Poem
Miguel Iriarte
MAGDALEN IN THE RIVER
In the SummerAfter long days on the road
Looking for new waterways and herbs
To calm the restless cattle,
We got as far as the serene current of the San Jorge
(a bit farther up of Santiago Apóstol)
Where it was safe to find girls lit up
By the passionate phosphorescence of the shoal
And almost naked ’cause of the heat and poverty.
Then they rushed together to the corrals
To exchange some victuals
For fish, or for love,
Dying of laughter and bra-less
While they tidied the hut abandoned in Winter
And drove snakes and scorpions from ceiling and corners
With the ease of women dressing the saints on an altar.
One of them, Magdalen,
Liked to take me out in the afternoons in her ceiba canoe
For me to sing her two new rancheras I had learned
Downriver
Among eddies of muddy water
Cries of parrots and stone curlews
And immense clouds
Of birds frightened by our laughter.
Far off, in the ancient maze of the mangroves
I moored the canoe amongst the roots
And she offered me her unbound legs
So I could settle my orphaned bones
On her soft thighs
Experienced in squeezing laborers.
Then I sang
While she moved her hand in the water
Rippling along to the song.
In the Passion days of that April she gave me
Plum and mango sweets and other honeys
And I let her listen to songs and novels
On the radio.
© Translation: 2007, Nicolás Suescún
MAGDALENA EN EL RÍO
MAGDALENA EN EL RÍO
En el verano,Después de largos días de camino
Buscando aguas y hierbas nuevas
Para calmar la inquietud de los ganados,
Llegábamos hasta la corriente serena del San Jorge
(un poco más arriba de Santiago Apostol)
Donde era seguro encontrar muchachas encendidas
Por el fósforo pasional de la subienda
Y casi desnudas por el ardor y la pobreza.
Entonces corrían en tropel a los corrales
Para cambiar un poco de vitualla
Por pescado, o por amor,
Muertas de risa y sin sostenes
Mientras componían el rancho abandonado en el invierno
Y sacaban culebras y alacranes del techo y los rincones
Con la tranquilidad del que arregla los santos de un altar.
A una de ellas, Magdalena,
Para que yo le cantara dos rancheras nuevas que aprendí
Le gustaba llevarme en su canoa de Ceiba por las tardes
Río abajo
Entre remolinos de agua turbia,
Gritería de loros y alcaravanes
Y nubes inmensas
De pájaros espantados con su risa.
Por allá lejos, en el enredo antiguo del manglar
Anclaba la canoa en las raíces
y me ofrecía sus piernas desatadas
para que acomodara la orfandad de mis huesos
contra unos muslos suaves
sabios ya en el oficio de exprimir jornaleros.
Entonces yo cantaba
Mientras ella movía una mano en el agua
Para hacerle un murmullo a la canción.
En los días Santos de ese abril me daba dulces
De ciruela y mangos y otras mieles
Y yo la dejaba escuchar canciones y novelas
En la radio.
© 2007, Miguel Iriarte
From: Semana Santa de mi boca
Publisher: First published on PIW,
From: Semana Santa de mi boca
Publisher: First published on PIW,
Poems
Poems of Miguel Iriarte
Close
MAGDALEN IN THE RIVER
In the SummerAfter long days on the road
Looking for new waterways and herbs
To calm the restless cattle,
We got as far as the serene current of the San Jorge
(a bit farther up of Santiago Apóstol)
Where it was safe to find girls lit up
By the passionate phosphorescence of the shoal
And almost naked ’cause of the heat and poverty.
Then they rushed together to the corrals
To exchange some victuals
For fish, or for love,
Dying of laughter and bra-less
While they tidied the hut abandoned in Winter
And drove snakes and scorpions from ceiling and corners
With the ease of women dressing the saints on an altar.
One of them, Magdalen,
Liked to take me out in the afternoons in her ceiba canoe
For me to sing her two new rancheras I had learned
Downriver
Among eddies of muddy water
Cries of parrots and stone curlews
And immense clouds
Of birds frightened by our laughter.
Far off, in the ancient maze of the mangroves
I moored the canoe amongst the roots
And she offered me her unbound legs
So I could settle my orphaned bones
On her soft thighs
Experienced in squeezing laborers.
Then I sang
While she moved her hand in the water
Rippling along to the song.
In the Passion days of that April she gave me
Plum and mango sweets and other honeys
And I let her listen to songs and novels
On the radio.
© 2007, Nicolás Suescún
From: Semana Santa de mi boca
From: Semana Santa de mi boca
MAGDALEN IN THE RIVER
In the SummerAfter long days on the road
Looking for new waterways and herbs
To calm the restless cattle,
We got as far as the serene current of the San Jorge
(a bit farther up of Santiago Apóstol)
Where it was safe to find girls lit up
By the passionate phosphorescence of the shoal
And almost naked ’cause of the heat and poverty.
Then they rushed together to the corrals
To exchange some victuals
For fish, or for love,
Dying of laughter and bra-less
While they tidied the hut abandoned in Winter
And drove snakes and scorpions from ceiling and corners
With the ease of women dressing the saints on an altar.
One of them, Magdalen,
Liked to take me out in the afternoons in her ceiba canoe
For me to sing her two new rancheras I had learned
Downriver
Among eddies of muddy water
Cries of parrots and stone curlews
And immense clouds
Of birds frightened by our laughter.
Far off, in the ancient maze of the mangroves
I moored the canoe amongst the roots
And she offered me her unbound legs
So I could settle my orphaned bones
On her soft thighs
Experienced in squeezing laborers.
Then I sang
While she moved her hand in the water
Rippling along to the song.
In the Passion days of that April she gave me
Plum and mango sweets and other honeys
And I let her listen to songs and novels
On the radio.
© 2007, Nicolás Suescún
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