There’s a place in the world where I live
small and unique,
a place of my own,
a piece of land, redolent of wood,
with people like me,
in a captive heart,
diminutive, bleeding and sad.
A piece of earth, few men,
and a steel scimitar like a river.
I am in it, I’m part of that
miniscule part of the world. I have friends
who share time and bleed it dry,
slowly, unhurried, since long ago.
Life is very simple
all that’s needed
is faithful compliance with the rites:
killing the truth every morning
and leaving it die every Sunday.
He who knows the key, can live
in this place sweetly and tranquilly.
Words maintain the fluidity
of their form, round and without cracks,
but all that they enclose as language
on every lip gives a distinct flavor.
The grammar is tense, different
from any other. Only the sound
of the words has a semblance
to a language which I might call mine.
There are clear, transparent synonyms:
to be free is to vegetate indifferently,
to steal is to work, love is hatred,
and to live is to die all dismantled.
Loneliness is called company
and to betray is to be faithful to one's friends.
Novelty, old age. Everything new
has an obscure patina of antique.
There is a place in the world where l live
small and unique.
A place of my own,
José Luis Appleyard (1927 - 1998) Paraguay
Translated by Ronald Haladyna
Source: Exotic Territory: A Bilingual Anthology of Contemporary Paraguayan Poetry, by Ronald Haladyna, Trafford Publishing, 2011
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please keep your comments relevant and free from abusive language. Thank you. Note that comments are moderated so it may be a day or two before your comment is posted - irrelevant or abusive comments will not be published.