EL
BARCO QUE ME TRAJO AQUÍ
Tras
estos ojos que parecen míos,
viejos
nombres se desvanecen, el pasado se arruga en mi puño apretado –
un
pájaro cobrizo al viento cobrizo,
este
vasto lugar me ha cubierto de la cabeza a los pies.
No
estoy desnuda de palabra y pensamiento
pero
a veces lo que quiero decir se pierde
como
una luna salpicada por una nube, o como una bebida que se atraganta.
Mi
lengua tropieza cuando hablo de aquel viaje
aunque
la sangre de mis venas sintiese la verdad de la muerte.
Mientras
trazaba mis huellas por la tracería de mi vieja lengua
El
verano me susurró
y
de mis dedos helados surgieron brotes
en
cuanto comencé a amar los fríos ciclos de la marea.
A
veces añoro
el
barco que me trajo aquí
ahora
que presencio los ojos glaciales de un inverno sueco,
bajo
estas viejas nubes cansadas,
mientras
esa maleta guarda un jirón de mi azul del cielo.
(Traducido del inglés por Jesús Moreno).
THE
BOAT THAT BROUGHT ME HERE
Behind
these eyes that look like mine
old names are fading away, the past lies crumpled in my clenched fist -
a coppery bird in coppery wind,
this vast place has covered me from head to toe.
I am not stripped of word and thought
but sometimes what I want to say gets lost
like a moon smudged with cloud, or when I splutter on a drink.
My tongue trips up when I speak of that journey
though the blood in my veins felt the truth of death.
As I traced my footsteps through the tracery of my old language
Summer whispered to me
and my frozen fingers began to put out shoots
even as I began to love the cold ebb and flow of tides.
Sometimes I miss
the boat that brought me here,
now that I am witness to the icy eyes of a Swedish winter,
under these tired old clouds,
while that suitcase still holds a patch of the sky-blue me.
old names are fading away, the past lies crumpled in my clenched fist -
a coppery bird in coppery wind,
this vast place has covered me from head to toe.
I am not stripped of word and thought
but sometimes what I want to say gets lost
like a moon smudged with cloud, or when I splutter on a drink.
My tongue trips up when I speak of that journey
though the blood in my veins felt the truth of death.
As I traced my footsteps through the tracery of my old language
Summer whispered to me
and my frozen fingers began to put out shoots
even as I began to love the cold ebb and flow of tides.
Sometimes I miss
the boat that brought me here,
now that I am witness to the icy eyes of a Swedish winter,
under these tired old clouds,
while that suitcase still holds a patch of the sky-blue me.
The
final translated version of the poem is by Maura Dooley
Source: Poetry Translation Centre).
Azita
Ghahreman (Mashhad, Iran, 1962). One of Iran's leading poets, she
has lived in Sweden since 2006. She is a member of the South Sweden
Writers' Union.
She
has published four collections of poetry: Eve's Songs (1983),
Sculptures of Autumn (1986), Forgetfulness is a Simple Ritual (1992)
and The Suburb of Crows (2008), a collection reflecting on her exile
in Sweden (she lives in an area called Tonganoxie on the outskirts of
Malmö) that was published in both Swedish and Farsi.
Her
poems directly address questions of female desire and challenge the
accepted position of women.
Azita
Ghahreman (Mashhad, Iran, 1962). Ha publicado cuatro libros de
poesía: Eve's Songs (1983), Sculptures of autumn (1986),
Forgetfulness is a simple ritual (1992) y The suburb of crows (2008).
Sus poemas tratan temas tales como el deseo femenino y el desafío a
la posición aceptada de la mujer. Ha vivido en Suecia desde 2006.
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