jueves, 26 de noviembre de 2015

Lo peor fue volver


martes, 24 de noviembre de 2015

El interruptor


lunes, 23 de noviembre de 2015

Old Dun Laoghaire Road - (Translation)

From Cuaderno de Belfast - Dublín

Truth be told
I'd rather lie to you
and every word I misspell out
would rip off blood from my gums
to stem
the lie from your lips.

Truth be told
I'd rather fool you
and every syllable I swallow back
would tear apart the flesh from my tongue
to fill
the empty cleft in my palate.

Truth be told
I'd rather conceal you
and every letter I contradict
would sweep along the saliva from my mouth
to seal off
the truth in my poem.


jueves, 12 de noviembre de 2015

Monkstown Road - (Translation)

From Cuaderno de Belfast - Dublín

Sometimes, as I walk along,
a tree crosses my path on the pavement;
when she passes by I see the eyes
in the reflection of her eyes
and she runs away feigning a kiss.

Truth is that there are streets,
avenues brimming with memory
and garbage lorries
that soil the sewer manholes,
where the lips are more than a kiss.

Right before I get there
I turn left
towards less trodden tarmacs
with windows and scaffoldings
and I see your greeting
from the door of your own inferno.

miércoles, 11 de noviembre de 2015

Botanic Avenue - (Translation)

From Cuaderno de Belfast - Dublín

We walk
leaving steps we do not take behind
(but they do write us)
and we inhabit a silence
walking hand in hand
and fingers knotted together

The dog crosses the street
unaware of the traffic lights
from the corner the drunkard
shouts at that man
who is not walking on pavement opposite

We walk
at the end of the avenues we wait
for the daybreak bus to pass by
and I drag you by the hand
where rain starts to fall

Crows are perched
finding a balance on the curbs
although there is no childhood in the pavement
... and the grandpa with his walking stick
shows us the way to the water and the river

miércoles, 4 de noviembre de 2015

Annadale Embankment - (translation)

From Cuaderno de Belfast - Dublín

From the opposite bank
we are being watched by skiffs
reflecting raindrop eyes
after our steps

From the opposite bank
we are being waved by flags
and I take you by the hand
in my recollection

From the opposite bank
the cutters' wharf serves chilled guinness
windows are steamy
and you kiss my temples

From the opposite bank
you show my the pavement and the bricks
and in every corner of your body
you offer a verse for my ink