Poem
Veronica Jimenez
Marina arrives with the rain
Taken in with you like a dreamI neither forget nor remember.
Sing the winter and I part from the others
words newly born:
those that we leave under the arc of pain
as we pass by trembling,
those that I wove into your wings
so your flight commands
the surrounding clay
the chaotic solitude which forsakes.
The night is a lamp and pours out
in a blast the oil of goodbyes.
In my pluvial dream the shadows cry out.
The relentless markers of the future
come and go like extras,
like tepid storms on a sea lacking salt
pyramids of weeping.
I neither remember nor forget.
I thread the convulsive needle
that rips me from your body
to gather you up the polished
superhumanness of the day.
Wait for us on your border
rain that is here in the rain
synthesis of water
see us as we are
see how we fall in this
a permanent prisoner of time
this is life.
rain that is here in the rain
synthesis of water
see us as we are
see how we fall in this
a permanent prisoner of time
this is life.
You grow up in comfort, you believe so you can see the sun
it soon surprises you – a blast of air
and this emptiness
furnished with instruments of torture.
Your fine blood issues forth in a circle
to enter another –
an abyss intense and throbbing.
You advance while time backs away
and the beginning of innocence retires from the groove.
Bird of fire, free us
from your wild roots.
from your wild roots.
Your hands cling to a corner of the cloth
to a point of destiny.
The rain crosses the backwater of my dream,
drags along the current of other days and sings
bleaching the cesspool of the afternoon.
I sleep with a girl wrapped in air.
The rain sings into the heart of a seed
scratches up the earth and pulls up roots: words
newly come.
Like in a cosmic dance
next comes the sun bearing miniature suns,
yours are sons of mine
together we play with these little ones
that will illuminate you,
Friend of the clouds
Daughter of the rain.
Daughter of the rain,
chain of beautiful looks, linger
under my eyes, search the fire
your visions as you call them
fill my dreams, a sun
of gilded roots
rides on your back,
my hand flows over your body
wants to fill you,
child who comes from what is full
to that which fails you.
Before you, came my mother to spread herself on my side
her body lit a flame in my blood
a bonfire of premonitions
my mother fashioned herself in me
I was her island
through me, arrived a latent sea
but my feet burned.
I was filled with my mother,
duplicating her stride
dragging myself like a shadow
by her shores.
She extended her gaze over me
and in a vision of ardent fire
you reclined as well, reunited
sap of our glances.
I burned over the face of my mother
dreaming myself a girl who wove souls,
outlining paths over the water
to arrive at you, root hastened,
simultaneous deep journey
in my unoccupied body.
Now my mother empties herself newly in me
I am her forge
I embrace slow wards that unite
in a dream that burns.
I sleep with a girl wrapped in air.
This
is not a poem. You move in a dream
of tossed waters,
the lamp tumbles anew
and the fire runs over,
your eyes so able to look inside me
ignite distant bonfires.
The fire defines contours of water
drops disperse in collections
of columns that open like arms
in an ornamental sky, empty.
I search for hexagonal words,
a prism that opens across the page, faults
those who write stark measures.
Your hands lazy over my chest
open and close my books.
The guard of our dream is a sleepy one.
© Translation: 2017, Heather James, Veronica Jimenez
Marina llega con la lluvia
Marina llega con la lluvia
Estremecida junto a ti como en un sueñono olvido ni recuerdo.
Canta el invierno y yo aparto de las otras
palabras recién nacidas:
las que dejamos bajo el arco del dolor
por donde las dos pasamos temblando
las que tejí en tus alas
para que ordenases con tu vuelo
el barro circundante
la soledad caótica que desampara.
La noche es una lámpara y vierte
en un soplo el aceite de los adioses.
En mi sueño pluvial gritan las sombras.
Los hitos implacables del porvenir
vienen y van como comparsas
como tibias tempestades en un mar sin sal
pirámides del llanto.
No recuerdo ni olvido.Enhebro la aguja convulsa
que me descose de tu cuerpo
para que te recoja la tersa
trashumancia del día.
Espéranos en tu orilla
lluvia que está en la lluvia
síntesis del agua
míranos cómo estamos
ve cómo caemos en esto
una permanente presa del tiempo
esto que es la vida.
lluvia que está en la lluvia
síntesis del agua
míranos cómo estamos
ve cómo caemos en esto
una permanente presa del tiempo
esto que es la vida.
Tú avanzas entre algodones, crees ver el sol
y de pronto te sorprende una paletada de aire
y este vacío
amoblado con instrumentos de tortura.
Tu fina sangre se desprende de un círculo
para entrar en otro
como en un abismo intenso y palpitante.
Tú avanzas mientras el tiempo retrocede
y la génesis del candor se retira de la estría.
Pájaro de fuego, libéranos
de tus raíces frenéticas.
de tus raíces frenéticas.
Tus manos se aferran a una esquina de la sábana
a una punta del destino.
La lluvia franquea el remanso de mi sueño
arrastra la corriente de otros días y canta
blanqueando el pozo negro de la tarde.
Yo sueño con una niña enredada en el aire.
La lluvia canta en el corazón de la semilla
escarba la tierra y arranca raíces: palabras
recién venidas.
Como en una danza cósmica
viene luego el sol pariendo soles diminutos
los tuyos son hijos de los míos
y ambas jugamos con esos pequeños
que luego van a alumbrarte
Amiga de las nubes
Hija de la lluvia.
Hija de la lluvia,
collar de bellas miradas, detente
dentro de mis ojos, examina el fuego
tus visiones como llamas
colman mi sueño, un sol
de raíces doradas
sube por tu espalda,
mi mano se vacía sobre tu cuerpo
quiere llenarte
niña que vienes de lo pleno
a lo que te falta.
Antes de ti vino mi madre a tenderse en mi costado
su cuerpo encendió en mi sangre
una hoguera de premoniciones.
Mi madre se alojaba en mí
yo era su isla
hasta mí llegaba un mar adormecido
pero mis pies ardían.
Yo estaba colmada de mi madre
duplicaba sus caminos
me arrastraba como una sombra
por sus orillas.
Ella extendía sus ojos hacia mí
y en una visión de fuegos fugaces
te recostabas tú también, reunida,
savia de nuestras miradas.
Yo ardía sobre el rostro de mi madre
me soñaba niña que teje naufragios
trazaba caminos sobre el agua
para llegar a ti, raíz anticipada
hondo viaje simultáneo
en mi cuerpo deshabitado.
Ahora mi madre se vierte nuevamente en mí
yo soy su fragua
abrazo lentas pupilas que se reúnen
en un sueño que arde.
Yo sueño con una niña enredada en el aire.
Esto
no es un poema. Tú avanzas en un sueño
de aguas revueltas
la lámpara se voltea nuevamente
y el fuego se derrama
tus ojos tan aptos para mirar dentro de mí
encienden fogatas lejanas.
El fuego define contornos de agua
gotas se desgranan en un fondo
de columnas que se abren como brazos
en un cielo ornamental, vacío.
Yo busco palabras hexagonales
un prisma se abre sobre la página, falta
quien escriba los pasos restantes.
Tus manos adormecidas sobre mi pecho
abren y cierran mis libros.
El centinela de nuestro sueño es un dormido.
© 2015, Veronica Jimenez
From: Nada tiene que ver el amor con el amor
Publisher: Garceta Ediciones, Santiago, Chile
From: Nada tiene que ver el amor con el amor
Publisher: Garceta Ediciones, Santiago, Chile
Poems
Poems of Veronica Jimenez
Close
Marina arrives with the rain
Taken in with you like a dreamI neither forget nor remember.
Sing the winter and I part from the others
words newly born:
those that we leave under the arc of pain
as we pass by trembling,
those that I wove into your wings
so your flight commands
the surrounding clay
the chaotic solitude which forsakes.
The night is a lamp and pours out
in a blast the oil of goodbyes.
In my pluvial dream the shadows cry out.
The relentless markers of the future
come and go like extras,
like tepid storms on a sea lacking salt
pyramids of weeping.
I neither remember nor forget.
I thread the convulsive needle
that rips me from your body
to gather you up the polished
superhumanness of the day.
Wait for us on your border
rain that is here in the rain
synthesis of water
see us as we are
see how we fall in this
a permanent prisoner of time
this is life.
rain that is here in the rain
synthesis of water
see us as we are
see how we fall in this
a permanent prisoner of time
this is life.
You grow up in comfort, you believe so you can see the sun
it soon surprises you – a blast of air
and this emptiness
furnished with instruments of torture.
Your fine blood issues forth in a circle
to enter another –
an abyss intense and throbbing.
You advance while time backs away
and the beginning of innocence retires from the groove.
Bird of fire, free us
from your wild roots.
from your wild roots.
Your hands cling to a corner of the cloth
to a point of destiny.
The rain crosses the backwater of my dream,
drags along the current of other days and sings
bleaching the cesspool of the afternoon.
I sleep with a girl wrapped in air.
The rain sings into the heart of a seed
scratches up the earth and pulls up roots: words
newly come.
Like in a cosmic dance
next comes the sun bearing miniature suns,
yours are sons of mine
together we play with these little ones
that will illuminate you,
Friend of the clouds
Daughter of the rain.
Daughter of the rain,
chain of beautiful looks, linger
under my eyes, search the fire
your visions as you call them
fill my dreams, a sun
of gilded roots
rides on your back,
my hand flows over your body
wants to fill you,
child who comes from what is full
to that which fails you.
Before you, came my mother to spread herself on my side
her body lit a flame in my blood
a bonfire of premonitions
my mother fashioned herself in me
I was her island
through me, arrived a latent sea
but my feet burned.
I was filled with my mother,
duplicating her stride
dragging myself like a shadow
by her shores.
She extended her gaze over me
and in a vision of ardent fire
you reclined as well, reunited
sap of our glances.
I burned over the face of my mother
dreaming myself a girl who wove souls,
outlining paths over the water
to arrive at you, root hastened,
simultaneous deep journey
in my unoccupied body.
Now my mother empties herself newly in me
I am her forge
I embrace slow wards that unite
in a dream that burns.
I sleep with a girl wrapped in air.
This
is not a poem. You move in a dream
of tossed waters,
the lamp tumbles anew
and the fire runs over,
your eyes so able to look inside me
ignite distant bonfires.
The fire defines contours of water
drops disperse in collections
of columns that open like arms
in an ornamental sky, empty.
I search for hexagonal words,
a prism that opens across the page, faults
those who write stark measures.
Your hands lazy over my chest
open and close my books.
The guard of our dream is a sleepy one.
© 2017, Heather James, Veronica Jimenez
From: Nada tiene que ver el amor con el amor
From: Nada tiene que ver el amor con el amor
Marina arrives with the rain
Taken in with you like a dreamI neither forget nor remember.
Sing the winter and I part from the others
words newly born:
those that we leave under the arc of pain
as we pass by trembling,
those that I wove into your wings
so your flight commands
the surrounding clay
the chaotic solitude which forsakes.
The night is a lamp and pours out
in a blast the oil of goodbyes.
In my pluvial dream the shadows cry out.
The relentless markers of the future
come and go like extras,
like tepid storms on a sea lacking salt
pyramids of weeping.
I neither remember nor forget.
I thread the convulsive needle
that rips me from your body
to gather you up the polished
superhumanness of the day.
Wait for us on your border
rain that is here in the rain
synthesis of water
see us as we are
see how we fall in this
a permanent prisoner of time
this is life.
rain that is here in the rain
synthesis of water
see us as we are
see how we fall in this
a permanent prisoner of time
this is life.
You grow up in comfort, you believe so you can see the sun
it soon surprises you – a blast of air
and this emptiness
furnished with instruments of torture.
Your fine blood issues forth in a circle
to enter another –
an abyss intense and throbbing.
You advance while time backs away
and the beginning of innocence retires from the groove.
Bird of fire, free us
from your wild roots.
from your wild roots.
Your hands cling to a corner of the cloth
to a point of destiny.
The rain crosses the backwater of my dream,
drags along the current of other days and sings
bleaching the cesspool of the afternoon.
I sleep with a girl wrapped in air.
The rain sings into the heart of a seed
scratches up the earth and pulls up roots: words
newly come.
Like in a cosmic dance
next comes the sun bearing miniature suns,
yours are sons of mine
together we play with these little ones
that will illuminate you,
Friend of the clouds
Daughter of the rain.
Daughter of the rain,
chain of beautiful looks, linger
under my eyes, search the fire
your visions as you call them
fill my dreams, a sun
of gilded roots
rides on your back,
my hand flows over your body
wants to fill you,
child who comes from what is full
to that which fails you.
Before you, came my mother to spread herself on my side
her body lit a flame in my blood
a bonfire of premonitions
my mother fashioned herself in me
I was her island
through me, arrived a latent sea
but my feet burned.
I was filled with my mother,
duplicating her stride
dragging myself like a shadow
by her shores.
She extended her gaze over me
and in a vision of ardent fire
you reclined as well, reunited
sap of our glances.
I burned over the face of my mother
dreaming myself a girl who wove souls,
outlining paths over the water
to arrive at you, root hastened,
simultaneous deep journey
in my unoccupied body.
Now my mother empties herself newly in me
I am her forge
I embrace slow wards that unite
in a dream that burns.
I sleep with a girl wrapped in air.
This
is not a poem. You move in a dream
of tossed waters,
the lamp tumbles anew
and the fire runs over,
your eyes so able to look inside me
ignite distant bonfires.
The fire defines contours of water
drops disperse in collections
of columns that open like arms
in an ornamental sky, empty.
I search for hexagonal words,
a prism that opens across the page, faults
those who write stark measures.
Your hands lazy over my chest
open and close my books.
The guard of our dream is a sleepy one.
© 2017, Heather James, Veronica Jimenez
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