domingo, 31 de julio de 2016

YI LU [19.007]


YI LU

YI LU, nacida en el sur de China, en Fujian, en 1956. Escenógrafa de profesión, como poeta no está asociada a ningún grupo o escuela. De ella dijo la poeta norteamericana Melissa Kwasny: "Somos invitados, no a un mundo, sino a una relación con el mundo."


GRITO

 algo debe andar mal con el teléfono
 Madre de pronto no puede oírme
 pero yo todavía la oigo
 oyendo su pánico y gritándole mi nombre al teléfono
 como gritando por mí en lo silvestre cuando yo era chica
 pensando que me había perdido
 y que nunca respondería
 mis tímpanos sienten el impacto de un viento norte de muchas colinas
 por fin un click
 silencio del lado de Madre... ni un sonido
 ahora es mi turno para gritar
 Madre... Oh Madre...


CABRAS EN UNA ISLA DESIERTA

 en una isla desierta
 algunas cabras desatentidas
 comen hierba silvestre... beben agua del cielo
 duermen de noche en cuevas de piedra

 cuándo aprenderé eso
 el sol de otoño afuera se siente tan cálido
 pero hace fresco adentro... me pregunto
 si esas cabras están ahora en el sol de otoño
 el sol de otoño las nutre como plantas

 la felicidad de esas cabras... debe ser
 felicidad más allá de lo representable
 su paz... debe ser
 paz más allá de lo descriptible
 su inocencia... también debe ser
 inocencia más allá de lo expresable

 y me imagino
 como son sopladas por el viento como crisantemos arremolinados
 como corren hacia el mar y retroceden asustadas
 como miran las olas blancas que se arrojan y revuelven



TIERRA ROJA

 la arruinada montaña cuya piel está raspada
 revela la fresca tierra roja
 como una enorme herida
 empapada en sangre
 yo viví en el templo de la aldea     un santuario
 en mi infancia
 en una montaña arruinada como esta
 Madre le enseñaba a los niños de la montaña a leer
 los recuerdos son todos acerca de tormentas y murciélagos
 leyendas de fantasmas y espíritus extraños
 la roja tierra que Madre labraba al anochecer
 daba tanto miedo como el fuego del carbón
 unido a mis frágiles emociones
 la tierra roja ahora es extraída en dolor
 nunca puedo unirme a otros en alabanza de la tierra roja
 así como es difícil para mí hablar de mi tierra natal

FUENTE
Yi Lu. Sea Summit. Trad. por Fiona Sze-Lorrain. Milkweed Ed., 2015 
http://inutilesmisterios.blogspot.com.es/  [Publicado por Robert Rivas] 





Sea Summit
BY YI LU, FIONA SZE-LORRAIN


Yi Lu

Since the 1980s, Yi Lu has established herself as one of the most widely-read female poets in contemporary China. Born in 1956, she has authored four books of poetry, including the award-winning titles See (2004) and Using Two Seas (2009). Known for an elegant and distilled lyrical voice, her poems are at once meditative and vibrant. Recent national honors include the Hundred Flowers Award and the Distinguished Literary Prize from the Fujian Province. Serving as an active theatre design artist at the People’s Art Theatre in Fujian, Yi Lu is also ranked as China’s preeminent national scenographer and stage designer.


Poems by Yi Lu

Translated from the Chinese by Fiona Sze-Lorrain



Volcanic Stone

Black gray
densely pierced with holes…..very light
at first the stone also feels like having a body
when flames are hauled away

I pick one up
put it on the desk
seeing it I’ll think of the mountain
and its suppressed interior

think of those lava pouring from icy mountain peaks
how it irons out in an expanse of white

think of the submarine volcano
even if it erupts…..it’ll still suffer the weight of the ocean
its pain in flames will last specifically longer

Touch it
even if it is a body
it still feels so hard…..like paresthesia



Pit of a Stomach

You’re inlaid in the center of the world
like a rock buried in a mountain
fissures are concealed in the rock
corroded water meanders inside
A mountain’s hard flesh
may also loosen up
The pit of a stomach
will also collapse one day



Lake, Again

Water when bounded becomes lake
people don’t care about where it comes from…..how it comes about
nor about the converging…..smooth-running…..spring in the lake bottom
how its refluxes collide…..intertwine
like superimposed vinyl records
that weave out lingering sentiments…..the past and present

The world has many lakes
some frozen…..some boiling at a volcano’s peak
some saltier than seawater
most fresh and cool, green and pleasing

Stillness is self weighing on self
many things are kept unwittingly



Broken Water

If the knife isn’t pulled up
water will break
If still not pulled up
water will keep breaking
If tucked in deeper
water will break deeper
Tucked in all the way
the knife sinks into the hard riverbed
the hand gripping it can leave now
Surface water no longer bears movement



Rain Pours Harder

Rain splashes on the roof
like on a skull

Splash…..is refusal
has a hard face

Fire seals itself into smoke
cornelian blood strands turn icy
even the ocean can’t move ashore

Why can’t the sky
have a door that shuts itself

Rain pours harder
at last into my heart

at last I join the rain
soaring as rain



Birds Have Flown Away

Birds are calling around me again…..a call
my consciousness is called away
so I stop what I’m doing

Birds call —
like clusters of burgeoning flowers
like strings of pulsating bubbles
My heart turns into a flower tree…..a lake
for a long while it can’t calm down

But birds have already flown away
when birds fly away it seems like goodbye



Look at the Sunset

How large, how red the setting sun
blocked by a building, it shows only a rim
I run to the study window
to see its left half
I run to the kitchen window
to see its right half
I run to and fro in the room
thinking the sun also longs to peek at me



That Bouquet of White Flowers

that bouquet of white flowers
why so white

that bouquet of white flowers
isn't that white

just because at that instant
white was white's bottom line

white above black




Because There is Awakening

plainly    for a few hours
the brain is empty

since when
even emptiness is gone

because there is awakening
I know that is sleep

insomnia was once
a small cache of weapons
wrestling in the edgeless dark

emptiness a fruit that life breeds painfully and finely

one after another
bridging together . . .
translated from the Chinese by Fiona Sze-Lorrain







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