Poesía en el Writers Place con María, Edward y Xánath
por Xánath Caraza
El pasado viernes, 6 de noviembre, una miríada de
palabras abordó nuestras pantallas con la fluidez que crearon María M. Maloney,
Edward Vidaurre y la que escribe.
Celebramos la palabra, su fuerza, una amena conversación
con el público y Día de muertos 2020 en el Writers Place en Kansas City de
manera virtual. Tuvimos casa llena y con el apoyo de Maryfrances Wagner, Steve
Holland, y tantos más, la poesía no se hizo esperar.
Hoy, queridos lectores de la Bloga, comparto algunas
gotas de poesía que amablemente María y Edward me han hecho llegar. Espero y
disfruten los siguientes poemas. ¡Que la poesía nos salve!
My Dead Waiting
by María Miranda Maloney
I pour coffee into a coffee mug we picked
up
at Seaworld six years ago, slip a sliver
of
cream, cat curls in a knot on a chair
next
to me. Who knew one day we would be living
at
the hem of rolling hills, a lake nobody wades in— too pretty to sink
our
toes into rippling water, ping of golf balls
bounce
off the tired trunk of oaks. I do not dare to disturb
your
sleep, you’ve worked all night long, at your prison, you say,
open
mouth eating at your years, mid drift thick
when
you stopped running since there was no more time
left
in the day. This dank air sips through
a
half-opened window, the desert a memory, my dead waiting
at
the altar without a cup of water,
or
dia de muertos bread, or sugar skulls.
Ping
of golf balls catch the air.
Maria Miranda Maloney is an
editor, publisher, educator, and the author of The Lost Letters of Mileva (Pandora
Lobo Press 2014 and Yuguru 2019) and The City I Love (Ranchos Press
2011). Her work has appeared in The Bellevue Literary Review,
MiPOesias, The Más Tequila Review, Acentos Review, Huizache, The Texas
Weather Anthology, Huizache, Progetto 7Lune Poesia, Xispas: Journal of Chicano
Art, Culture and Politics, Smithsonian Latino Virtual Museum, The Catholic
Reporter, and Texas Review, as well as other national and
international journals. She is the founder of Mouthfeel Press. She was
born and raised in El Paso, Texas. She has an MFA in Creative Writing from
the University of Texas at El Paso. She currently lives in east
Texas.
“Stop Counting!”
by Edward
Vidaurre
A poem written together with my daughter
Luisa Vidaurre. 11/05/20
The
song of desperation
Holding
your phones to a glass
In
your Karen-ish shouts
While
your water runs muddy
Your
train is falling of the rails
The
nazi flags are tearing
The
Trump signs folding
And
your effort to debate
Flawed
“Stop
Counting!”
Stop
a democratic process?
We
can’t hear you!
Now
tell me, how does it feel
Having
a knee to your neck,
With
no one there to hear you?
“Stop
Counting!”
All
lives matter is a protest
against
our protest
200k+
people are dead
Do
we stop counting the dead too?
Do
they matter?
I
can’t stop counting
The
bodies keep coming
I
can’t stop counting
The
children are crying loudly
I
can’t stop counting
I
cough and sneeze and get scared
I
can’t stop counting
My
life depends on it
“Stop
Counting!”
I
count ten trucks
I
count ten flags
I
count ten middle fingers
Our
skin color is a threat
In
your country songs
It’s
a spicy treat
Count
with me
Uno,
dos, tres
“Stop
Counting!”
No.
All Votes Matter!
Edward Vidaurre is the author of seven collections of
poetry. He was the 2018-2019 City of McAllen, Texas Poet Laureate, a four-time
Pushcart-nominated poet, and publisher of FlowerSong Press. His writings have
appeared in The New York Times, The Texas Observer, Grist,
Poet Lore, The Acentos Review, Poetrybay, Voices de la Luna, as well
as other journals and anthologies. Vidaurre resides in McAllen, Texas with his
wife and daughter.
9.
por Xánath Caraza
Es el dolor de un pueblo
el que se
desliza en
la sangre de la tierra.
Acantilados bermejos
contienen la
angustia
y las rítmicas palpitaciones.
La gente murmura en las
doradas esquinas de la ciudad,
se desliza la esperanza
con sutileza acuática.
¿dónde están los héroes del agua?
¿dónde las mujeres pez que cantan en la aurora?
¿dónde las ilusiones del nuevo amanecer?
Todo se inunda.
Escurre la
lluvia
en los cristales,
de los acantilados
brota el agua densa.
Canta, mujer pez, canta.
9.
by Xánath Caraza, translated by Sandra Kingery
It
is the people’s pain
sneaking into
the
blood of the land.
Crimson
cliffs
contain
the anguish
and
rhythmic palpitations.
People murmur in the
golden
corners of the city,
hope
slips away
with
aquatic subtlety.
where
are the heroes of the water?
where
the fish women and their song of first
light?
where
the illusions of the new dawn?
Everything becomes flooded.
Rain drips
down
window panes,
dense
water sprouts
from
cliffs.
Sing, fish woman, sing.
Xánath Caraza is
the author of fifteen collections of poetry, and two short story collections.
Caraza has been translated into English, Italian, Romanian, and Greek; and
partially translated into Nahuatl, Portuguese, Hindi, and Turkish. For the 2018 International Latino Book Awards, she
received First Place for Lágrima roja
and Sin preámbulos/Without Preamble for
“Best Book of Poetry in Spanish” and “Best Book Bilingual Poetry”. Syllables
of Wind received the 2015 International Book Award for Poetry. She writes for La Bloga,
Seattle Escribe, SLC, and Monolito.
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