Parte II: Solar
en el solar de arena y excrementos con sus botas ceñidas sobre el pantalón de lana el hombre alimenta a las crías.
lo espiamos agachados entre las zarzas. los animales inmensos se acercan a la piedra magenta y lamen en la parte hundida. todos se mueven despacio como si tuvieran piedras en el estómago. la leche sale por los chupadores metálicos. los animales lamen mientras la leche va por el conducto a un lugar desconocido. las crías comen de la mano del hombre hasta que agotan los granos dorados. él se pasa esa misma mano por la frente como si estuviera cansado o de pronto hubiese recordado algo. respiramos sin notar en los pies el aguijón de las espigas.
Part II: A Lot
on the lot full of sand and excrement with his boots tucked into wool trousers the man is feeding the brood.
we spot him squatting in the bushes. huge animals draw near the magenta stone and lick at its hollows. they move as slowly as if they had stones in their stomachs. milk drips from metallic feeders. animals licking as the milk runs through the pipe to who knows where. the chicks pecking at the man’s hand until all the golden kernels are gone. he puts that same hand to his forehead as though he were tired or suddenly he remembered something. we go on breathing and don’t notice the nettles stinging our feet.
la partera llega a primera hora. la luz metálica de noviembre entra a través de los visillos. amoratadas las manos los labios a punto de cortarse. corremos sin dirección por el solar acercándonos al lodo y a los abrevaderos. en la charca los zapateros ya no proyectan su sombra de hombres diminutos. ha venido la lluvia con su orden.
damos palmadas bajo el techo de cañizo juntando mucho las manos como si fuéramos a perderlas o a salir volando.
the midwife arrives early. November’s metallic light comes in through the curtains. our hands gone purple our lips ready to drop off. we run aimlessly through the lot and verge into the mud and water holes. on the pond the horseflies no longer cast their little-man shadows. the rain shows up with its order.
we pat the underside of the reed roof all our hands joined as though we were going to lose them or as though we might take off flying.
Pilar Fraile Amador (Salamanca 1975) has a PhD in Philosophy from University of Oviedo and a Masters from University of Salamanca. A Professor of philosophy at Enseñanza Secundaria, she also works as an editor. In 2005, she was awarded the Poetry Prize from the University of Zaragoza. Her publications include El límite de la ceniza (Prensas universitarias de Zaragoza), Larva (Editorial Amphibia) y La pecera subterránea (Ediciones Amargord). Her work has also been collected in the homage for José Ángel Valente, Pájaros raíces (Abada Editores), and in the anthology La república de la imaginación (Legados Ediciones). For three years, she directed events for the Association Indómita (http://redindomita.blogspot.com) and she co-directed a poetry program on radio in Madrid
Forrest Gander’s most recent books of translation include Panic Cure: Poems from Spain for the 21st Century (where this poem by Pilar Fraile Amador appears) and Watchword by Pura Lopez Colome.
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