Siomara España - Poems

WEDNESDAY´S WOMAN

How often does the Wednesday woman

unfold her face

wash her feet

and walk again upon her words.

how often does she follow the same old path,

wander down the same old streets,

see the same traffic lights,

consider the same beggars, climb the same clouds,

seek out the same bed.

How often does the Wednesday woman

look for the mouth of her lover,

tremble in this arms,

and desperate cry out her love

and sob her words in silence.

How often does the Wednesday woman

want to flee her passion

forget her dreams

and simply stay tied down

how often does she laugh and sing

haw many tears of love.

How often does the Wednesday woman

have to tie tight her soul

live her delirium and madness,

and walk again on what´s been said,

walk again upon her her hords

(From: “Concupiscencia” 2007/Translated by Richard Gwin)

THE EMPTY HOUSE

Invite

no one

into our house,

for they will notice

the doors, walls, staircase and windows,

they will see the moths

in the corners, the rusty locks,

the blind, ruined lamps.

Don’t bring anyone to our house

for they will only fret on account of

your table, your bed, the tablecloth,

the furniture, laugh pityingly at the cups,

pretend to be nostalgic for my name,

make fun, what is more, of our hammock.

Don’t bring people to our house any more

for they will write you songs,

enervate your soul,

whisper mischievously,

plant a flower at your window.

That’s why – I beg you – you must

not bring people to our house,

for they will turn pink,

greenish, reddish, blueish,

on discovering broken walls

and withered plants.

They will want to sweep out the corners

they will want to open our blinds

and find, tucked away among my books

the depraved excuses they were searching for.

Don’t bring anyone to our house any more,

for they will discover our absurdities,

will carry you off to faraway beaches

tell you tales of shipwrecks

drag you from our house.

sado.

(From “Alivio demente” 2008/translated by Alexis Levitín)

THE RETURN OF LOLITA

I am Lolita.

So the wolves from the steppe

tear my braids

with their teeth

and toss me

chewy cyanide sweets.

I intuited my name that day

down at the harbour

with the people from the shipwreck.

Do you remember?

And that battle Vladimir evergreen.

I know I’m Lolita

I knew it when he offered up

his hands lacerated with writing me.

That is why

when you appeared pleading

telling me your fears

I let you touch me

bite my arms and knees

I let you mutilate Charlotte’s fears

between my legs.

I knew that your old sword

would cut my veins one by one

and my pupils

and a hundred times over

I mocked your ageing child’s stupidity

crying on my belly

and when all the shipwrecked of the world

came back to my harbour

to offer me gifts

that I paid for with colostrum and flesh

you leapt across my shadow

as I fled

as I danced.

That’s why I’m Lolita

nymphet of motels and anagrams

who returns, bag on my shoulder

to repossess the past

from across the years.

(From The Return of Lolita 2015/translated by Richard Gwin)

**********

La mujer del miércoles Cuántas veces la mujer del miércoles desdobla el rostro, lava sus pies y camina sobre sus palabras. Cuántas veces recorre los mismos caminos, transita las mismas calles, ve los mismos semáforos, observa los mismos mendigos, sube las mismas nubes, busca la misma cama. Cuántas veces la mujer del miércoles busca la boca de su amante, se estremece entre sus brazos, grita de amor desesperada y llora entre silencios sus palabras. Cuántas veces la mujer del miércoles quiere abandonar su pasión renunciar a su tortura olvidar sus sueños y seguir atada. Cuántas veces ríe y canta y otras tantas llora enamorada cuántas veces la mujer del miércoles tiene que amarrarse el alma, vivir el delirio, la locura y caminar sobre lo dicho, caminar sobre sus palabras.

LA CASA VACÍA

No invites a nadie a nuestra casa pues repararan en las puertas, las paredes, la escalera, la ventana. Y sentirán estremecérseles la carne miraran inanes la polilla en los rincones, los cerrojos oxidados, las lámparas ciegas, arruinadas.

No traigas a nadie a nuestra casa pues no tendrán más que angustia de tu mesa de tu cama del mantel, del mobiliario, se reirán de pena por las tazas fingiran nostalgia de mi nombre y se reirán también de nuestra hamaca.

No traigas más gente a nuestra casa pues te escribirán canciones te entusiasmaran el alma te susurrarán traviesos te sembraran una flor en la ventana.

Por eso no debes, alma mía traer más gente a nuestra casa pues se pondrán rosados, verdosos, rojizos o azulados, al descubrir las paredes rotas las plantas marchitadas.

Querrán barrer en los rincones querrán abrir nuestras persianas y encontraran seguro en nuestros libros las excusas perversas que buscaban

Por eso te pido, yo te pido, no traigas mas nadie a nuestra casa así descubrirán nuestros absurdos y te llevaran lejos a otras playas te contaran historias de naufragios te sacaran a rastras de esta casa.

El regreso de Lolita

Yo soy Lolita Así los Lobos esteparios me desenreden las trenzas con sus dientes, y me lancen caramelos de cianuro y goma. Intuí mi nombre aquel día del puerto con los náufragos ¿recuerdas?

Y aquel combate con Vladimir, el implacable. Sé que soy Lolita, lo supe cuando me entregó sus manos laceradas de escribirme.

Por eso cuando apareciste suplicante a contarme tus temores, te dejé tocarme, morder mis brazos y rodillas, te dejé mutilar entre mis piernas los temores de Charlotte.

Sabía que tu vieja espada cortaría una a una mis venas, mis pupilas, y me burlé cien veces de tu estupidez de niño viejo llorando entre mi vientre. Y cuando todos los náufragos del mundo volvieron a mi puerto a entregarme dádivas que yo pagaba, con calostro y carne tú saltaste tras mi sombra, mientras yo huía, mientras yo bailaba.

Por eso soy Lolita, la nínfula de moteles y anagramas que vuelve con la maleta al hombro a retomar tras años el pasado.

Siomara España. Born in 1976 Manabí- Ecuador. Poet and teacher of literature, aesthetics, and literary criticism at the university of Guayaquil; Master in literary and artistic studies of culture, Specialist in comparative literature, literary theory and rhetoric. Had won the first place at Floral Game from: Casa de la Cultura Ambato, Ecuador 2012 First place of poesy at “University of Guayaquil” 2008. Finalist in the competition for stories, “Jorge Luis Borges”, Argentina 2008. She has published books: “Concupiscencia”, “Alivio demente”, “De cara al fuego ”, “Contraluz”, “El regreso de lolita”, “Jardines en el aire”, “Construcción de los sombreros encarnados, música para una muerte inversa” HIS WORK HAS BEEN OBJECT OF IMPORTANT STUDIES AND TRANSLATIONS AS: Poetry Wales - New Poetry From Latin America, Four Latin American poets / (Wendy Guarra, Andrés Neuman, Siomara España y Jorge Fondebrider ) Study and translations of the poet Richard Gwyn.
 Great River Review, Number 57. Minnesota EE.UU.
The Evansville Review Volume XXII, University of Evansville, Indiana EE.UU. Had been included in multiplies anthologies from Ecuador, Bolivia, Peru, Mexico, Chile, Argentina, Cuba, Spain, USA, Colombia, France. In 2016 the Hafa publishing house in Alexandria Published his book Jardines en el aire, study and translation of Mohamed Othman, professor at the University of Helwan, Cairo. A piece of her work has been translated to English, Arab, and French


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