English translation: Nicolás
Suescún
Amparo Osorio is a major Spanish-language
poet who has also written fiction and essays. She is editor of the literary
review Común Presencia;
co-founder of the Literary Foundation Común Presencia, an institution for
cultural research, data collection and dissemination; co-founder of the weekly
webzine Los Conjurados,
which has 100.000 subscribers; and co-founder of the Colombian division of
World Poetry Day. She is also co-director of the international literary imprint
Los Conjurados. Her poems have been translated into several languages and she
has visited many countries as an ambassador of the review Común Presencia.
PROPHETIC SEASON
Distant
twilights
various destinies
unreal presents
Waste!
My eyes can change nothing.
Not words said or unsaid
nor the face of death
inventoried in the folds of shadows
Forgetting. Forgetting a hundred times
and damp chrysalises
– guardians of the tombs –
advancing in spite of my sobs.
Clocks are on time
with their share of terror.
various destinies
unreal presents
Waste!
My eyes can change nothing.
Not words said or unsaid
nor the face of death
inventoried in the folds of shadows
Forgetting. Forgetting a hundred times
and damp chrysalises
– guardians of the tombs –
advancing in spite of my sobs.
Clocks are on time
with their share of terror.
FOOTSTEPS ALSO DIE
The wind
sculpts faces
and you who watch the grass
ignore now the traces
of all eternity
Aside from you
there are no possible roots.
How to name you
without death growing?
and you who watch the grass
ignore now the traces
of all eternity
Aside from you
there are no possible roots.
How to name you
without death growing?
UNINHABITED BLUE
One
intends a prayer
one implores heaven
one pretends
to return to the origin
Useless thirst!
Perhaps we talk
the stars and I
about the same shadow
one implores heaven
one pretends
to return to the origin
Useless thirst!
Perhaps we talk
the stars and I
about the same shadow
SCATTERING OF ASH
Dust
turning to dust
with open hands.
There is no room in the sky
for the solitude of eyelids.
Mute and empty
earth lies in you.
Land of rubble
implacable outrage
and the high blue canopy
far away.
with open hands.
There is no room in the sky
for the solitude of eyelids.
Mute and empty
earth lies in you.
Land of rubble
implacable outrage
and the high blue canopy
far away.
GENESIS
When a
splitting
puts together
the names of the ivy
and the shadow
thus broken in two
half ash
half miracle . . .
where are You the impossible?
puts together
the names of the ivy
and the shadow
thus broken in two
half ash
half miracle . . .
where are You the impossible?
OUTDOORS
Rain:
anoint my skin
wash my eyes.
Night opens
for you.
My roaming.
My endless wandering off
haunts me.
What voices
of what skies
do you bring to me?
What god
cries
that I don’t hear?
anoint my skin
wash my eyes.
Night opens
for you.
My roaming.
My endless wandering off
haunts me.
What voices
of what skies
do you bring to me?
What god
cries
that I don’t hear?
INTIMATE STROKE
in the place of never
someone naked will inhabit the star,
will lay down their shadow every night.
Every night watchful
they will search out death
while far-away gods
trace lines once more untranslatable.
Like this intimate exile,
here or there
we’re afraid we shall press the grass,
and sadness
will travel through the blood
like a lost homeland.
someone naked will inhabit the star,
will lay down their shadow every night.
Every night watchful
they will search out death
while far-away gods
trace lines once more untranslatable.
Like this intimate exile,
here or there
we’re afraid we shall press the grass,
and sadness
will travel through the blood
like a lost homeland.
