Spanish

Transfigured Face. Bilingual Poems from Spanish by Ángel Huerga

by 
(i.)

don’t want		not to go		don’t want
can’t		not be		no
dancing to this blood divides
sequences dreams cloud by cloud
enclosed behind fingers		last night
crossed the pavement on the corner
perplexed to see you again on the screen
as if someone had been silhouetted against the sky
or a bulldozer had piled up all the light of the slowness as it passed through

(i.)

no quiero 			no ir 		no quiero
no puedo 		no estar 	no
bailar en esta sangre divide 
secuencia el sueño nube a nube
enrejado entre dedos			anoche
crucé la acera	justo en la esquina
perplejo al re-mirarte en la pantalla
como si hubiera ido surgiendo alguien en lo alto
o una excavadora hubiera apilado toda la luz de lo lento al pasar 
(ii.)

where you touch is not mine		i just want
you to be an other		willing to explore something new
perhaps what used to be constant 	may explode into shared fire 		
the helipad where we used to get dressed
i just want		the fuel of breath	breath		breath
to flare up

(ii.)

donde tocas no es mío		pretendo	
que seas otro		para algo nuevo que explorar
quizá explosione en incendio común	   lo que solía ser constante
la helisuperficie donde solíamos vestirnos
solo pretendo 		que sea brote
el combustible de respirar	respirar	respirar 
(iii.)

he kept on talking about movies
amenabar		juliette binoche		cary grant
alice in wonderland
[alice’s adventures under ground]
sit down		tie my shoes
he pretended to fly like an airplane 	    with his arms outstretched 
north by northwest
get on your knees 		why are you crying?
did I tell you not to go? 

[I have all your pictures and emails.
And don’t tell me you have no father, ‘cause I know he goes by Arturo and 
he’s a delivery man.
I have all the information needed for the danse macabre to start.
Will you please take off your t-shirt?]

(iii.)

hablaba de cine
amenabar		juliette binoche		cary grant
alicia en el país de las maravillas
[las aventuras de alicia bajo tierra]
siéntate			átame los cordones
imitaba el vuelo de un avión		con los brazos extendidos
con la muerte en los talones
ponte de rodillas			¿por qué lloras?
¿te he dicho yo que no puedes irte?	

[Tengo todas tus fotos y tus correos. 
Y no me digas que no tienes padre porque sé que se llama Arturo y que 
es repartidor de café. 
Tengo toda la información necesaria para que empiece la danse macabre. 
¿Puedes subirte la camiseta?] 
(iv.)
                                                       to the seasoned traveller
                                                       a destination is
                                                       at best
                                                       a rumour

the real issue is 
structure
how to locate the narrative line that allows for a beamline beneath the door
we’re talking about infinite degrees of freedom here
you can rotate it
but
it’ll remain in the same place
do we know the rules? who’s up or down? who’s at the steering wheel?
we can look for (all the) tracks in the carpet
the traces they left we left		a return covenant	       quizá
but
blah blah blah 		blah blah blah
line = broken line
we retrace our steps and nothing is familiar nothing
which crossbars will be forded		by our caesura?

(iv.)
                                                   para el viajero con experiencia
                                                   un destino es 
                                                   en el mejor de los casos
                                                   un mero rumor

en el fondo 
se trata de la estructura
de localizar la línea narrativa que deje la línea de luz bajo la puerta
hablamos con un grado de libertad infinito	aquí
puedes rotarlo una mil veces	
pero
sigue en el mismo sitio mismo
¿sabemos las reglas?	¿quién sube/baja? ¿quién sigue al volante?
podemos buscar (todas) las huellas en la alfombra
huellas que dejen dejemos		un pacto de vuelta		       maybe
pero
bla bla bla 		bla bla bla
línea = línea rota
re-trazamos los pasos	 y nada familiar nada
¿qué travesaños vadeará		nuestra cesura? 
(v.)

helicopter. beach. he was walking alone. sometimes we need just one reason to quit. 
an aim over which the skin can be spread. it was just a breeze. smell of newly purchased salt. 
as if uncovering waves. why create such a stir. walking. crime against public health. 
remote database access. they landed. they escorted him. from both sides. just in case. 
in view of the risk. in the line of duty. 

(v.)

helicóptero. playa. caminaba solo. a veces basta con una razón para huir. 
un objetivo en el que extender la piel. solo era brisa. olor a sal recién comprada. como destapar olas. 
por qué tanto revuelo. caminar. delito contra la salud pública. acceso remoto a todos sus datos. 
aterrizaron. le acompañaron. a ambos lados. por si acaso. por si el peligro. en cumplimiento del deber.  
(vi.)

transfigured face
head and floor separated by a trickle of blood
the gaze walled by an animal silence 

do you believe in life or death?
in life, definitely

both the fall and the body embalmed by the blasting
until the parquet floor pattern is reached

what is it that remains after the last anchoring?

face down he expects something to move
the start of a sob, or a void, or a question
or a delay as abrupt as an ending

(vi.)

se desvive la cara 
un hilo de sangre separa cabeza y suelo
un silencio animal cubre de pared la mirada

¿crees en la vida o en la muerte?
en la vida, por supuesto

la detonación embalsama caída y cuerpo
hasta el patrón del parqué

¿qué permanece en el último anclaje?

bocabajo espera algún movimiento
un principio de llanto o de vacío o de pregunta
o una espera tan simple como un final

Editor’s Note: The latter two poems were performed at the online venue Transforming with Poetry
8/1/21. by the author. See Facebook page.

Ángel Huerga (León, 1971) has collaborated in literary magazines such as Nayagua (Fundación Centro de Poesía José Hierro, nº 33), Solaria, Siete de Siete.net, and Las hojas del foro, as well as in the book of essays Poetas asturianos para el siglo XXI (Ed. Trea, 2009). Currently, he attends the Camaleones en la Azotea poetry workshop in Madrid, Spain, where he is based, and has contributed to the release of the a4rismos cardboard book edition (Fundación Sindical Ateneo 1º de Mayo y Taller de Poesía Camaleones en la Azotea, 2022).

He is a lyricist for Asturian-based band Fantástico Mundo de Mierda (FMM) (https://fantasticomundodemierda.bandcamp.com/), which has released the following albums: New Software (Lloria Discos, 2005), La Furia del Fin (Algamar Producciones, 2013), and La Fortaleza (self-released, 2018).

Additionally, he has contributed to translating into English some sections of the following works: El genio austrohúngaro. Historia social e intelectual (1848-1938), by William M. Johnston (KRK Ediciones, 2009), and “In bello fortis”: la vida del teniente general irlandés Sir William Parker Carrol (1776-1842), by A. Laspra and B. O’Connell (Fundación Gustavo Bueno, 2009).

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Six Poems from EL PLAZO (THE DEADLINE) by Olga Muñoz. Translated by Amparo Arrospide and Robin Ouzman Hislop

by

Six poems from EL PLAZO (THE DEADLINE)

16.
Desapareceríamos todos si las abejas murieran. Por ahora somos cuatro: dos adultos y dos crías que cargar en brazos en caso necesario. Pronostican una marcha tranquila, aunque el zumbido nos alcance en las próximas jornadas. Como alimento llevamos la oscura miel de la familia, indigesta, dulzona. Los nuevos evitamos derramarla, ya que una gota perdida trae la maldición de confundir las criaturas propias. Sin olerla llegó el animalillo de nombre equivocado, en medio del camino.

16.
Were bees to die, we would all disappear. Right now we are just four: two adults and two cubs to carry in our arms if necessary. In spite of the buzz reaching us in the next few days, a peaceful march is predicted. We carry as food for the family our dark sickly sweet indigestible honey. As the newly arrived we take care not to spill a drop as a drop lost would curse us into confusing our own offspring. Not smelling the honey, a little animal with a wrong name appeared into the middle of the road.

17.
Volvemos a casa con la cría y el espacio se ha hecho redondo. Las elásticas paredes ceden a nuestras voces. Parece que el hueco estaba listo desde hace meses, pues cada objeto ocupa su espacio densamente. Sólo a la llegada nos percatamos. Despacio penetramos el aire, conseguimos traspasarlo para cobijar a los nuestros.

17. We return home with the cub into a space that has become round. The elastic walls recede with our voices. It seems the vacuity had been prepared for months, as each object occupies its own dense space. Only after arrival do we realize it as we slowly penetrate the air and manage to cross it to find a shelter for our own.

18.
No rodará, no caerá al vacío. No lo abrazará el aire, continente escueto al principio, península improvisada, isla final. Como en los trucos de magia, existen hilos invisibles, saliva que me ata a tres cuerpos y hace de mí una marioneta ciega.

18.
It will not roll nor fall into a void nor embrace the air, a bare continent at the beginning, an improvised peninsula, an island at the end. As with tricks of magic, invisible threads exist, saliva that ties me to three bodies like a blind marionette.

19.
Cada uno aguarda su turno para respirar. No nos vemos siquiera. Ocupamos salas de cristal con cuerpos transparentes, reflejados al azar. La gran mentira, el espejismo del aire. Mientras, las crías dormitan en la madriguera, repleta de oxígeno su sangre recién nacida.

19.
We each wait for our turn to breathe. We can’t even see each other. Our transparent bodies occupy glass rooms, randomly reflected. The mirage of air, a great lie. Meanwhile, the cubs are dozing snuggled close, their newborn blood full of oxygen.

20.
Escucha a su madre leer un cuento, la historia que lo espera al otro lado. Aún lo separan unos centímetros del designio. Un jabalí descompuesto en el bosque recuerda a ese niño alumbrado a la muerte. El deseo repetido de luna en luna, la tristeza rojiza del vacío. Mujer estéril que sueña al hijo con solo apartar la mano a tiempo.

20.
He listens as his mother reads a story, a story that waits for him from the other side. Yet still a few centimeters separate him from his fate. A rotting boar in the forest resembles the birth of the child born to death. The same desire passed from moon to moon, the reddish sadness of emptiness. A barren woman who dreams her son with only the withdrawal of her hand on time.

21.
Encontraste el sedal entre la arena, lejos del lugar del sacrificio. Casi caíste, y con todo tu cuerpo –uñas, árbol, océano– preguntabas qué era ese hilo. Te dimos palabras precisas, las más adecuadas seguramente. Nos pierde la exactitud. Aún así, siguen muriendo los peces de asfixia, con ese mismo sedal de tus dedos.

21.
You found the fishing line in the sand, far from the place of sacrifice. You almost fell down, and with your whole body – nails, tree, ocean – asked what was that thread. We replied with precise words, surely the most adequate. Exactitude is our undoing. But still fish continue to die of suffocation, with that same thread from your fingers.

Olga Muñoz Carrasco is author of the books: La caja de música (Madrid, Fundación Inquietudes/Asociación Poética Caudal, 2011), El plazo (Madrid, Amargord, 2012), Cada palabra una ceniza blanca (Valencia, Ejemplar Único, 2013), Cráter, danza (Barcelona, Calambur, 2016), 15 Filos (Madrid, Cartonera del escorpión azul, 2021), Tapiz rojo con pájaros (Madrid, Bala Perdida, 2021) and Filo (unpublished). Her editorial work is linked to the Genialogías collection at the Tigres de Papel publishing house and the Lengua de Agua collective. She completed her doctoral studies in Philology in Madrid, USA and Peru, and is currently a professor and researcher at Saint Louis University (Madrid Campus). In Lima she published her monograph Sigiloso desvelo- The poetry of Blanca Varela (Pontifical Catholic University of Peru, 2007). She prepared Blanca Varela’s anthology Y todo debe ser mentira (Barcelona, Galaxia Gutenberg, 2020) and in France she has just published her study Palabras para un canto. La escritura en espiral de Blanca Varela (Paris, Belin Éducation/Humensis, 2022). In recent years, her works have appeared in the field of Spanish-American and Spanish poetry. She is part of the research project “El impacto de la guerra civil española en la vida intelectual de Hispanoamérica” (“The impact of the Spanish civil war on the intellectual life of Latin America”) , which led to her book Perú y la guerra civil española. La voz de los intelecturales (Madrid, Calambur, 2013). She also teaches at the José Hierro Foundation (Madrid) and at the Diploma Course on Appreciation and Poetic Studies, Caracas (Venezuela).
 
 
Amparo Arróspide (born in Buenos Aires) is an M.Phil. by the University of Salford. As well as poems, short stories and articles on literature and films in anthologies and international magazines, she has published five poetry collections: Presencia en el Misterio, Mosaicos bajo la hiedra, Alucinación en dos actos y algunos poemas, Pañuelos de usar y tirar and En el oído del viento. The latter is part of a trilogy together with Jacuzzi and Hormigas en diaspora, which are in the course of being published. In 2010 she acted as a co-editor of webzine Poetry Life Times, where many of her translations of Spanish poems have appeared, she has translated authors such as Margaret Atwood, Stevie Smith and James Stephens into Spanish, and others such as Guadalupe Grande, Ángel Minaya, Francisca Aguirre, Carmen Crespo, Javier Díaz Gil into English. She takes part in poetry festivals, recently Centro de Poesía José Hierro (Getafe).
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds) .

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Route Signs. Poems by Javier Gil Martin. Translated from Spanish by Amparo Arrospide & Robin Ouzman Hislop

by 

FIRST TERRITORY

        child eats crying
        child cries eating 
        in animal concert
	                
                     Blanca Varela

Lips that you have not used to kiss
little feet you haven't walked on yet
eyes which see just a foot from your face
hands you still don't know are yours
only
crying, hunger and sleep
and some furtive smile
but now comes life
beautiful Guille,
and  kisses will come and your steps
and your eyes will see to the end of the horizon
you will know your hands, and how to handle them
but don't forget, my child,
that crying, hunger, sleep
were your first territory.

PRIMER TERRITORIO 


    niño come llorando
llora comiendo niño
en animal concierto
	
Blanca Varela


Labios que no has usado para besar,
pequeños pies con los que no has caminado todavía,
ojos con los que ves a solo un palmo de tu rostro,
manos que aún no sabes que son tuyas;
apenas solo 
llanto, y hambre, y sueño,
y alguna sonrisa furtiva;
pero ahora llega la vida,
hermoso Guille,
y los besos vendrán, y tus pasos,
y esos ojos verán al final del horizonte,
y sabrás de tus manos, y sabrás manejarlas,
pero no olvides, mi niño,
que llanto, hambre y sueño
fueron tu primer territorio.


[Scars will come, my son...]


Scars will come, my son
and they will mark your body
but do not let them scare you because they will be 
your private dialogue with the world
a way to know you are alive 
full of past and full of present.

[Sobrevendrán cicatrices, hijo...]


Sobrevendrán cicatrices, hijo,  
y marcarán tu cuerpo,   
pero que no te asusten pues serán   
tu diálogo privado con el mundo,  
una forma de saberte vivo   
colmado de pasado y de presente. 


[The  many things you discover every day...]


The many things you discover every day. 
How to lean out with your clean eyes 
to this world full of sorrows, 
how to lean out and not soil everything 
with prejudices, fixations and miseries,
how will we do it without you telling us 
which path to take, which way, 
without us telling you
“This way yes, this way no, eat slowly, 
try not to stain your vest,
shut the door, brush your teeth...”.

[Cuántas cosas descubres cada día...] 


Cuántas cosas descubres cada día. 
Cómo asomarnos con tus ojos limpios 
a este mundo cargado de pesares, 
cómo asomarse y no ensuciarlo todo 
de prejuicios, esquemas y miserias, 
cómo lo haremos sin que tú nos digas 
qué vereda tomar, por qué camino, 
y no nosotros los que te digamos: 
“Por aquí sí, por aquí no, come despacio, 
intenta no ensuciar tu camiseta, 
cierra la puerta, lávate los dientes...”. 


NOT BEFORE

Wake up when
the light lets you
look at  your toys

NO ANTES

Despierta cuando
la luz ya te permita
ver tus juguetes.


[In addition to paying our pensions...]


In addition to paying our pensions,
it is expected of you, children,
(at least by poets)
a word that illuminates the world.
Like innocent little prophets
you sleep peacefully
you don't know yet
our secret assignment.

[Además de pagar nuestras pensiones...]


Además de pagar nuestras pensiones,
de vosotros se espera, hijos,
(al menos los poetas),
una palabra que ilumine el mundo.
Como pequeños profetas inocentes,
dormís tranquilos,
no conocéis aún 
nuestra secreta encomienda.


[How I wish my errors were of value to you...]


How I wish my errors were of value to you
a sort of hereditary apprenticeship
—I´ve a whole string of these to give you—
but only your own errors
with their taste of blood between the lips
will be of some use to you, if at all; 
most will be
irreparable and useless, like
a toy forgotten in an attic. 

[Ojalá mis errores os valieran...]


Ojalá mis errores os valieran
como un aprendizaje hereditario
—de eso tengo una ristra para daros—,
pero solo vuestros errores,
con su sabor a sangre entre los labios,
os servirán de algo, si es que os sirven;
la mayoría serán
irreparables e inútiles como 
un juguete olvidado en un desván.

Javier Gil Martin (Madrid, 1981). With a degree in Spanish Philology from the UAM, he is professionally dedicated to subtitling and literary proofreading and passionately to reading and editing, mainly poetry. He has coordinated, together with good friends, several literary collections. In 2020 he founded the publishing project “Cartonera del escorpión azul” and since 2006 he coordinates the “Versos para el adiós” section of Adiós Cultural magazine. As an author, he has published Poemas de la bancarrota (Ediciones del 4 de agosto, Logroño, 2015), Poemas de la bancarrota y otros poemas (Espacio Hudson, Argentina, 2018), Museo de la intemperie (Ejemplar Único, Alzira, 2020) & Museo de la intemperie [II] (Cartonera Island, Tenerife, 2022). His “Route Signs” is a section of the latter.

 
 
Amparo Arróspide (born in Buenos Aires) is an M.Phil. by the University of Salford. As well as poems, short stories and articles on literature and films in anthologies and international magazines, she has published five poetry collections: Presencia en el Misterio, Mosaicos bajo la hiedra, Alucinación en dos actos y algunos poemas, Pañuelos de usar y tirar and En el oído del viento. The latter is part of a trilogy together with Jacuzzi and Hormigas en diaspora, which are in the course of being published. In 2010 she acted as a co-editor of webzine Poetry Life Times, where many of her translations of Spanish poems have appeared, she has translated authors such as Margaret Atwood, Stevie Smith and James Stephens into Spanish, and others such as Guadalupe Grande, Ángel Minaya, Francisca Aguirre, Carmen Crespo, Javier Díaz Gil into English. She takes part in poetry festivals, recently Centro de Poesía José Hierro (Getafe).
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times his publications include All the Babble of the Souk and Cartoon Molecules collected poems and Key of Mist the recently published Tesserae translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande and Carmen Crespo visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds) .

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A Fucked up Life. A Bilingual Poem & Translation from Spanish by Vera Moreno

by 
A fucked up life

living in Zurich to work in a small town
working in a small town to live in Zurich

everything for
a small retirement benefit

everything for
tomorrow´s future



every single morning the alarm o´clock

                                 the train leaves at 6.09

                                 the train leaves at 6.09


teaching three modules when the rest of teachers

teach two

wishing to change that


                          and as the cuckoo, open your beak,
                          open your beak, but nothing changes

getting up again
taking the same seat at 6.05

sleeping on the same train seat
on the way to work
sleeping standing
on your way back 

                to yawn at the wrong timing
                to yawn at the wrong timing

getting to the small town exhausted
getting  back to Zurich      more  than exhausted

knowing that today is a piece of gold for 
the retirement benefit, the retirement benefit
the precious  golden retirement benefit
cooking not so much ´cos the lack of sleeping

 DON´T DREAM
                                                         DON´T DREAM much
                                                         DON´T DREAM
                                                         DON´T DREAM much

a fucked up life
a fucked up life

living in Zurich to work in a small town
working in a small town to live in Zurich

having a reduced future for
a little retirement benefit in Switzerland

                             having a reduced morning
                             to sleep or not to sleep
                             to sleep or not to sleep
                             never dreams, never dreams
                                             sleeping on a train, sleeping on a train 
                                                but never do it, but never do it       in class
                            
Can´t- get - out, can´t get out, can´t get out

                             from the clock, 		from the cow, 
                             from the knife,  		from the cheese
                             from the Swiss       	fucking snow,
                             				fucking snow, 
                             					           can´t get out
                             from fucking Switzerland
                             				
							from fucking Swiss 
							white clean tyranny.



Vera Moreno
from The broken bodies´ fitness center
César Simón Poetry Award 2019
Una vida jodida

vivir en Zurich para trabajar en un pequeño pueblo
trabajar para vivir en Zurich
tener una pequeña pensión, 
para el día de mañana

 cada mañana el despertador
			           el tren sale a las 6.09
                                
impartir tres módulos cuando el resto imparte dos
querer cambiar, 			     
                                   y como el cuco, abrir la boca

levantarse de nuevo
sentarse a las 6.05 en ese tren


dormir sentada
dormir de pie
dormir en el tren de ida  
dormir en el tren de vuelta

                                              bostezar a destiempo

llegar al pueblo exhausta
llegar a Zurich exhausta
sabiendo que el día cotiza en bolsa o en la pensión
cocinar poco por el sueño

NO 
                                                                          soñar

una vida jodida
vivir en Zurich para trabajar en un pequeño pueblo
trabajar para vivir en Zurich

tener un mañana reducido
una pensión pequeña en Suiza

					tener una mañana reducida
					               dormir o no dormir
						       dormir o no dormir
                                                en el tren sí, en clase no

no-poder-salir 
			   del reloj, la vaca, la navaja, el queso
                                                                          la nieve



Vera Moreno
Poema procedente de el gimnasio de los rotos
Premio de Poesía César Simón 2019

Vera Moreno (Madrid, 1972). A multifaceted writer, teacher, rhapsodist, and cultural activist. She loves performance and videopoems.

She holds a Master Degree in Artistic, Literary and Cultural Studies from the Autonomous University of Madrid; and a Sociology and Political Sciences Degree from the Complutense University of Madrid. She also did Women´s studies at Utrecht University in NL.

In 2013 she was recognized as a New Voice by the feminist publishing House Torremozas (Madrid). Vera Moreno was published by Amargord publisher in a double poetry book called The whole orange (La naranja entera) in 2016. Three years later, she won the César Simón poetry reward at the University of Valencia with the poems book called The broken bodies´ fitness center (El gimnasio de los rotos). Next year a new book is coming.

Some of her texts and poems have been translated into Dutch, Esperanto and English.

As a cultural activist she created in 2001 a innovative cultural radio space of one minute lenght called Europe for Culture on Europe FM national radio station. In 2012 Vera Moreno designed and coordinated participative literary events called Literary Moondays (Lunes literarios) at the Rivas city hall – centro cultural del ayuntamiento de Rivas, and co-founder of the poetry channel on youtube Poesía a domicilio / Poetry delivery, with the great Dominican poet Rosa Silverio (2021).
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times at Artvilla.com ; You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author & https://poetrylifeandtimes.com See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)

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Video Poems of Guadalupe Grande RIP 1965 – 2021

by

Muñoz Sanjúan Cantos : & : Ucronías
Collages de Miguel Ángel Muñoz Sanjuán a partir de su libro Cantos : & : Ucronías (Calambur 2013). Animación, Guadalupe Grande. Dirección: Juan Carlos Mestre.
 

 
EXODUS & CIA
Dibujos de Miguel Ángel Muñoz Sanjuán a partir de su libro :Memorical-Fractal (Calambur, 2017). Realización y animación, Guadalupe Grande
 

 
Luz Pichel, Tra{n}shumancias
Video poema de Guadalupe Grande a partir del libro Tran{n}shumancias, de Luz Pichel.
 

 
«Poemas del Mediterráneo» con Guadalupe Grande
 

 
Sanse, ‘La Ciudad de la Poesía’, llora la muerte de Guadalupe Grande
 

 
I HAVE A DREAM
Videopoema de Guadalupe Grande sobre fotografías y texto de la autora.
 

 
JARRÓN Y TEMPESTAD
Poemas visuales y texto de Guadaupe Grande.
 

 

“Hotel para erizos” de Guadalupe Grande 23 May 2016 Guadalupe Grande presenta dos poemas inéditos.

 

Guadalupe

Guadalupe Grande was born in Madrid in 1965. She has a Bachelor degree in Social Anthropology. Published poetry books: El libro de Lilit, (Renacimiento, awarded the 1995 Rafael Alberti Award, 1995), La llave de niebla (Calambur, 2003), Mapas de cera (Poesía Circulante, Málaga, 2006 and La torre degli Arabeschi, Milán, 2009), Hotel para erizos (Calambur, 2010) and Métier de crhysalide (an anthology, translated by Drothèe Suarez y Juliette Gheerbrant, Alidades, Évian-les-Bains, 2010).

As a literary critic, she has published in cultural journals and magazines, such as El Mundo, El Independiente, Cuadernos Hispanoamericanos, El Urogallo, Reseña and others.

In 2008 she was awarded the Valle Inclán grant for literary creation in the Academia de España in Rome.

In the publishing and cultural management areas, she has worked in institutions such as the Complutense University of Madrid Summer Courses, Casa de América and Teatro Real. Currently she manages poetical activities in the José Hierro Popular University at San Sebastian de los Reyes, Madrid.

***

Guadalupe Grande nació en Madrid en 1965. Es licenciada en Antropología Social.

Ha publicado los libros de poesía El libro de Lilit, (Renacimiento, Premio Rafael Alberti 1995), La llave de niebla (Calambur, 2003), Mapas de cera (Poesía Circulante, Málaga, 2006 y La torre degli Arabeschi, Milán, 2009), Hotel para erizos (Calambur, 2010) y Métier de crhysalide (antología en traducción de Drothèe Suarez y Juliette Gheerbrant, Alidades, Évian-les-Bains, 2010).

Como crítico literario, ha colaborado en diversos diarios y revistas culturales, como El Mundo, El Independiente, Cuadernos Hispanoamericanos, El Urogallo, Reseña, etcétera.

En el año 2008 obtuvo la Beca Valle Inclán para la creación literaria en la Academia de España en Roma.

En el ámbito de la edición y la gestión cultural ha trabajado en diversas instituciones como los Cursos de Verano de la Universidad Complutense de Madrid, la Casa de América y el Teatro Real. En la actualidad es responsable de la actividad poética de la Universidad Popular José Hierro, San Sebastián de los Reyes, Madrid.

 

No hubo tiempo para hacerle el homenaje que merecía y que hubo que posponer a 2021 por las medidas sanitarias. Ayer, de forma repentina, fallecía la poeta madrileña Guadalupe Grande, directora del Centro de Estudios de la Poesía José Hierro de San Sebastián de los Reyes, una tragedia inesperada que el municipio lamenta profundamente.

Pinceladas biográficas

Nacida en Madrid en 1965, hija de los poetas Francisca Aguirre y Félix Grande, y nieta del pintor Lorenzo Aguirre, Guadalupe Grande creció entre versos y pinturas que marcarían su trayectoria.

Licenciada en Antropología Social, comenzó su andadura como poetisa, ensayista y crítica literaria, publicando los poemarios “El libro de Lilit” (Premio Rafael Alberti, 1995), “La llave de niebla” (2003), “Mapas de cera” (2006) y “Hotel para erizos” (2010); además de antologías, traducciones, ensayos y reseñas literarias.

En el ámbito de la edición y la gestión cultural trabajó en diversas instituciones, mientras, desde los primeros años 2000, se mantenía al frente del Centro de Estudios de la Poesía (CEP) José Hierro de Sanse.

Defensora de la educación en las artes y humanidades, desde el CEP hizo todo lo que estuvo en su mano para volver a situar la poesía en primer plano: con actividades y talleres abiertos a toda la población y especialmente a la gente joven, dando continuidad al programa televisivo Tertulias Poéticas en Canal Norte, con la promoción de los Premios Nacionales de Poesía José Hierro y de Poesía Joven Félix Grande, y con nuevos proyectos, algunos de los cuales germinaron digitalmente durante el confinamiento y esperaba relanzar en los próximos meses.

La reinvención del CEP

El pasado mes de marzo, con la entrada en vigor del confinamiento, Guadalupe Grande tuvo que reinventar la actividad del CEP para dar continuidad a la labor de divulgación de la poesía que se hace desde él.

Así, el presente curso arrancó con el lanzamiento online de varios talleres que se han mantenido hasta entrado el mes de diciembre. Y en otoño también se empezó a consolidar la iniciativa #PoesíaEnCasa, un espacio surgido durante el confinamiento y que ella misma editaba -recuperando poemas recitados por sus autores del archivo de CNTv-, para el que proyectaba la grabación de nuevas entregas con poetas de varias generaciones, iniciativa en la que la acompañarían los poetas Óscar Martín Centeno y Pepe Ramos; contenidos para revitalizar “La ciudad de la poesía” en la que nunca dejó de creer.

También la poesía visual, de la que Guadalupe Grande era un magnífico exponente, figuraba entre sus planes para el próximo curso. Y con ella, el homenaje a su vida y obra que no pudimos llegar a hacer y que dejamos pendiente.

www.laciudaddelapoesia.org

 

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Vida. (Life) A Poem by Antonio Arboleda (English & Spanish)

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Image: Calle Santo Domingo, Lorca (Spain), showing the house where Antonio was born and his mother, Lucia, in the balcony of their flat.
 
Life
 
To my father, Antonio Martínez Manzanera, who passed away on 28 March 2021
 
You leave behind a trail of victims.
 
How many voices,
unique children
delivered to your light,
did you end up strangling
with your own hands, Life?
 
You kept up the appearances
deceiving those humans
who believed themselves
boundless,
who felt accepted by the matter
of an uncanny universe
that turns out to be
just a sad arrangement
of rough stones and gases,
a universe that enslaves you,
Life,
as its precarious
exotic whim,
forcing you to leapfrog
through chosen planets,
and drag yourself
in travelling theatres
for your vanity,
and your honour,
Life.
 
My thinking carbon molecules,
the impression of my spirit,
are not members
of any ruthless club
of inert particles,
of empty energies,
of graceless big bangs
with no purpose,
with no story to tell.
 
Life,
if there exists a divine mystery,
sweet and tragic,
mother, parricide,
redeeming saviour,
defying the dark,
clumsy ways of physics
that must be you,
Life,
That must be you.
 
 
 
Vida
 
A mi padre, Antonio Martínez Manzanera, fallecido el 28 de marzo de 2021
 
Dejas a tu paso un reguero de víctimas.
 
¿Cuántas voces únicas,
hijas paridas en tu luz,
terminaste ahogando
con tus propias manos, Vida?
 
Tus apariencias engañaron
a más de uno,
que se creyó sin límites,
aceptado por un universo
que resulta estar hecho
de pedruscos y gases,
por un universo
del que no eres más
que lacaya en precario,
Vida,
capricho excéntrico
que de salto en salto se arrastró
por planetas elegidos,
teatros ambulantes
de tu vanidad,
y de tu honra,
Vida.
 
No es mi carbono pensante
ni el espíritu de mi impronta
miembro de ese club despiadado
de partículas inertes,
de vanas energías,
de big bangs
sin propósito, ni narrativa.
 
Vida,
si existe un misterio
y una divinidad,
dulce y trágica,
madre, parricida,
salvadora y redentora,
desafiando las artes oscuras
ramplonas
de las físicas
y las químicas
esa,
Vida,
eres tú.

 

Antonio Martínez Arboleda:
Antonio (Tony Martin-Woods) started to write poetry for the public in 2012, at the age of 43, driven by his political indignation. That same year he also set in motion Poesía Indignada, an online publication of political poetry. He runs the poetry evening Transforming with Poetry at Inkwell, in Leeds, and collaborates with 100 Thousands Poets for Change 100tpc.org/. Tony is also known in the UK for his work as an academic and educator under his real-life name, Antonio Martínez Arboleda at the University of Leeds. His project of digitisation of poetry, Ártemis, compiles more than 100 high quality videos of Spanish poets and other Open Educational Resources. http://www.artemispoesia.com/ .

He is the delegate in the UK of Crátera Revista de Crítica y Poesía Contemporánea , where he also publishes his work as translator from English into Spanish. He published his first volume of poetry in Spanish, Los viajes de Diosa (The Travels of Goddess), in 2015, as a response to the Great Recession, particularly in Spain. His second book, Goddess Summons the Nation Paperback , Goddess Summons the Nation Kindle Edition , is a critique of the ideas of nation and capitalism, mainly in the British Brexit context. It incorporates voices of culprits, victims and heroes with mordacity and rhythm. It consists of 21 poems, 18 of which are originally written in English, available in print and kindle in Amazon and other platforms. Editor’s note: further information bio & academic activities can be found at this link: https://ahc.leeds.ac.uk/languages/staff/91/antonio-martinez-arboleda

 
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times at Artvilla.com ; his publications include
 
All the Babble of the Souk , Cartoon Molecules, Next Arrivals and Moon Selected Audio Textual Poems, collected poems, as well as translation of Guadalupe Grande´s La llave de niebla, as Key of Mist and the recently published Tesserae , a translation of Carmen Crespo´s Teselas.
 
You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)

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Autumn Fascination/ Fascinación de otoño Video Poems English/Spanish by Antonio Martínez Arboleda

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Editor’s note: check the icons on the YouTube Videos to read texts

 

 
Green under siege
efficient blowing that pushed me to an end
of simultaneous lips
of seasons of perfected assonance
 
Now around a hiding sun
A brown agony
 
Scaffolding
made of arteries
transporting gravity to the top
 
The fall of the Roman Empire
Or the British
was harsher
but not neater.
 
When you try through your rustling
to talk to me about the time
that I set to you with my steps,
I find it very sweet and useless.
 
Why does your voice follow me,
but you stay behind stranded?
 
How can a loop be so straight?
 
What are you, but a new form of life
a sign
that defeat in the Natural World is always relative?
 
Today, you are masking the ground
where I keep dragging my roots
in contempt for the fallen.
 
And
despite the appearances
I still live
in a constant state of fascination
 
 
Fascinación de otoño
 

 
Un cerco fijado en torno al verdor,
efectivo soplo que me empuja a un fin
de labios simultáneos,
de estaciones que corrigen asonancia
 
Agonía marrón
 
Arterias como andamios
que transportan
la gravedad a lo alto
 
Más dura fue
la Caída del Imperio Romano
o del británico,
pero no más limpia.
 
Cuando intentas con tus chasquidos
hablarme tú
del tiempo que yo te marco
con mis pisadas,
me parece todo tan dulce e inútil.
 
Dime por qué me sigue tu voz
si tú te vas quedando atrás.
¿Cómo puede un bucle ser tan recto?
 
¿Qué eres,
sino una nueva forma de vida,
una señal
de que la derrota en el Mundo Natural
es siempre,
siempre, relativa?
 
En días como este,
enmascaras la tierra
por la que arrastro
con orgullo
mis raíces.
 
En fin,
a pesar de las apariencias,
continúo viviendo
en un estado constante de fascinación.
 

Antonio Martínez Arboleda:
Antonio (Tony Martin-Woods) started to write poetry for the public in 2012, at the age of 43, driven by his political indignation. That same year he also set in motion Poesía Indignada, an online publication of political poetry. He runs the poetry evening Transforming with Poetry at Inkwell, in Leeds, and collaborates with 100 Thousands Poets for Change 100tpc.org/. Tony is also known in the UK for his work as an academic and educator under his real-life name, Antonio Martínez Arboleda at the University of Leeds. His project of digitisation of poetry, Ártemis, compiles more than 100 high quality videos of Spanish poets and other Open Educational Resources. http://www.artemispoesia.com/ .

He is the delegate in the UK of Crátera Revista de Crítica y Poesía Contemporánea , where he also publishes his work as translator from English into Spanish. He published his first volume of poetry in Spanish, Los viajes de Diosa (The Travels of Goddess), in 2015, as a response to the Great Recession, particularly in Spain. His second book, Goddess Summons the Nation Paperback , Goddess Summons the Nation Kindle Edition , is a critique of the ideas of nation and capitalism, mainly in the British Brexit context. It incorporates voices of culprits, victims and heroes with mordacity and rhythm. It consists of 21 poems, 18 of which are originally written in English, available in print and kindle in Amazon and other platforms. Editor’s note: further information bio & academic activities can be found at this link: https://ahc.leeds.ac.uk/languages/staff/91/antonio-martinez-arboleda

 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times at Artvilla.com ; his publications include
 
All the Babble of the Souk , Cartoon Molecules, Next Arrivals and Moon Selected Audio Textual Poems, collected poems, as well as translation of Guadalupe Grande´s La llave de niebla, as Key of Mist and the recently published Tesserae , a translation of Carmen Crespo´s Teselas.
 
You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)

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Poem by EVA MARÍA CHINCHILLA on a homage supplement published in “Cuadernos del Matemático” Nº 56-58, dedicated to Leonard Cohen,Translated from Spanish by Robin Ouzman Hislop & Amparo Arróspide

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          We are the lesser who will never be able to write
          a good love poem than those of us who will never
          be able to write a love poem in time.

 
 
I love your temperature. That’s what I love,
not you
 

Gentle, gallant, it keeps the milky warmth of a blade of wheat
offering itself at dawn
breaking earlier than myself, heralding
— from its delta-
 
the descent of dreams
 
I love your eyes. For their sea, for their fairy
for their
id
 
and whilst each time i shatter the image of blue cliches
you invade that which has no colour, each time leaving it within
that which i’ll never
discover
 
not you
 
I love your caligraphy. Remains of eternity, my inheritance
that you pretend as yet yours
 
voice that sweetly swathes me
and tungsten. Impossible firefly, there
I love your caligraphy because it cleanses each time the wound of having thought i knew you
 
(and the treasure of the hidden note in the third stanza, when id
shipwrecks
where we read
because it cleanses each time the wound of having thought i knew you
 
to read again now
 
because it gently opens the wound whether i knew
how to love
despite not knowing
 
I love your caligraphy because it lets me recognise you
a balm which you prepare for me, it says
 
to recognise has been to know
 
so
 
there exists the possibility that i have
you, that´s what your caligraphy says, it says my
my love for you
that i have not yet known,
 
it extends before my eyes and on my skin bares – a code so familiar as to be indeciph–
sunsets and a bond of views without other qualification than their
certainty
 
this breeze that rustles my skin, carouses my blood, tempers
and forgives me
me, you, me
 
 
 
 

          Somos menos quienes nunca lograremos escribir
          un buen poema de amor que quienes nunca
          lograremos escribir a tiempo un poema de amor

 
 
Amo tu temperatura. Es lo que amo,
y no a ti
 
Suave, donosa, guarda el calor lácteo de la espiga. Se entrega de madrugada, antes
que yo amanece y anuncia
–desde su delta—
 
la bajada de los sueños
 
Amo tus ojos. Por su mar, por su hada
por su
id
 
y mientras yo destrozo cada vez la pantalla de los tópicos
del azul, invades lo que no tiene color, lo dejas dentro cada vez jamás
encontraré
 
no a ti
 
Amo tu caligrafía. Restos de eternidad, herencia mía
que simulas tuya aún
 
voz de tela que me arropa
y wolframio. Luciérnaga imposible, ahí
 
amo tu caligrafía, porque desinfecta, cada vez, la herida de haber creído conocerte
 
(y la nota del tesoro escondido de la tercera estrofa, cuando naufrague
id
donde hemos leído
porque desinfecta, cada vez, la herida de haber creído conocerte
para ahora leer
 
porque abre con suavidad la herida de si supe amar
lo que conocía
a pesar de no sabr que lo
 
amo tu caligrafía porque me deja reconocerte
un bálsamo que tú preparas para mí, dice
 
reconocer ha sido conocer
 
entonces
 
existe la posibilidad de que te haya
a ti eso dice tu caligrafía, dice mi
te amo a ti
que yo no he sabido saber,
 
extiende ante mis ojos y en mi piel expone –en un código tan familiar como indesci—
amaneceres y miradas en unidad, sin otro calificativo que el de
 
indudables
 
esa brisa se extiende por mi piel, navega por mi sangre, me templa
y me perdona
 
a mí, a ti, a mí
 
 
 
 
 
 
Eva Chinchilla, evachin. Poet. Author of Años Abisinios (2011), Verbo rea (2003), and a third poetry book currently in production. Participant in anthologies such as La noche y sus etcéteras. 24 voces alrededor de San Juan de la Cruz (2017), Hilanderas (2006) o Estruendomudo (2003). She is also a board member of poetry magazine Nayagua, which is a publication by the José Hierro Poetry Foundation, where she was a teacher from 2007 to 2016. Member of the Genialogías Association and the 8que80 collective of female poets; co-editor of Diminutos Salvamentos poetry collection. She walks along the haiku and flamenco lyrics paths. A philologist (hispanist), with a degree free master in continuous training and questioning. Born in Madrid (1971).
 
 
Eva Chinchilla, evachin. Poeta. Autora de Años abisinios (2011), Verbo rea (2003), y un tercer poemario en prensa; incluida en antologías como La noche y sus etcéteras. 24 voces alrededor de San Juan dela Cruz (2017), Hilanderas (2006) o Estruendomudo (2003). Forma parte del consejo de la revista de poesía Nayagua, que se edita desde la Fundación Centro de Poesía José Hierro de Getafe, donde fue profesora desde 2007 hasta 2016. Integrante de la Asociación Genialogías y el colectivo 8que80 de mujeres poetas; coeditora de la colección diminutos salvamentos; andariega del camino del haiku y de las letrillas flamencas. Filóloga (hispanista), con master sin titulación en formación y cuestionamiento continuos. Nació en Madrid (1971).
 
 
 
 
 
 

Robin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times ; his publications include
 
All the Babble of the Souk , Cartoon Molecules and Next Arrivals, collected poems, and the recently published Moon Selected Audio Textual Poems, as well as translation of Guadalupe Grande´s La llave de niebla, as Key of Mist and the recently published Tesserae , a translation of Carmen Crespo´s Teselas.
 
You may visit Aquillrelle.com/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop about author. See Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)

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