• hopilavayi: an erotic dictionary

memories of my ghost sista

~ the dead are never satisfied

memories of my ghost sista

Category Archives: Poetry

pizarnik’s ‘los trabajos y las noches’

27 Sunday Jan 2019

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, Spanish, Translation

≈ Comments Off on pizarnik’s ‘los trabajos y las noches’

Tags

Alejandra Pizarnik, i love this so much, LOS TRABAJOS Y LAS NOCHES, poems, Poetry, Spanish translation

-1-

][][

POEMA

Tú eliges el lugar de la herida
en donde hablamos nuestro silencio.
Tú haces de mi vida
esta ceremonia demasiado pura.

POEM

You choose the place for the wound
where we once spoke our silence
You turned my life into
this immaculate ceremony.

][][

REVELACIONES

En la noche a tu lado
las palabras son claves, son llaves.
El deseo de morir es rey.

Que tu cuerpo sea siempre
un amado espacio de revelaciones.

REVELATIONS

In the night by your side
words are codes, are keys.
The desire to die is king.

I want your body to always be
a beloved space of revelations.

][][

EN TU ANIVERSARIO

Recibe este rostro mío, mudo, mendigo.
Recibe este amor que te pido.
Recibe lo que hay en mí que eres tú.

ON YOUR ANNIVERSARY

Take this face of mine, a mute, a beggar.
Take this love that I request from you.
Take from me that which is within me, which is you.

][][

DESTRUCCIONES
…en besos, no en razones — Quevedo

Del combate con las palabras ocúltame
y apaga el furor de mi cuerpo elemental.

DESTRUCTION
in kisses, not in reasons — Quevedo

Hide me from words that battle within me
and douse the fury of my elemental body.

][][

AMANTES

una flor
no lejos de la noche
mi cuerpo mudo
se abre
a la delicada urgencia del rocío

LOVERS

a flower
not far from the night
my silent body
parts open
to the delicate urgency of the dew

][][

QUIEN ALUMBRA

Cuando me miras
mis ojos son llaves,
el muro tiene secretos,
mi temor palabras, poemas.
Sólo tú haces de mi memoria
una viajera fascinada,
un fuego incesante.

WHO ILLUMINATES

When you look at me
my eyes are the keys
the wall has secrets
my fears are words, poems.
Only you make my memory
into a fascinated traveler,
a ceaseless fire

][][

RECONOCIMIENTO

Tú haces el silencio de las lilas que aletean
en mi tragedia del viento del corazón.
Tú hiciste de mi vida un cuento para niños
en donde naufragios y muertes
son pretextos de ceremonias adorables.

RECOGNITION

You make the silence of lilacs fluttering
into the tragedy of the wind in my heart.
You made my life into a story for children
where shipwrecks and deaths
are excuses for adorable ceremonies.

][][

PRESENCIA

tu voz
en este no poder salirse las cosas
de mi mirada
ellas me desposeen
hacen de mí un barco sobre un río de piedras
si no es tu voz
lluvia sola en mi silencio de fiebres
tú me desatas los ojos
y por favor
que me hables
siempre

PRESENCE

your voice
in what couldn’t escape
my stare
in things stripped from me
if it isn’t your voice
make me a boat upon a river of stones
a solitary rain in my feverish silence
you unleash my eyes
and please
keep talking to me
forever

][][

ENCUENTRO

Alguien entra en el silencio y me abandona.
Ahora la soledad no está sola.
Tú hablas como la noche.
Te anuncias como la sed.

ENCOUNTER

Someone enters the silence and abandons me.
Now solitude is not alone.
You speak as the night.
You announce yourself as thirst.

][][

DURACIÓN

De aquí partió en la negra noche
y su cuerpo hubo de morar en este cuarto
en donde sollozos, pasos peligrosos
de quien no viene, pero hay su presencia
amarrada a este lecho en donde sollozos
porque un rostro llama,
engarzado en lo oscuro,
piedra preciosa.

DURATION

From here she went into the dark night
and her body was to dwell in this room
where sobs, dangerous footsteps
won’t come, but here her presence
is tied to this bed where my sobs,
because a face called,
set in the dark,
gemstone.

][][

TU VOZ

Emboscado en mi escritura
cantas en mi poema.
Rehén de tu dulce voz
Petrificada en mi memoria.
Pájaro asido a su fuga.
Aire tatuado por un ausente.
Reloj que late conmigo
para que nunca despierte.

YOUR VOICE

Ambushes me in my writing
you are singing in my poem.
I am hostage to your sweet voice
frozen in my memory.
The bird’s attempt to escape.
The air tattooed by absence.
The clock that beats with me
so that I will never wake up.

][][

EL OLVIDO

en la otra orilla de la noche
el amor es posible

-llévame –

llévame entre las dulces sustancias
que mueren cada día en tu memoria

OBLIVION

on the other side of night
love is possible

– take me –

take me from these sweet substances
that die every day in your memory
][][

LOS PASOS PERDIDOS

Antes fue una luz
en mi lenguaje nacido
a pocos pasos del amor.

Noche abierta. Noche presencia.

LOST STEPS

Before it was light
in my language born
a few steps from love.

The open night. The night presence.

][][

DONDE CIRCUNDA LO ÁVIDO

Cuando sí venga mis ojos brillarán
de la luz de quien yo lloro
mas ahora alienta un rumor de fuga
en el corazón de toda cosa.

WHERE AVID CIRCLES

When it does come my eyes will shine
with the light of the one of whom I mourn
but now hints at a rumor of flight
into the heart of everything.

][][

NOMBRARTE

No el poema de tu ausencia,
sólo un dibujo, una grieta en un muro,
algo en el viento, un sabor amargo.

NAMING YOU

Not a poem about your absence,
just a quick sketch, a crack in the wall
something lost in the wind, a bitter taste.

][][

DESPEDIDA

Mata su luz un fuego abandonado.
Sube su canto un pájaro enamorado.
Tantas criaturas ávidas en su silencio
y esta pequeña lluvia que me acompaña.

FAREWELL

The abandoned fire kills its own light.
Her song rises from a bird in love.
So many avid creatures in my silence
and this small rain that accompanies me.

][][

LOS TRABAJOS Y LAS NOCHES

para reconocer en la sed mi emblema
para significar el único sueño
para no sustentarme nunca de nuevo en el amor

he sido toda ofrenda
un puro errar
de loba en el bosque
en la noche de los cuerpos

para decir la palabra inocente

WORKS AND NIGHTS

to recognize that thirst is my symbol
that the only dream means
I’ll never fill myself with love again

I’ve been nothing but a sacrifice
pure, wandering
the wolf of the forest
into the bodies of the night

for saying the innocent word

][][

SENTIDO DE SU AUSENCIA

si yo me atrevo
a mirar y a decir
es por su sombra
unida tan suave
a mi nombre
allá lejos
en la lluvia
en mi memoria
por su rostro
que ardiendo en mi poema
dispersa hermosamente
un perfume
a amado rostro desaparecido

A SENSE OF ABSENCE

if I dare
to look and speak
it is because her shadow
joined so softly
to my name
far away
in the rain
in my memory
her face
burning in my poem
scattered beautifully
perfume of
a beloved face missing

][][

-2.-

VERDE PARAÍSO

extraña que fui
cuando vecina de lejanas luces
atesoraba palabras muy puras
para crear nuevos silencios

GREEN PARADISE

stranger I’d become
as a neighbor of distant lights
I treasured the purest words
for crafting new silences

][][

INFANCIA

hora en que la yerba crece
en la memoria del caballo.
El viento pronuncia discursos ingenuos
en honor de las lilas,
y alguien entra en la muerte
con los ojos abiertos
como Alicia en el país de lo ya visto.

CHILDREN

Hour when the grass grows
in the memory of the horse.
The wind gives naive speeches
in honor of the lilacs,
and someone enters death
open-eyed
just like Alice in Wonderland once did.

][][

ANTES
a Eva Durrell

bosque musical

los pájaros dibujaban en mis ojos
pequeñas jaulas

BEFORE
for Eve Durrell

musical forest

birds sketched in my eyes
small cages

][][

-3-

ANILLOS DE CENIZA
a Cristina Campo

Son mis voces cantando
para que no canten ellos,
los amordazados grismente en el alba,
los vestidos de pájaro desolado en la lluvia.

Hay, en la espera,
un rumor a lila rompiéndose.
Y hay, cuando viene el día,
una partición del sol en pequeños soles negros.
Y cuando es de noche, siempre,
una tribu de palabras mutiladas
busca asilo en mi garganta,
para que no cante ellos,
los funestos, los dueños del silencio.

ASH RING
for Cristina Campo

They are my voices singing
so others cannot
gagged grayness of dawn
desolate birds dressed in the rain.

There, waiting,
a rumor of shattering lilacs.
And there, when day comes,
a division in the sun of tiny black suns.
And when it is the night always
a tribe of mutilated words
seeking asylum in my throat,
I will not sing to them,
the dismal, the owners of silence.

][][

MADRUGADA

Desnudo soñando una noche solar.
He yacido días animales.
El viento y la lluvia me borraron
como a un fuego, como a un poema
escrito en un muro.

DAWN

Dreaming naked into a solar night.
I have lain with day-like animals.
Wind and rain erased me
like a fire, like a poem
written on a wall.

][][

RELOJ

Dama pequeñísima
moradora en el corazón de un pájaro
sale al alba a pronunciar una sílaba:
NO

CLOCK

Tiny lady
dweller in the heart of a bird
you rise at dawn to utter your syllable:
NO

][][

EN UN LUGAR PARA HUIRSE

Espacio. Gran espera.
Nadie viene. Esta sombra.

Darle lo que todos:
significaciones sombrías,
no asombradas.

Espacio. Silencio ardiente.
¿Qué se dan entre sí las sombras?

IN A PLACE TO FLEE THE SELF

Space. The long wait.
No one comes. This shadow.

Give what everyone gives:
bleak meanings
that do not amaze.

Space. Burning silence.
What do shadows give each other?

][][

FRONTERAS INÚTILES

un lugar
no digo un espacio
hablo de
qué
hablo de lo que no es
hablo de lo que conozco
no el tiempo
sólo todos los instantes
no el amor
no
sí
no
un lugar de ausencia
un hilo de miserable unión

USELESS BORDERS

a place
do not say a space
talk about
what
talk about what is not
I speak of what I know

no time
only the instants
not love
no
yes
no

a place of absence
a miserable binding thread

][][

EL CORAZÓN DE LO QUE EXISTE

no me entregues
tristísima medianoche,
al impuro mediodía blanco

THE HEART THAT EXISTS

do not deliver me,
sad midnight
to unclean white noon

][][

LAS GRANDES PALABRAS
a Antonio Porchia

aún no es ahora
ahora es nunca

aún no es ahora
ahora y siempre
es nunca

BIG WORDS
for Antonio Porchia

not yet now
now is never

not yet now
now and forever
is never

][][

SILENCIOS

La muerte siempre al lado.
Escucho su decir.
Sólo me oigo.

SILENCES

Death is always at my side.
I listen to what it says.
I hear only myself.

][][

PIDO EL SILENCIO
canta, lastimada mía — Cervantes

aunque es tarde, es noche,
y tú no puedes.

Canta como si no pasara nada.

Nada pasa.

I ASK FOR SILENCE
sing, my hurt — Cervantes.

although it is late, it is night
and you cannot.

Sing as if nothing had happened.

Nothing happens.

][][

CAER

Nunca de nuevo la esperanza
en un ir y venir
de nombres, de figuras.
Alguien soñó muy mal,
alguien consumió por error
las distancias olvidadas.

FALLING

Never again this hope
of going back and forth
with names, with figures.
Someone dreamed very badly,
someone consumed this by mistake
all these forgotten distances.

][][

FIESTA

He desplegado mi orfandad
sobre la mesa, como un mapa.
Dibujé el itinerario
hacia mi lugar al viento.
Los que llegan no me encuentran.
Los que espero no existen.

Y he bebido licores furiosos
para transmutar los rostros
en un ángel, en vasos vacíos.

PARTY

I spread out my orphan self
upon the table like a map.
I drew the route
to my home in the wind.
Those who come do not find me.
Those that I hope for do not exist.

And I drank furious liquor
to transform their faces
to an angel, to empty cups.

][][

LOS OJOS ABIERTOS

Alguien mide sollozando
la extensión del alba.
Alguien apuñala la almohada
en busca de su imposible
lugar de reposo.

THE EYES OPEN

Someone’s measured sobbing
is just the extension of dawn.
Someone stabs her pillow
to make it impossible to
find a resting place.

][][

CUARTO SOLO

Si te atreves a sorprender
la verdad de esta vieja pared;
y sus fisuras, desgarraduras,
formando rostros, esfinges,
manos, clepsidras,
seguramente vendrá
una presencia para tu sed,
probablemente partirá
esta ausencia que te bebe.

ROOM ALONE

If you dare to surprise
the truth out of this old wall;
and its cracks, its gashes,
forming faces, sphinxes,
hands, water clocks,
a presence for your thirst
will surely come,
this absence that you drink
very well might leave.

][][

LA VERDAD DE ESTA VIEJA PARED

que es frío es verde que también se mueve
llama jadea grazna es halo es hielo
hilos vibran tiemblan
hilos

es verde estoy muriendo
es muro es mero muro es mudo mira muere

TRUTH OF THIS OLD WALL

that it’s cold it’s green that it moves as well
it pants it calls out it croaks it’s halo is ice
threads tremble shake
threads

it’s green I’m dying
it’s a wall, it’s a mere wall, it’s mute, it looks, it dies

][][

HISTORIA ANTIGUA

En la medianoche
vienen los vigías infantiles
y vienen las sombras que ya tienen nombre
y vienen los perdonadores
de lo que cometieron mil rostros míos
en la ínfima desgarradura de cada jornada.

OLD HISTORY

At midnight
the juvinile watchmen come
and shadows that already have a name
and the ones who forgive
what my thousand faces had committed
in the tiny gash of each day.

][][

INVOCACIONES

Insiste en tu abrazo,
redobla tu furia,
crea un espacio de injurias
entre yo y el espejo,
crea un canto de leprosa
entre yo y la que me creo.

INVOCATIONS

Insist on your embrace,
redouble your fury,
create a space for insults
between me and the mirror,
create a song of leprosy
between me and what I think I am.

][][

DESMEMORIA

Aunque la voz (su olvido
volcándome náufragas que son yo)
oficia en un jardín petrificado

recuerdo con todas mis vidas
porqué olvido.

FORGETFULNESS

Although the voice (her forgetfulness
washes up shipwrecked in my changed selves)
judging over a petrified garden

I remember all my lives
why I forget

][][

UN ABANDONO

Un abandono en suspenso.
Nadie es visible sobre la tierra.
Sólo la música de la sangre
asegura residencia
en un lugar tan abierto.

ABANDONMENT

Abandonment in suspense.
No one is visible on earth.
Only the music of the blood
can insure residence
in such an open place.

][][

FORMAS

no sé si pájaro o jaula
o amazona jadeando en la gran garganta oscura
mano asesina
o joven muerta entre cirios
o silenciosa
pero tal vez oral como una fuente
tal vez juglar
o princesa en la torre más alta

FORMS

I do not know if it is bird or cage
an assassin’s hand
a dead girl among candles
an Amazon gasping in her vast deep throat
or silent
but perhaps it speaks like a fountain
perhaps as a troubadour
a princess in the highest tower.

][][

COMUNICACIONES

El viento me había comido
parte de la cara y las manos.
Me llamaban ángel harapiento.
Yo esperaba.

COMMUNICATIONS

The wind had eaten
parts of my face and hands.
They called me a tattered angel.
I lay in wait.

][][

MEMORIA
a Jorge Gaitán Durán

Arpa de silencio
en donde anida el miedo.
Gemido lunar de las cosas
significando ausencia.

Espacio de color cerrado.
Alguien golpea y arma
un ataúd para la hora,
otro ataúd para la luz.

MEMORY
for Jorge Gaitán Durán

Harp of silence
where fear nests.
Moaning of lunar things
that stand in for absence.

Space of closed color.
Someone nails and puts together
a coffin for the hours,
another coffin for the light.

][][

SOMBRA DE LOS DÍAS A VENIR
a Ivonne A. Bordelois

Mañana
me vestirán con cenizas al alba,
me llenarán la boca de flores.
Aprenderé a dormir
en la memoria de un muro,
en la respiración
de un animal que sueña.

SHADOW OF THE DAYS TO COME
for Ivonne A. Bordelois

Morning
they will dress me with ashes at dawn,
they will fill my mouth with flowers.
I will learn to sleep
in the memory of a wall,
in breathing
of an animal that dreams.

][][

DEL OTRO LADO

Años y minutos hacen el amor.
Máscaras verdes bajo la lluvia.
Iglesia de vitrales obscenos.
Huella azul en la pared.

No conozco.
No reconozco.
Oscuro. Silencio.

THE OTHER SIDE

Years and minutes make love.
Green masks hang in the rain.
The church’s stained glass is obscene.
Blue finger marks on the wall.

I do not know it.
I do not recognize it.
Dark. Silence.

][][

CREPÚSCULO

La sombra cubre pétalos mirados
El viento se lleva el último gesto de una hoja
El mar ajeno y doblemente mudo
en el verano que apiada por sus luces

Un deseo de aquí
Una memoria de allá

TWILIGHT

The shadow covers cautious petals
The wind carries the last gesture of leaves
The twice-silent and alien sea
in the summer that is pitied by other lights

A desire from here
A memory of there

][][

MORADAS
a Théodore Fraenkel

En la mano crispada de un muerto,
en la memoria de un loco,
en la tristeza de un niño,
en la mano que busca el vaso,
en el vaso inalcanzable,
en la sed de siempre.

MANSIONS
for Théodore Fraenkel

In the clenched hand of the dead,
the memory of a madman,
the sadness of a child,
the hand that gropes for a glass,
the unattainable cup,
the thirst that lasts forever.

][][

MENDIGA VOZ

Y aún me atrevo a amar
el sonido de la luz en una hora muerta,
el color del tiempo en un muro abandonado.

En mi mirada lo he perdido todo.
Es tan lejos pedir. Tan cerca saber que no hay.

BEGGING VOICE

And still I dare to love
the sound of light in the dead hour,
the color of time abandoned on the wall.

In my eyes I’ve lost everything.
It’s so far away to ask. So close to know what is not.

fester

27 Sunday Jan 2019

Posted by babylon crashing in Disaster –- Pain –- Sorrow, irony, Poetry, self-portrait, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on fester

Tags

alcoholic, fester, holes in my brain, poem, Poetry, shaman, sonnet, the gods breathe, worlds in my skull

All these displays of drunkenness come on
me at odd moments. At twelve they were droll,

even charming. Now? I know that neurons
misfire in my head, though huffing xylol

didn’t help, up along neural pathways
in my brain so that I seem a sucker,

easy mark, artless fuck. All these displays,
from dazed to frenzy, with fears that fester

here, of damage that won’t heal. They all seethe
here. I rave and reel just like cast-off junk.

Manic. A shaman without her people
is just one more loon who hears the gods breathe.

I’ve no people. I don’t drink but I’m drunk
roaming holes in my brain, worlds in my skull.

green air

26 Saturday Jan 2019

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on green air

Tags

dried cum, erotic poem, fables, green air, pleather, Poetry, slum-randy house moms, sonnet, stacked dowagers, stout matrons, thrice-crossed widows

Muggy shadow. What stirs the insect hum
of a late spring day. What bedfellows. What

beguiles stout matrons, stacked dowagers, slum-
randy house moms, thrice-crossed widows. What smut

blurs the balmy air, the rag trade to love’s haute
couture. I make a sleazy ghost, but sleaze

can still please: pleather gash, suede stain, a blot
of dried cum. There’s jail bait, that raunchy breeze,

in the dark corner of your soul. The bugs
muzzle their love song as I pass. Green air,

fables of green air; I’m what you leave out
in your prayers, what you need the most, what tugs

you home to stir your faith. I’m like nightmare,
like what the gods call love, like what you doubt.

Quote

jungmin yoon’s, ‘say grace’

26 Saturday Jan 2019

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, quote unquote, quotes

≈ Comments Off on jungmin yoon’s, ‘say grace’

Tags

Emily Jungmin Yoon, i love this so much, poem, Poetry, quote unquote, reblog, Say Grace, shamans

In my country our shamans were women
and our gods multiple until white people brought
an ecstasy of rosaries and our cities today
glow with crosses like graveyards. As a child
in Sunday school I was told I’d go to hell
if I didn’t believe in God. Our teacher was a woman
whose daughters wanted to be nuns and I asked
What about babies and what about Buddha, and she said
They’re in hell too and so I memorized prayers
and recited them in front of women
I did not believe in. Deliver us from evil.
O sweet Virgin Mary, amen.
O sweet. O sweet.
In this country, which calls itself Christian,
what is sweeter than hearing Have mercy
on us.
From those who serve different gods. O
clement, O loving, O God, O God, amidst ruins,
amidst waters, fleeing, fleeing. Deliver us from evil.
O sweet, O sweet. In this country,
point at the moon, at the stars, point at the way the lake lies,
with a hand full of feathers,
and they will look at the feathers. And kill you for it.
If a word for religion they don’t believe in is magic
so be it, let us have magic. Let us have
our own mothers and scarves, our spirits,
our shamans and our sacred books. Let us keep
our stars to ourselves and we shall pray
to no one. Let us eat
what makes us holy.

pizarnik’s árbol de diana/ diana’s tree

25 Friday Jan 2019

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, Spanish, Translation

≈ Comments Off on pizarnik’s árbol de diana/ diana’s tree

Tags

Alejandra Pizarnik, Árbol de Diana, Diana's Tree, poem, Poetry, Spanish translation

1.
He dado el salto de mí al alba,
he dejado mi cuerpo junto a la luz
y he cantado la tristeza de lo que nace.

I have leaped from myself into the dawn,
I have left my body next to the light
and sung the sadness of what is born.

2.
Éstas son las versiones que nos propone:
un agujero, una pared que tiembla …

These are the versions proposed:
a hole, a shaking wall …

3.
sólo la sed
el silencio
ningún encuentro
cuídate de mí amor mío
cuídate de la silenciosa en el desierto
de la viajera con el vaso vacío
y de la sombra de su sombra

only thirst
silence
no chance encounter
be careful of me, my love
be careful of the silent one in the desert
of the traveler with the empty glass
and the shadow of her shadow

4.
AHORA BIEN:
Quién dejará de hundir su mano en busca delbvtributo para la pequeña olvidada. El frío pagará. Pagará el viento. La lluvia pagará. Pagará el trueno.

WELL NOW:
Who will stop plunging her hand in searching for the tributes for the forgotten girl? The cold will pay. The wind will pay. As will the rain. And the thunder.

5.
por un minuto de vida breve
única de ojos abiertos
por un minuto de ver
en el cerebro flores pequeñas
danzando como palabras en la boca de un mundo

just for a moment in this short life
to be the one with open eyes
for just a minute to witness
small flowers in the brain
dancing like words in the mouth of a world

6.
ella se desnuda en el paraíso
de su memoria
ella desconoce el feroz destino
de sus visiones
ella tiene miedo de no saber nombrar
lo que no existe

she strips naked in the paradise
of her memory
she does not know the cruel destiny
of her visions
she is afraid of not knowing how to name
what does not exist

7.
Salta con la camisa en llamas
De estrella a estrella.
De sombra en sombra.
Muere de muerte lejana
La que ama al viento.

She jumps with her shirt on fire
From star to star.
From shadow to shadow.
She dies a distant death
She who loves the wind.

8.
Memoria iluminada, galería donde vaga la sombra de lo que espero.
No es verdad que vendrá. No es verdad que no vendrá.

Illuminated memory, gallery where the shadow of what I wait for wanders.
It’s not true that it’ll come. It is not true that it won’t.

9.
Estos huesos brillando en la noche,
estas palabras como piedras preciosas
en la garganta viva de un pájaro petrificado,
este verde muy amado,
esta lila caliente,
este corazón sólo misterioso.

These bones glowing in the night,
these words like precious stones
in the living throat of a petrified bird,
this beloved green,
this hot lilac,
this mysterious heart.

10.
un viento débil
lleno de rostros doblados
que recorto en forma de objetos que amar

a weak wind
full of bent faces
that I slice into objects to love

11.
ahora
en esta hora inocente
yo y la que fui nos sentamos
en el umbral de mi mirada

now
in this innocent hour
the one I once was sits with me
on the threshold of my gaze

12.
no más las dulces metamorfosis de una niña de seda
sonámbula en la cornisa de niebla
su despertar de mano respirando
de flor que se abre al viento

no more the sweet metamorphoses of a silk girl
sleepwalker on the edge of fog
her breathing hand awakening like a flower
that blooms in the wind

13.
explicar con palabras de este mundo
que partió de mí un barco llevándome

explain with words from this world
that a boat left my self carrying me away

14.
El poema que no digo,
el que no merezco.
Miedo de ser dos
camino del espejo:
alguien en mí dormido
me come y me bebe

The poem that I do not say,
the one that I do not deserve.
Fear of being two
the way of the mirror:
someone asleep inside me
she eats me and drinks me

15.
Extraño desacostumbrarme
de la hora en que nací.
Extraño no ejercer más
oficio de recién llegada.

I miss getting used to
to the time when I was born.
I miss not having to work anymore
as a new arrival.

16.
has construido tu casa
has emplumado tus pájaros
has golpeado al viento
con tus propios huesos
has terminado sola
lo que nadie comenzó

you have built your house
you have feathered your birds
you’ve hit the wind
with your own bones
alone you finished
what no one began

17.
Días en que una palabra lejana se apodera de mí. Voy por esos días sonámbula y transparente. La hermosa autómata se canta, se encanta, se cuenta casos y cosas: nido de hilos rígidos donde me danzo y me lloro en mis numerosos funerales. (Ella es su espejo incendiado, su espera en hogueras frías, su elemento místico, su fornicación de nombres creciendo solos en la noche pálida.)

Days when a distant word seizes me. I pass through those days sleepwalking and transparent. The beautiful automaton sings to herself, it is loved, tells herself things and stories: a nest of rigid threads where I dance and cry in my numerous funerals. (She is her own burning mirror, she wait for cold fires, her mystical element, she fucks with the names that grow alone in the pale night.)

18.
como un poema enterado
del silencio de las cosas
hablas para no verme

like a poem aware of
the silence of things
you talk so as not to see me

19.
cuando vea los ojos
que tengo en los míos tatuados

when you see the eyes
I’ve tattooed on mine

20.
dice que no sabe del miedo de la muerte del amor
dice que tiene miedo de la muerte del amor
dice que el amor es muerte es miedo
dice que la muerte es miedo es amor
dice que no sabe

she says she doesn’t know about fear of death of love
says she is afraid of death of love
says that love is death is fear
says that death is fear is love
she says that she does not know

21.
he nacido tanto
y doblemente sufrido
en la memoria de aquí y allá

I’ve been born so often
and doubly suffering
in the memory of here and there

22.
en la noche
un espejo para la pequeña muerta
un espejo de cenizas

at night
a mirror for the little dead girl
a mirror of ashes

23.
una mirada desde la alcantarilla
puede ser la visión del mundo
la rebelión consiste en mirar una rosa
hasta pulverizarse los ojos

a view from the gutter
a vision of the world
resistance consists of looking at a rose
until your eyes become dust

24.
(un dibujo de Wols)
estos hilos aprisionan a las sombras
y las obligan a rendir cuentas del silencio
estos hilos unen la mirada al sollozo

(a drawing by Wols)
these threads imprison the shadows
and force them to account for silence
these threads unite your gaze with their sob

25.
(exposición Goya)
un agujero en la noche
súbitamente invadido por un ángel

(Goya exhibition)
a hole in the night
suddenly invaded by an angel

26.
(un dibujo de Klee)
cuando el palacio de la noche
encienda su hermosura
pulsaremos los espejos
hasta que nuestros rostros canten como ídolos

(a drawing by Klee)
when the night palace
blazes with beauty
we’ll bring together the mirrors
until our faces sing like idols

27.
un golpe del alba en las flores
me abandona ebria de nada y de luz lila
ebria de inmovilidad y de certeza

dawn ricocheting off flowers
leaving me drunk on nothing and on violet
drunk with languor and certainty

28.
te alejas de los nombres
que hilan el silencio de las cosas

you flee from the names
that spin the silence of things

29
Aquí vivimos con una mano en la garganta. Que nada es posible ya lo sabían los que inventaban lluvias y tejían palabras con el tormento de la ausencia. Por eso en sus plegarias había un sonido de manos enamoradas de la niebla.

Here we live with a hand to our throat. That nothing is possible the inventors of rain knew this and wove their words into the torment of absence. This is why in her prayers sound like hands in love with the fog.

30
en el invierno fabuloso
la endecha de las alas en la lluvia
en la memoria del agua dedos de niebla

in the fabulous winter
the lament of the wings in the rain
in the memory of water in fingers of fog

31
Es un cerrar de ojos y jurar no abrirlos. En tanto afuera se alimenten de relojes y de flores nacidas de la astucia. Pero con los ojos cerrados de un sufrimiento en verdad demasiado grande pulsamos los espejos hasta que las palabras olvidadas suenan mágicamente.

It means close your eyes and swear not to open them as strangers outside feed on the watches and flowers born from your cunning. But with the closed eyes, with vast suffering, we must tempt the mirrors until all their forgotten words sound magical.

32
Zona de plagas donde la dormida come
lentamente
su corazón de medianoche.

Plague zone where a sleeping woman
slowly eats
her midnight heart.

33
alguna vez
alguna vez tal vez
me iré sin quedarme
me iré como quien se va

one day
someday maybe
I will go without staying
I’ll go like one who’s leaving

34
la pequeña viajera
moría explicando su muerte
sabios animales nostálgicos
visitaban su cuerpo caliente

the little traveler
died explaining her death
while wise nostalgic animals
visited her body, still warm

35
Vida, mi vida, déjate caer, déjate doler, mi vida, déjate enlazar de fuego, de silencio ingenuo, de piedras verdes en la casa de la noche, déjate caer y doler, mi vida.

Life, my life, let yourself fall, let yourself hurt, my life, let yourself bond with fire, with naive silence, with green stones in the house of the night, let yourself fall and hurt, my life.

36
en la jaula del tiempo
la dormida mira sus ojos solos
el viento le trae
la tenue respuesta de las hojas

in the time cage
the sleeping woman looks at her lonely eyes
the wind brings
the leave’s distant answer

37
más allá de cualquier zona prohibida
hay un es pejo para nuestra triste transparencia

beyond every forbidden area
lies a mirror for our sad transparency

38
Este canto arrepentido, vigía detrás de mis poemas:
este canto me desmiente, me amordaza.

This repentant song, peering out from behind my poems:
this song negates me, it silences me.

][][

NOTES:
22.
I know Pizarnik is talking about a little dead girl, but I can’t help wondering if, “la pequeña muerta,” is also similar to the French, “la petite morte,” the little death, the orgasm. I like to think that Pizarnik would be happy with either translation.

inferno

25 Friday Jan 2019

Posted by babylon crashing in Disaster –- Pain –- Sorrow, Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on inferno

Tags

erotic poetry, holy like sin, impaled, Inferno, lilith now and forever, poem, rage fuck, rehab, sonnet, va ao inferno

I note how in rehab you sound drunken
with awe while going on about how sex

was fun back in Nineteen-seventy One.
Fun ain’t a word I use. “Savage.” “Complex.”

“Impaled.” Break me double until you feel
my heart beat under my ribs. Connected,

with cock, with fingers, with mouth, with that squeal
squirting, flesh tethered flesh. “Rage fuck.” “Blood

brutal.” “Holy like sin.” Still, you fear hell
so you got some quick faith, some religion —

that’s not my fate. Sex is the Inferno;
Lilith, the guide. Perhaps, in some motel,

somewhere, sex is fun. I don’t know. Your fun
has brought me only pain, ruin, sorrow.

perked

24 Thursday Jan 2019

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on perked

Tags

blow job, born dead, erotic poetry, fellatio, lilith now and forever, nipples perked, poem, raw like mescal, sonnet

I taste of mud, pert meat, the moon’s eclipse;
being born still and cold until Lilith

breathed life into me, wrote the word, “Emeth,”
on a stone and placed it between my lips.

I still shimmer as I pass through heated air,
though my lisp anchors me here. One day soon

you’ll kiss me and taste the wasteland’s dark moon
while on your knees, while tonguing my curled hair.

Lockjaw and spittle. “Lilith’s Pet,” you said,
staring as your nipples perked. Like footprints

trampled in red mud, in blood, my kiss shall
leave its mark, tell you that I was born dead

in dearth and plague. I want to see you wince
taking me in, like sin’s gin, raw’s mescal.

][][

NOTE:
According to Jewish folklore, Judah Loew ben Bezalel (a 16th-century rabbi of Prague) created the automatonic Golem by shaping it from river mud and writing the word, “Emeth,” meaning truth, on its forehead.

high tea

23 Wednesday Jan 2019

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on high tea

Tags

boogity brown, cold n' clammy, drippy, gooey, green smile, high tea, oozy, poem, Poetry, roaring girl, skunk heat rapture, sonnet, tomboy

The Green Slime bucket read: gooey, drippy,
oozy, cold n’ clammy
. It’s where you hid

all your Boogity Brown. Your mom forbid
you from seeing me, but after high tea,

after kisses, after school we’d sneak down
to the playground to loiter and giggle.

Adults, with their divorce and post-coital
despair, were odd things. I could hear you frown

over the phone after one more lecture
over what good girls don’t do. Cicadas

were just stirring in the bent magnolias.
You stirred, too; back in our skunk heat rapture.

Back when I was your strange, little squeeze toy
and you were my roaring girl, my tomboy.

written at 3:22 in the morning while flying through winter storm harper (somewhere over the midwest)

22 Tuesday Jan 2019

Posted by babylon crashing in Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on written at 3:22 in the morning while flying through winter storm harper (somewhere over the midwest)

Tags

cocaine, Edna St. Vincent Millay, find your magic, Mile High Club, poem, Poetry, sky rift, sonnet, vodka, winter storm harper

Of course it’s magic: when the airplane leaves
the laws of gravity, that slight shifting

in my awareness. The sky opens, heaves
us up into it. Just then everything

flows, a tingling in my teeth and toes —-
vodka, cocaine, even the Mile High Club;

it all might happen. Like magic that shows
us how to escape. Millay’s candle stub

sputtered, burned out at both ends. My passion
seems a small thing up here, too. The sky rifts

around us. It’s not the will, it’s the means;
miles high in a box indifferent to sin,

to lewd moods, to all of desire’s gifts.
This realm of celibate gods, sexless fiends.

boisterous flesh

17 Thursday Jan 2019

Posted by babylon crashing in Erotic, Poetry, sonnet

≈ Comments Off on boisterous flesh

Tags

boisterous flesh, erotic poetry, Humboldt County, I love your flesh, poem, savagely muddy, sonnet, squall gorged clouds, wild needs

Jaded, moi? All this still shocks, awe still shrouds
my bones. I have traipsed while on acid trips,

stood at the edge of fens with squall-gorged clouds
rolling in and thought of you naked, hips

deep in mire. Landscapes should all have a nude
you in them. —Savagely muddy. —Vicious

with wild needs, wild need. What unabashed mood
prompts us to bare witness? Our boisterous

flesh loves the earth and sea. I love your flesh.
Greens of hills, browns of marsh, gray bog swirled;

I still adore this despite my lewd thoughts,
always lewd thoughts. Love, these storm-fresh

skies still bring joy, though I’m far from my world
of Crones and Amazons, Queens and Sexpots.

← Older posts
Newer posts →

age difference anal sex Armenia Armenian Genocide Armenian translation ars poetica art artist unknown blow job Chinese translation conversations with imaginary sisters cum cunnilingus drama erotic erotica erotic poem erotic poetry Federico Garcia Lorca fellatio finger fucking free verse ghost ghost girl ghost lover gif Gyumri haiku homoerotic homoerotica Humor i'm spilling more thank ink y'all incest Lilith Lord Byron Love shall make us a threesome masturbation more than just spilled ink more than spilled ink mythology ocean mythology Onna bugeisha orgasm Peace Corps photo poem Poetry Portuguese Portuguese translation prose quote unquote reblog retelling Rumi Sappho sea folklore Shakespeare sheismadeinpoland sonnet sorrow Spanish Spanish translation spilled ink story Taoist Pirate rituals Tarot Tarot of Syssk thank you threesome Titus Andronicus translation video Walt Whitman woman warrior xenomorph

electric mayhem [links]

  • discos bizarros argentinos
  • aimee mann
  • cyndi lauper
  • sandra bernhard
  • Poetic K [myspace]
  • poesia erótica (português)
  • armenian erotica and news

Meta

  • Create account
  • Log in
  • Entries feed
  • Comments feed
  • WordPress.com

Blog Stats

  • 409,862 hits

Categories

ars poetica: the blogs a-b

  • emma bolden
  • stacy blint
  • kristy bowen
  • wendy babiak
  • aliki barnstone
  • sommer browning
  • tiel aisha ansari
  • afterglow
  • american witch
  • alzheimer's poetry project
  • margaret bashaar
  • all things said and done
  • afghan women's writing project
  • brilliant books
  • sandra beasley
  • megan burns
  • armenian poetry project
  • the art blog
  • mary biddinger
  • clair becker
  • lynn behrendt
  • cecilia ann
  • Alcoholic Poet
  • black satin

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 44 other subscribers

Archives

ars poetica: the blogs c-d

  • cheryl clark
  • CRB
  • natalia cecire
  • juliet cook
  • lorna dee cervantes
  • roberto cavallera
  • julie carter
  • jennifer k. dick
  • flint area writers
  • abigail child
  • cleveland poetics
  • jackie clark
  • linda lee crosfield
  • michelle detorie
  • lyle daggett
  • maria damon

ars poetica: the blogs e-h

  • carrie etter
  • jane holland
  • maureen hurley
  • jessica goodfellow
  • hayaxk (ՀԱՅԱՑՔ)
  • maggie may ethridge
  • Gabriela M.
  • bernardine evaristo
  • Free Minds Book Club
  • joy garnett
  • carol guess
  • amanda hocking
  • elisa gabbert
  • julie r. enszer
  • pamela hart
  • elizabeth glixman
  • ghosts of zimbabwe
  • sarah wetzel fishman
  • human writes
  • jeannine hall gailey
  • joy harjo
  • liz henry
  • herstoria

ars poetica: the blogs i-l

  • gene justice
  • lesbian poetry archieves
  • sheryl luna
  • miriam levine
  • las vegas poets organization
  • sandy longhorn
  • kennifer kilgore-caradec
  • IEPI
  • charmi keranen
  • donna khun
  • amy king
  • meg johnson
  • maggie jochild
  • renee liang
  • diane lockward
  • dick jones
  • emily lloyd
  • joy leftow
  • laila lalami
  • lesley jenike
  • megan kaminski
  • Jaya Avendel
  • irene latham
  • language hat
  • Kim Whysall-Hammond
  • a big jewish blog

ars poetica: the blogs m-o

  • january o'neil
  • ottawa poetry newsletter
  • mlive: michigan poetry news
  • sharanya manivannan
  • My Poetic Side
  • michelle mc grane
  • new issues poetry & prose
  • caryn mirriam-goldberg
  • motown writers
  • the malaysian poetic chronicles
  • sophie mayer
  • iamnasra oman
  • heather o'neill
  • michigan writers resources
  • majena mafe
  • michigan writers network
  • Nanny Charlotte
  • nzepc
  • adrienne j. odasso
  • marion mc cready
  • wanda o'connor
  • maud newton

ars poetica: the blogs p-r

  • sophie robinson
  • maria padhila
  • nikki reimer
  • kristin prevallet
  • rachel phillips
  • joanna preston
  • helen rickerby
  • Queen Majeeda
  • nicole peyrafitte
  • susan rich
  • ariana reines
  • split this rock

ars poetica: the blogs s-z

  • ron silliman
  • shin yu pai
  • womens quarterly conversation
  • Trista's Poetry
  • southern michigan poetry
  • scottish poetry library
  • Stray Lower
  • tuesday poems
  • switchback books
  • vassilis zambaras
  • sexy poets society
  • tim yu

  • Subscribe Subscribed
    • memories of my ghost sista
    • Join 44 other subscribers
    • Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
    • memories of my ghost sista
    • Subscribe Subscribed
    • Sign up
    • Log in
    • Report this content
    • View site in Reader
    • Manage subscriptions
    • Collapse this bar