La mujer escribe y eso es lo que importa










4 de agosto de 2012

Erica Jong, 2 poemas 2


Fotografía de B. Berenika



EL FIN DEL MUNDO
               
"Te escribo desde el fin del mundo"
HENRI MICHAUX

Aquí, en el fin del mundo,
las flores sangran
como si fueran corazones;
los corazones exudan una oscuridad
parecida a la tinta china
donde los poetas mojan sus plumas
y escriben.


"Aquí, en el fin del mundo",
escriben,
sin saber lo que significa.
"Aquí, donde el cielo mama leche negra,
donde las chimeneas alimentan el cielo,
donde los árboles tiemblan aterrorizados
y la gente llega a parecérseles..."


Aquí, en el fin del mundo,
los poetas sangran.
Se supone que sangrar y escribir 
son la misma cosa;
se supone que cantar y sangrar 
son la misma cosa.


¡Escríbenos una carta!
¡Envíanos un paquete de comida!
Confórtanos con proverbios o fruta azucarada,
háblanos de un Dios.
Distráenos con teorías del arte
que nadie puede probar.


Aquí, en el fin del mundo,
tenemos las cabezas vacías,
y el viento las atraviesa
como fantasmas
en una casa encantada.


THE END OF THE WORLD

Here, at the end of the world,
the flowers bleed
as if they were hearts,
the hearts ooze a darkness
like india ink,
& poets dip their pens in
& they write.

"Here, at the end of the world,"
they write,
not knowing what it means.
"Here, where the sky nurses on black milk,
where the smokestack feed the sky,
where the trees tremble in terror
& people come to resemble them. . . . "

Here, at the end of the world,
the poets are bleeding.
Writing & bleeding
are thought to be the same;
singing & bleeding
are thought to be the same.

Write us a letter!
Send us a parcel of food!
Comfort us with proverbs or candied fruit,
with talk of one God.
Distract us with theories of art
no one can prove.

Here at the end of the world
our heads are empty,
& the wind walks through them
like ghosts
through a haunted house.




Fotografía de Brendan George Ko


AUTORRETRATO

No se trata de una mujer esbelta,
pero su piel era leche
mezclada con mermelada de fresa,
y entre sus piernas había nacido la palabra púrpura,
y su cabello era del color del trigo y la mantequilla.

Sus ojos eran oscuros como el Atlántico Norte.

Aprendió las intraducibles palabras del alba.
Estudió sus propios miedos y escribió sus versos.
Utilizó el hueco de su corazón para hacer música de viento.
Edificó casas de libros sobre su sótano vacío.

Primero se alimentó de su musa,
luego se transformó en su propia madre.




SELF-PORTRAIT

From Loveroot

She was not a slender woman,
but her skin was milk
mixed in with strawberry jam
& between her legs the word purple was born
& her hair was the color of wheat & yellow butter.

Her eyes were dark as the North Atlantic sea.

She learned the untranslatable words of dawn.
She studied her own fear & wrote its verses.
She used the hole in her heart to play wind-music.
She built her book-houses over her empty cellar.

She nursed on the muse at first,
then became her own mother.





Erica Jong (Nueva York, EE.UU., 1942)
de Poesías,  Editorial Grijalbo
para leer una ANTOLOGÍA EN INGLÉS
para leer MÁS

10 comentarios:

Darío dijo...

Preciosa mujer...

cumClavis dijo...

Preciosa, sí...

Leo Mercado dijo...

Y.... Donde entran dos, entran tres. No?

EMMAGUNST dijo...

Siendo vos Leo, sí, entran tres! ;)

Agustina dijo...

increíbles! y sobretodo el primero, me llegó mucho.

Vera Eikon dijo...

El viento de este poema atravesando mi cabeza, mi corazón. Y el segundo me mató de amor...

Kuba Rubaj dijo...

Hello, I'm an author of this photograph.
If You steal someone photograph and publish on your blog, it's more polite to sign the author, or at least, put a link to authors website. which is: www.kubarubaj.com

How would You feel if somebody would steal Your text/poetry, and publish on his blog as his poetry?

Please sign the photograph. Thank You.

Kuba

Miriam Tessore dijo...

Hola Kuba: You challenge me and you're right! I should not have uploaded a picture without the author's data, but I honestly did not find them! And the photo was accurate for the poem. I apologize.

Saludos, Miriam

Kuba Rubaj dijo...

Yes, but I'm still afraid that it's still not true.

You could download this photograph only from here: http://rubaj.wordpress.com/2010/08/01/trzy-tygodnie-w-lesie/
Which is my blog, so is's obviously easy to find out who I am. And who is the author.

Second thing is - right clicking for file properities - You can find information: that this photograph is copyrighted, my full name and my email.

So it was pretty easy to find out the author.

Miriam Tessore dijo...

There are over 3000 being photographed this blog, do not know if you've seen ... 90% you have the author's name. You think that is on purpose? Surely laziness and it was like he apologized.

The bag if you want.

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