Poem
Carlos López Degregori
THE RED WIND WHISTLING
She lives inside a stone in a stone country.She opens and shuts her stone window each afternoon and knocks with stones on the stone door of her house.
Outside, the red wind whistles.
Are you made of stone? she asks.
But it’s a useless question. Here the wind is made of stone, just like the moons and birds that fly the solid air, rising until they dash themselves against the sky, or like the sea that walks among the hard, halted waves.
She listens to her pounding pulse. She lifts her hair of stone. She opens her arms and receives, with a difficult happiness, the red wind.
It doesn’t matter, she says, stay with me.
I’ll carry you inside my mouth.
I’ll keep you covered with my breasts.
I’ll keep you in my bridal heart.
© Translation: 2010, Robin Myers
Publisher: First published on PIW, , 2010
Publisher: First published on PIW, , 2010
FLUITEND KWAM DE RODE WIND VOORBIJ
Zij woont in een steen in een land van steen.Ze opent en sluit elke middag haar stenen raam en slaat met stenen op de stenen deur van haar huis.
Buiten komt fluitend de rode wind voorbij.
Ben jij van steen? vraagt ze hem.
Een zinloze vraag. Hier is de wind van steen, net zoals de manen en de vogels die door de harde lucht vliegen en zó hoog gaan dat ze tegen de hemel botsen, of zoals de zee die tussen de stilstaande harde golven wandelt.
Zij beluistert kloppend haar pols. Ze trekt haar haren op in steen. Ze spreidt haar armen en ontvangt de rode wind met een gemelijk geluksgevoel.
Het geeft niet, zegt ze, blijf bij me.
Ik zal je in mijn mond dragen.
Ik zal je met mijn borsten bedekken.
Ik zal je in mijn bruidshart bewaren.
© Vertaling: 2010, Mariolein Sabarte Belacortu
PASÓ SILBANDO EL VIENTO ROJO
Ella vive en una piedra en un país de piedra.Abre y cierra cada tarde su ventana de piedra y golpea con piedras la puerta de piedra de su casa.
Afuera pasa silbando el viento rojo.
¿Eres de piedra? le pregunta.
Pero es una pregunta inútil. Aquí el viento es de piedra, igual que las lunas y pájaros que vuelan por el aire sólido y se elevan hasta estrellarse contra el cielo, o el mar que camina entre las duras olas detenidas.
Ella escucha su pulso golpeando. Levanta de piedra sus cabellos. Abre sus brazos y en una felicidad difícil recibe al viento rojo.
No importa, le dice, quédate conmigo.
Te llevaré en mi boca.
Te cubriré con mis pechos.
Te guardaré en mi corazón nupcial.
© 2005, Carlos López Degregori
From: Flama y respiración
Publisher: Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, Lima
From: Flama y respiración
Publisher: Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, Lima
Poems
Poems of Carlos López Degregori
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THE RED WIND WHISTLING
She lives inside a stone in a stone country.She opens and shuts her stone window each afternoon and knocks with stones on the stone door of her house.
Outside, the red wind whistles.
Are you made of stone? she asks.
But it’s a useless question. Here the wind is made of stone, just like the moons and birds that fly the solid air, rising until they dash themselves against the sky, or like the sea that walks among the hard, halted waves.
She listens to her pounding pulse. She lifts her hair of stone. She opens her arms and receives, with a difficult happiness, the red wind.
It doesn’t matter, she says, stay with me.
I’ll carry you inside my mouth.
I’ll keep you covered with my breasts.
I’ll keep you in my bridal heart.
© 2010, Robin Myers
From: Flama y respiración
Publisher: 2010, First published on PIW, Lima
From: Flama y respiración
Publisher: 2010, First published on PIW, Lima
THE RED WIND WHISTLING
She lives inside a stone in a stone country.She opens and shuts her stone window each afternoon and knocks with stones on the stone door of her house.
Outside, the red wind whistles.
Are you made of stone? she asks.
But it’s a useless question. Here the wind is made of stone, just like the moons and birds that fly the solid air, rising until they dash themselves against the sky, or like the sea that walks among the hard, halted waves.
She listens to her pounding pulse. She lifts her hair of stone. She opens her arms and receives, with a difficult happiness, the red wind.
It doesn’t matter, she says, stay with me.
I’ll carry you inside my mouth.
I’ll keep you covered with my breasts.
I’ll keep you in my bridal heart.
© 2010, Robin Myers
Publisher: 2010, First published on PIW,
Publisher: 2010, First published on PIW,
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