Not a day without poetry (Ni un día sin poesía) 5 poems

Not a day without poetry (Ni un día sin poesía) 5 poems

Not a day without poetry (Ni un día sin poesía)  5 poems

 

1 de abril de 2016          

VIII 

Todo se agita.

Todo se rebela.

Todo es caos.

Nada se agita.

Nada se rebela.

Nada es caos.

Todo es quietud.

Todo se revela:

Todo es Paz.

 

April 1, 2016

VIII

Everything quivers.

Everything revolts.

Everything is chaos.

Nothing quivers.

Nothing revolts.

Nothing is chaos.

All is still.

All is revealed:

All is Peace.

10 de mayo de 2016

XLVII

No te vi.

Junto al árbol del sendero,

entre las ramas yertas

y las hierbas secas,

no te vi.

No te vi;

en el bosque invernal,

ante el aquelarre nocturne,

de hermosas brujas desnudas,

no te vi.

No te vi,

entre las zarzas y arbustos,

sobre musgos congelados,

no estabas:

todos los pájaros habían volado.

May 10, 2016

XLVII

I did not see you.

Next to the tree along the path,

amongst the rigid branches

and the dry grass,

I did not see you.

I did not see you;

in the winter forest,

before the midnight coven

of beauteous naked witches,

I did not see you.

I did not see you,

among the brambles and the bushes,

atop frozen mosses,

you were not there:

all the birds had taken flight.

2 de agosto de 2016                                                       

CXXXI                                                                          

Un solo niño en la orilla

escarba y escarba

en la arena,

la brisa sopla quebrada

entre dunas y piedras,

trae desde el fondo

del mar,

los lamentos marineros,

con ojos somnolientos

y ajados, la vieja lo

mira a lo lejos,

¡sin olvidar a los muertos!

Un solo niño en la orilla

escarba y escarba …

en la arena.

August 2, 2016

CXXXI

A single child on the shore

digging and digging

in the sand,

the rough breeze blows

among dunes and stones,

it delivers from the bottom

of the sea

the sailors’ lament,

with tired and haggard eyes

the old woman

gazes upon it from afar,

never forgetting the dead!

A single child on the shore

digging and digging…

in the sand.

3 de agosto de 2016        

CXXXII

Los días se abren paso

entre preguntas y cuerpos,

lugares de nuestra infancia,

playas y pubs de la adolescencia.

La memoria son los despojos

de nuestro olvido.

Era un mundo insaciable,

joven, dorado, vivo y ardiente,

días que se alejan fugaces

presos de deseos y sueños,

anhelos imposibles, inmensos,

que cabían en un puñado

de arena, en un whisky DYC

o un ron con coca-cola.

August 3, 2016

CXXXII

The days are ushered in

amongst questions and bodies,

the places of our childhood,

the beaches and pubs of our youth.

Memory is the castoff

of our forgetfulness.

It was an insatiable world,

young, golden, alive and passionate,

days that slip away

in the grip of dreams and desires,

immense, impossible yearnings

that fit inside a fistful

of sand, a glass of DYC whiskey

or a rum and coke.

19 de agosto de 2016 

CXLVIII  

Palabras como ternura,

alma, lealtad, vida,

ya no son propias de

un poema.

Sentir el hastío

de los músculos, cada

vez más fláccidos,

los tendones negándose

a sí mismos, los huesos

doloridos.

El cuerpo es surtidor

de sueños, mástil de

realidades, la mente,

ay, la mente, teje

ilusiones sin dueño.

August 19, 2016

CXLVIII

Words like tenderness,

soul, loyalty, life,

are no longer the stuff of

poems.

To feel the weariness

in one’s muscles

as they slacken progressively,

the tendons refusing

to comply, the bones,

aching.

The body is the supplier

of dreams, the supporter

of realities, the mind,

oh, the mind, spins

dreams with no master.

Footnote: 1. Currently, my poetry book Not a day without poetry (Ni un día sin poesía: with a prologue by my friend the great poet, writer, French-Chilean filmmaker Alejandro Jodorowsky), is being translated into American English, if any publisher is interested in publishing it in the United States or Canada, you can contact me or the Spanish publisher. Thank you.

Diego Moldes diegomoldes@hotmail.com

 

2. These 5 poems appeared for the first time on the Zenda Books website, founded by the famous writer Arturo Pérez-Reverte. They appear in the book published by Move your tongue (Madrid, July 2018), founded by the musician, poet and editor Diego Ojeda. The translation is from the Attesor agency (A Coruña, Galicia, Spain), directed by Aida Cordeiro.

 

Diego Moldes
diegomoldes@hotmail.com
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