Photopoetryblog: Adios Poeta

A poet that I don't know very well and that I probably wont get to know very well died two days ago. Here is a poem by him and a photo by me.

Poem: "Transtierro" by Gonzalo Rojas

Photo: "Late in the Day" by me

Transtierro

I

Miro el aire en el aire, pasarán
estos años cuántos de viento sucio
debajo del párpado cuántos
del exilio,

II

comeré tierra
de la Tierra bajo las tablas
del cemento, me haré ojo,
oleaje me haré.

III

parado
en la roca de la identidad, este
hueso y no otro me haré, esta
música mía córnea

IV

por hueca.
Parto
soy, parto seré.
Parto, parto, parto.

"Late in the Day"

My humble translation:

Transearth

I

I watch the air in the air, these years

will pass so many of a filthy wind

under the eyelid, so many

of exile,

I

I will eat earth

of the Earth below the slabs

of cement, I'll become sleep,

I'll become waves.

III

standing

on the rock of identity, this

bone and none other I'll become, this

music of mine, cornea.

IV

of hollowness

I am a

goodbye, I'll be a goodbye.

I leave, I leave, I leave.

[This last paragraph is why it is hard to translate. the original has many different meanings. It could be what I've put (which I feel serves the poem well) or it could mean something about birth ("parto" is the word for birth) or it could be talking about splitting something (hence the double meaning of 'leaving' and 'splitting' here). Anyway, at least it might make sense.]

RIP Gonzalo Rojas

Photopoetryblog: Branches, Above

Poem: "Not Meagre, Latent Boughs Alone." by Walt Whitman (Leaves of Grass)

Photo: "Branches, Above" by Me

Not Meagre, Latent Boughs Alone

Not meagre, latent boughs alone, O songs! (scaly and
bare, like eagles' talons,)
But haply for some sunny day (who knows?) some future
spring, some summer - bursting forth,
To verdant leaves, or sheltering shade - to nourishing
fruit,
Apples and grapes - stalwart limbs of trees emerg-
ing - the fresh, free, open air,
And love and faith, like scented roses blooming.

"Branches, Above"

Photopoetryblog: Before the Eclipse

Poem: "El silencio de la luna: Tema y variaciones" by Jose Emilio Pacheco

Photo: "Before the Eclipse" by me

El silencio de la luna

"…et iam Argiva phalanx instructis navibus ibat

a Tenedo, tacitae per amica silentia lunae…"

Eneida II, 254-255

"… ya la falange de las griegas naves

de Ténedos venía, bajo el velo

del silencio amistoso de la luna…"

Aurelio Espinosa Pólit,

Virgilio en verso castellano

1

El aire está en tiempo presente.

La luna por definición en pasado.

Tenues conjugaciones de la noche.

El porvenir ya se urde

en los fuegos que hacen el alba.

Invisible para nosotros, porvenir nuestro,

como otro sol en la maleza del día.

2

Noviembre, y no me fijo en los troncos desnudos,

sólo en las siemprevivas y en las plantas perennes.

Ignoro la respuesta: su verdor,

en medio del desierto de la grisura,

¿es permanencia, obcecación, desafío?

O quizá por indiferentes

desconocen la noche de los muertos.

Al prescindir del viaje renunciaron al goce

de la resurrección

que habrán de disfrutar sus semejantes:

siemprevivas porque antes ya se han muerto,

perennes porque saben renacer como nadie.

3

Cuánto ocaso en el día que ya se va

y parece el primero en estar muriendo.

Son las últimas horas del gran ayer.

De mañana ignoramos todo.

4

Después de tanto hablar

guardemos un minuto de silencio

para oír esta lluvia que disuelve la noche.

[My rough translation of the poem:

The silence of the moon

"…et iam Argiva phalanx instructis navibus ibat

a Tenedo, tacitae per amica silentia lunae…"

Eneida II, 254-255

"… now the Grecian naval phalanx from

Tenedos was coming, under the veil

of the friendly silence of the moon…"

1

The air is in the present time.

The moon by definition in the past.

Tenuous night conjugations.

The future is already hatching

in the fires lit by the dawn.

Invisible to us, our future,

like another sun in the weeds of the day.

2

November, and I don't notice the naked trunks,

only the evergreens and perennials.

I ignore the answer: their verdure,

in the middle of the graying desert,

is it permanence, obstinacy, defiance?

Or maybe in their indifference

they ignore the night of the dead.

Disregarding the journey, they gave into the joy

of the resurrection

that their others were to enjoy:

evergreen because before they have already died,

perennial because they know how to be born again like no one.

3

So much twilight in the fleeting day

and it appears to be the first one to be dieing.

They are the last hours in the grand yesterday.

In the morning we ignore everything.

4

After so many words

we keep a minute of silence

to hear this rain that dissolves the night.

again, my apologies to Jose E. Pacheco for my translation]

Photopoetryblog: The Sky Falls

"The Sky Falls" haiku poem by me

"The Sky Falls" picture by me

The sky falls in clouds,

it flows over earth and stone.

I swim in the sea.