Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Ángela García

THE OLD WOMAN in her chair

THE OLD WOMAN in her chair
looked carefully at the keys
poking deep into her memory

To open up her memory
each key was a key-image

“I used to know what each key opened
but now I don’t remember”
she muttered as if I were only
                      in her head

I trembled at the thought that they could be used
to open a hidden palace

“Nor do you remember the locks,
the drawers, the doors
or even recall where they were”
I said voicelessly

Everything returns to the shadows
but you have the keys

There are no more secrets
for everything returns to the mystery

But you have the keys
although you don’t remember now

THE OLD WOMAN in her chair

LA ANCIANA en su silla
escrutaba las llaves una a una
escarbando en su recuerdo

Para abrir su memoria
cada llave era una imagen-clave

-Antes sabía qué abría cada llave
Ahora no me acuerdo-
murmuraba como si yo no estuviera más 
                          que en su cabeza

Temblé al pensar que con ellas
abría su palacio escondido

-Ni recuerdas las cerraduras
gavetas, puertas
ni recuerdas dónde estaban-
Dije sin voz

Todo vuelve a la sombra
pero tú tienes las llaves

Ya no hay más secretos
pues todo vuelve al misterio

Pero tienes sus llaves
aunque ahora no recuerdas
Close

THE OLD WOMAN in her chair

THE OLD WOMAN in her chair
looked carefully at the keys
poking deep into her memory

To open up her memory
each key was a key-image

“I used to know what each key opened
but now I don’t remember”
she muttered as if I were only
                      in her head

I trembled at the thought that they could be used
to open a hidden palace

“Nor do you remember the locks,
the drawers, the doors
or even recall where they were”
I said voicelessly

Everything returns to the shadows
but you have the keys

There are no more secrets
for everything returns to the mystery

But you have the keys
although you don’t remember now

THE OLD WOMAN in her chair

THE OLD WOMAN in her chair
looked carefully at the keys
poking deep into her memory

To open up her memory
each key was a key-image

“I used to know what each key opened
but now I don’t remember”
she muttered as if I were only
                      in her head

I trembled at the thought that they could be used
to open a hidden palace

“Nor do you remember the locks,
the drawers, the doors
or even recall where they were”
I said voicelessly

Everything returns to the shadows
but you have the keys

There are no more secrets
for everything returns to the mystery

But you have the keys
although you don’t remember now
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère