4 Poems by Miguel Avero Translated by Jona Colson

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Pasillos

 

Iré por los pasillos

haciendo caso omiso

de los charcos transparentes, 

de las eléctricas guiñadas,

de los derruidos calefactores.

 

Cada puerta esconde un mundo

pero no puedo elegir,

apenas un puntapié en alguna de ellas, 

antes de regresar corriendo

y tropezar, 

chocar, insultar

 

al dios que sale

de los ascensores 

con la bolsa de pan 

y la botella de vino.

 

Mi habitación no tiene 

descripción ni número, 

solo un flujo que se escapa 

por debajo de la puerta.

 

 

 

Hallways

 

I will go through the corridors

not paying attention 

to the transparent puddles,

the electric winks,

the destroyed heaters.

 

Each door hides a world,

but I cannot choose,

I just kick some of them,

before running back

and stumbling,

crashing, insulting 

 

the god that comes out

of the elevators

with the bag of bread

and the bottle of wine.

 

My room does not have

a description or a number,

only a current that escapes

below the door.

 

 

 

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Ventanal

 

La soledad de este sitio, 

el abuso de silencios…

 

He visto algunos habitantes 

errando por los pasillos,

he llegado a la conclusión 

de que les temo.

 

Siempre tranco la puerta de mi pieza, 

las madrugadas se hacen largas

entre arañas que deambulan

por el cielo raso.

 

Una noche por el ala norte, 

un ventanal abría

dos inmensos párpados rojos,

 

ascendí por la rampa oscura,

 

vi mi propia sombra

tirada como estiércol en la calle, 

un gajo de luna delator,

 

suspiré, 

hablé,

 

todo giraba en torno a mi persona.

 

 

 

Picture Window

 

The loneliness of this site,

the abuse of silences …

 

I have seen some people

wandering through the corridors,

I have come to the conclusion

that I fear them.

 

I always lock the door of my room,

dawns get longer

among the spiders that roam

above the ceiling.

 

One night in the north wing,

a window opened

two huge red eyelids,

 

I climbed up the dark ramp,

 

I saw my own shadow

thrown like dung in the street,

a slice of the telltale moon,

 

I sighed,

I talked,

 

everything revolved around me.

 

 

 

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Los Que Habitan Este Piso

 

Tienen el privilegio de beber 

con Chinasky las cervezas 

azules de Teillier.

 

Marcos vacíos

de sus habitaciones, 

floreros destrozados 

en las mesitas de luz;

 

nieblas de nicotina, 

poesía,

y los gusanos

adentro de las botellas.

 

Los que habitan este piso 

deben dormir

tras recitar

nevados poemas de Celan

 

en alemán.

 

 

 

Those Who Inhabit This Floor

 

They have the privilege of drinking

Teillier’s blue beers

with Chinasky.

 

Empty frames

of their rooms,

shattered vases

on the bedside tables;

 

nicotine mists,

poetry,

and the worms

inside the bottles.

 

Those who inhabit this floor

must sleep

after reciting

snowy poems by Celan

 

in German.

 

 

 

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Zurita y Dante

“…pero pasó que estaba en un baño cuando vi algo como un ángel…” Raúl Zurita, Purgatorio

 

Asciende hacia la luz Zurita andante 

pule los escalones Zurita andante

hiede a hipoclorito Zurita andante 

pantalón con lamparones Zurita andante.

 

Divisa el color rojo Zurita andante 

lucha con la manchas Zurita andante

y el aliento de los caños Zurita andante.

 

Escribe un poema Zurita andante 

canta a los azulejos Zurita andante.

 

En el baño de mujeres Zurita andante 

engrameando la tiesta Zurita andante 

descubre las virtudes Zurita andante

 

ya no tendrá sueños Zurita andante.

 

 

 

Zurita and Dante

“… but it happened that I was in a bathroom when I saw something like an angel …” Raúl Zurita, Purgatory

 

Ascending toward the light Zurita walks

polishing the steps Zurita walks

stinking of Clorox Zurita walks

with stained pants Zurita walks.

 

Seeing red Zurita walks

fighting with stains Zurita walks

and smelling like drains Zurita walks.

 

Writing a poem Zurita walks

singing to the tiles Zurita walks.

 

In the women’s bathroom Zurita walks

shaking his head Zurita walks

discovering virtue Zurita walks

 

no longer dreaming Zurita walks.

 

 

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Miguel Avero is a narrator, essayist, teacher and researcher. He directs the “Puerta Chimera” writing workshop, and he has been included in various national and international anthologies, specifically, América Invertida: An Anthology of Emerging Uruguayan Poets (University of New Mexico Press). He has published several books including two collections of poems Arca de Aserrín (Ediciones en Blanco) and La Pieza (Walkie Talkie Editions). Most recently, he has published Haiku Mate (Demiurge Editions). Avero lives in Montevideo, Uruguay.

 

Jona Colson’s poetry collection, Said Through Glass, won the 2018 Jean Feldman Poetry Prize from the Washington Writers’ Publishing House. He is also the poetry editor of This Is What America Looks Like: Poetry and Fiction from D.C., Maryland, and Virginia (2021). His poems, translations, and interviews have appeared in Ploughshares, Prairie Schooner, The Writer’s Chronicle, and elsewhere. He is an associate professor of ESL at Montgomery College and lives the Washington, DC area.

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7 October 2021