Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Juan Cristóbal Romero

The ash tree

This tree, born from a seed,
now scrawny and with peeling bark,
once reached its arm to the sky
and entrenched its foot into the bowels of the earth.

Its branches knew of the existence
of things unsaid till then;
things not worth repeating because
they mean nothing now to those who hear them.

I was that ash tree that grew flowery
and strong as any among it;
and you were the meadowlark who sought
a safer shelter in its shadow.

In my world of a single inhabitant,
bordering the empire of the dead,
I got used to your song
as one gets used to a wound or to his body.

I thought you were made for me.
Now I'm a wind-blown trunk.
It's cold without you but I survive.
In autumn I grow older.

Un fresno

Un fresno

Este árbol que nació de una semilla,
hoy flaco y con la cáscara entreabierta,
alguna vez alzó su brazo al cielo
y hundió su pie en la entraña de la tierra.

Sus ramas conocían la existencia
de las cosas no dichas hasta entonces;
cosas que no conviene repetir
pues nada dicen hoy a quien las oye.

Yo fui ese fresno que creció florido
y fuerte como el más entre los suyos;
y tú fuiste la loica que buscó
a su sombra un abrigo más seguro.

En mi mundo de un único habitante,
fronterizo al imperio de los muertos,
me acostumbré a tu canto como quien
se acostumbra a una herida o a su cuerpo.

Pensé que estabas hecha para mí.
Ahora soy un tronco que holla el viento.
Hace frío sin ti pero se vive.
En otoño envejezco.
Close

The ash tree

This tree, born from a seed,
now scrawny and with peeling bark,
once reached its arm to the sky
and entrenched its foot into the bowels of the earth.

Its branches knew of the existence
of things unsaid till then;
things not worth repeating because
they mean nothing now to those who hear them.

I was that ash tree that grew flowery
and strong as any among it;
and you were the meadowlark who sought
a safer shelter in its shadow.

In my world of a single inhabitant,
bordering the empire of the dead,
I got used to your song
as one gets used to a wound or to his body.

I thought you were made for me.
Now I'm a wind-blown trunk.
It's cold without you but I survive.
In autumn I grow older.

The ash tree

This tree, born from a seed,
now scrawny and with peeling bark,
once reached its arm to the sky
and entrenched its foot into the bowels of the earth.

Its branches knew of the existence
of things unsaid till then;
things not worth repeating because
they mean nothing now to those who hear them.

I was that ash tree that grew flowery
and strong as any among it;
and you were the meadowlark who sought
a safer shelter in its shadow.

In my world of a single inhabitant,
bordering the empire of the dead,
I got used to your song
as one gets used to a wound or to his body.

I thought you were made for me.
Now I'm a wind-blown trunk.
It's cold without you but I survive.
In autumn I grow older.
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