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