Poems

by Coral Bracho

From the exhalation of these fish of marble,
from the silky smoothness
of their edges/borders,
of their eyes adorned
with glass-like sand,
the calm of the temples and the gardens

(in their shadows of acanthus, in the stones
that they touch and soften)

they have opened their beds,
they have established their channels
beneath the warm leaves of the almond trees.

They speak from the touch
of their sparkling/glints/gleams,
from the peaceful/calm/quiet games/play that slide/slides at the border,
at the slow edge of the sunsets.
From their lips of ice.

Eyes of fine/delicate stones.

From the spray that they cast, from the aroma that they give off

(In the atriums: the candles, the amaranthuses.)

upon the extremely light altar of the sowing/sowing time.

(From the temple:
the scent of the ears [i.e. of corn],
the scales [i.e. of fish],
the deer/stags. They speak from their gleams/glints.)

At night,
the fragile marble of their silence,
the esteemed/valuable tattoo/tattooing [markings?], the clean outlines

(they have drowned the light
on the bank/at the shore; in the sand)

upon the smooth/polished/shiny image,
upon the immobile offering
of the meadows.

The literal translation of this poem was made by Tom Boll

The final translated version of the poem is by Katherine Pierpoint

Comments

No comments have been made on this poem yet! Why don’t you start us off?

• Name (required)
• Mail (required,
  but will not be published)
• Your comment
• Right to left text?
• 
  Please enter the text above or click here for a new text