s stomach
but in a different way
the old man lives in a vast country of people congested
with repentance and conditional times
a country of Peter Pan
of filthy, dethroned little princes
the stinginess with which they open their chequebooks won’t redeem them
country of excrescences, tremors, coughs
carpeted with nightmares
upon my return from the academy
I, Lazarus, impart
as tradition obliges
precious crusts, edicts of affection
the rainbow is to be eaten with the fingers
dew abates bad breath
carrying precious stones in pockets hinders flight
letting go of them in the sky alleviates
deciphering alphabets in the shapes made by the clouds dusts off the penury
skating on thin ice
until it finally shatters
into a bright explosion of particles
for what other reason are things
people
socks
houses
elephants
made
but to be broken
just like that
all of a sudden
and knowingly
(From Nettles, 2016)
La losa de mármol claro
Hay ciudades
de agravios solapados
falsos durmientes
y dolencias crónicas
ciudades
en las que me cunde el pánico
ese que irrumpe sin alfabeto
ni traductor conocido
y se disipa cuando quiere
para irse con la neblina –que es su música
a otra parte
siempre
dentro de mí
The clear marble slab
There are cities
of whitewashed grievances
false sleepers
and chronic illnesses
cities
in which panic whelms me
the kind that irrupts with no alphabet
or known translator
and dissipates at will
to leave with the mist –its music
elsewhere
always
inside me
[1] Chicha is the name given to a variety of fermented and non-fermented drinks in South and Central America. Whilst it is most commonly derived from maize, it can also be made from a range of other fruit, root vegetables or grains.
Luisa Futoranksy (Buenos Aires, 1939) is a poet, novelist, essayist, journalist and music scholar. She is particularly known as being one of Argentina’s most renowned contemporary poets and is the author of some 20 collections of poems, 5 novels, as well as a number of non-fiction works, much of which has been translated. Author of some twenty collections of poetry, four novels and two works of non-fiction, Futoransky's literature traces its path across six decades and five continents. Recent books include the forthcoming Bajo los nísperos (Leviatán), Los años argentinos (Leviatán, 2019), El poema, dos lugares (Ars 2018), Marchar de día (Leviatán, 2017) and 23.53 Noveleta (Leviatán, 2013). Her collection, Ortigas (2011), was translated into English and published by Shearsman Books in 2016. Her poetry has received awards in France, Spain and Argentina. Most notably, Luisa was honoured by the French government as a Chevalier de l’Ordre des Arts et des Lettres. In 1991, she received a Guggenheim Fellowship, and in 1993 and in 2010, fellowships from the Centre National des Lettres in Paris. In 1997, she was invited as Regent’s Lecturer to the University of California, Berkeley. She is regularly invited to lecture at prestigious universities in France, Spain, Argentina and United States. Likewise, she is regularly invited as a guest author to international literary festivals. Futoransky’s work is often cited in studies of contemporary Argentine women’s writing as well as those dealing with issues of exile, transnational identity, language, contemporary Latin American poetry or Argentine writers in Paris. Fluent in Spanish, French, English, Hebrew and Italian, her oeuvre brings together an incredibly rich array of cultural references inspired by her experiences living and travelling across Latin America, Europe and East Asia, which she blends together with distinctive echoes of home.
Philippa Page is a Lecturer in Hispanic Literature and Translation at Newcastle University, U.K. She is author of the monograph Politics and Performance in Post-Dictatorship Argentine Film and Theatre (Tamesis, 2011) and co-editor of the volumes The Feeling Child: Politics, Childhood and Affect in Contemporary Latin American Literature and Film (Lexington, 2018) and Entre/telones y pantallas. Afectos y saberes en la performance argentina contemporánea (Libraria, in press. Her translations have been published in the journals Confluencia, Review: Literature and Arts of the Americas, and Poetry International.