Poem
Robinson Quintero
BUTCHER
It was my grandfather’s trade He bustled aboutall day among the flies
and quartered livestock
his hands soaked in blood
My child’s eyes soon got used
to looking at his sharp knives
and his stained old apron
without repulsion
A skillful town butcher
he worked well
Without minding his offensive
and impure appearance
he prefered to joke as he handled
the meat with pleasure
He wrapped it in plantain leaves
carefully
as if instead of small slices
he were wrapping
the fat first fruits of a god
© Translation: 2007, Nicolás Suescún
CARNICERO
CARNICERO
Fue el oficio de mi abuelo Trajinaba el díaentre moscas
y reses descuartizadas
con las manos empapadas en sangre
Mis ojos de niño se acostumbraron pronto
a mirar sin repulsión sus cuchillos
afilados
y su bata manchada por el uso
El ducho carnicero de pueblo
lo hacía bien
Sin importarle su apariencia
ofensiva e impura
prefería bromear mientras servía
con gusto
Y en hojas jóvenes de plátano envolvía
la venta
con esmero
como si en vez de lonjas al por menor envolviera
robustas primicias de un dios
© 1988, Robinson Quintero
From: Hay que cantar
Publisher: Cooperativa Editorial Magisterio, Bogotá
From: Hay que cantar
Publisher: Cooperativa Editorial Magisterio, Bogotá
Poems
Poems of Robinson Quintero
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BUTCHER
It was my grandfather’s trade He bustled aboutall day among the flies
and quartered livestock
his hands soaked in blood
My child’s eyes soon got used
to looking at his sharp knives
and his stained old apron
without repulsion
A skillful town butcher
he worked well
Without minding his offensive
and impure appearance
he prefered to joke as he handled
the meat with pleasure
He wrapped it in plantain leaves
carefully
as if instead of small slices
he were wrapping
the fat first fruits of a god
© 2007, Nicolás Suescún
From: Hay que cantar
From: Hay que cantar
BUTCHER
It was my grandfather’s trade He bustled aboutall day among the flies
and quartered livestock
his hands soaked in blood
My child’s eyes soon got used
to looking at his sharp knives
and his stained old apron
without repulsion
A skillful town butcher
he worked well
Without minding his offensive
and impure appearance
he prefered to joke as he handled
the meat with pleasure
He wrapped it in plantain leaves
carefully
as if instead of small slices
he were wrapping
the fat first fruits of a god
© 2007, Nicolás Suescún
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