Circe Maia (Translated by Jesse Lee Kercheval) – Three Poems

//Circe Maia (Translated by Jesse Lee Kercheval) – Three Poems

Circe Maia (Translated by Jesse Lee Kercheval) – Three Poems

Circe Maia
(Translated by Jesse Lee Kercheval)

Three Poems

Calle lateral

Al anochecer
muchas casas tienen todavía
las puertas entreabiertas:
franjas de luz, cruzando las baldosas
llegan hasta la calle.
            Durante todo el día
van y vienen personas
que no cierran las puertas
sino que las entornan . . .
            Quedan a veces
a la vista una planta, un zuguán, escalones.

Y el misterio se instala a plena luz
porque ahora
cada puerta entornada ha dejado volarse
un hálito
de la cerrada vida de la casa.

(Las hojas de la planta del zaguán se agitan
débilmente
por el viento que llega de la calle.)

Side Street

At dusk
many houses still have
their doors half-open:
bands of light crossing the tiles,
reaching the street.
            All day long
people come and go
who do not shut the doors
but leave them ajar. . . 
            Sometimes leaving
in view: a plant, an entryway, stairs.

Leaving the mystery open to broad daylight
because now
every door propped open has let escape
a gentle breeze, a breath
of the closed life of the house.

(The leaves of the plant in the hallway tremble
faintly
in the wind from the street.)


Voces en el comedor

La puerta quedó abierta
y desde el comedor llegan las voces.

Suben por la escalera
y la casa respira.
Respira la madera de sus pisos
las baldosas, el vidrio en las ventanas.

Y como por descuido se abren otras puertas
como a golpes de viento
y nada impide entonces que se escuchen las voces
desde todos las cuartos.

No importa lo que dicen.
Conversan: se oye una,
después se oye la otra.
Son voces juveniles,
claras.

Suben
peldaños de madera
y mientras ellas suenan
-mientras suenen-
sigue viva la casa.

Voices in the Dining Room

The door was left open
and from the dining room come voices.

They rise up the stairs
and the house breathes.
The wood of its floors breathe,
the tiles, the glass in the windows.

And, as if by accident, other doors open
as if by gusts of wind
and nothing stops the voices from being heard
through all the rooms.

It doesn’t matter what they say.
They converse: one is heard,
then the other is heard.
There are young voices,
clear.

They climb the wooden stairs
and while they sound
—while they are able to sound–
the house stays alive. 


Trama

 . . . Aquí me ves, cubriéndome la espesa
capa, torpe tejido
de los desordenados pensamientos:

germina uno, se alza un poco, baja
y en una niebla de trivialidades
se diluye, se ablanda.

Dio una hora el reloj. La hora lisa.
Pronto se agotarán estos sonidos
de cháchara liviana.

Pronto se apagarán, pequeñas chispas
se aflojarán los nudos, las cadenas,
—esqueletos de ideas–
que a duras penas se alzan.

Ha de bajar la sombra un sueño inquieto.
Sorberé sus imágenes
como bebida agria.

Plot

. . . Here you see me, covered in a thick 
layer, clumsy tissue
of disordered thoughts:

one germinates, rises a little, lowers
and in a fog of trivialities,
is diluted, softened.

The clock strikes one hour. The smooth hour.
These sounds will soon be covered
by frivolous chatter.

Soon the small sparks will go out,
the knots, the chains, will be loosened
—skeletons of ideas–
struggling to stand.

An unquiet sleep has lowered its shadow
I will sip its images
like a bitter drink. 


Circe Maia is the author of nine books of poetry. Her collected poems, Circe Maia: Obra Poética, was published in Uruguay in 2011. In 2013, she was awarded the Delmira Agustini Medal of Art by Uruguayan President, José Mujica.
Jesse Lee Kercheval is the author of 13 books of fiction, memoir, and poetry, and is the editor of América Invertida: an Anthology of Younger Uruguayan Poets, which is forthcoming from the University of New Mexico Press. 



























































By |2018-12-05T15:26:25+00:00December 5th, 2018|Uncategorized|0 Comments

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