Trending »
Related »

Parte II: Solar, Part Two: A Lot – Pilar Fraile Amador & Forrest Gander

on August 25 | in Poetry | by | with No Comments

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.

 

photo, PilarBN 8x5_1470 copyPilar 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

headshot, Forrest_Gander_01Forrest 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.

 

 

 

 

 

Pin It

Related Posts

« »

Recent Posts

News

Safia Elhilo

2 Poems

Michele Robinson\'s Art [...]

Let Me Straddle Your Mind

X.J. Kennedy

The Crusader

Why did you leave bring m [...]

Yeah bring our electric shaver back, I bought it we shaved each others back it was important to me and

Kwame Dawes

Kwame Dawes

BEFORE YOU – Kwame  [...]

1 Yes, we were country, lived in shotgun shacks, where the road loses its way to dirt and live oaks

MENSTRUAL FLOWERS – [...]

[new_royalslider id="11"] Courtesy of the artist and Mizuma Art Gallery  

WHAT THE WOMB ISN’T [...]

         "Feminism is a socialist, anti-family, political movement that encourages women to leav

JUNOT DIAZ

Junot' Diaz and Edison, NJ

EDISON, NEW JERSEY – [...]

The first time we try to deliver the Gold Crown the lights are on in the house but no on

Rachel Eliza Griffiths [...]

Elegy & Poem

The March on Washington:  [...]

OTHER WORLD: A Conversati [...]

"We are all the other."

I OPEN A BOX

…and find inside a picture, of myself as a child, sitting on a small chair, wearing overalls and sho

Naive Paintings

Raphael Perez

CIRCLES OF THE MOON & [...]

To Alex, on turning two Some say the Ring of Brogar is the Circle of the Moon. There is n

In This Issue

March on Washington An Interview with Cheryl Evans

5 POINTZ: GRAFFITI MECCA  [...]

In a strange twist of what seemed like reverse vandalism, the Graffiti Mecca was painted over.

In This Issue

Forest Gander A Translation

In This Issue

Quassan Castro, poem Grandson to Grandmother

URBAN CANVAS: Wynwood Wal [...]

Wynwood Walls, of Miami has been called "a Museum of the Streets."

Pulaski Skyway

Low like the mean dream of Newark the sky must have seemed to its builders. Rickety now, unhinging, I

THE SPAN & OTHER POE [...]

At last, the extremes of his present methods seemed to offer the happiest avenues. The strengthening

Paul Latorre

5th Limb Poems

Joan Larkin

Poem, Knot

Gina Loring, Def Poetry [...]

Poem, Look This Way

In This Issue

Xue Du, Poem

AT THE END OF THE DREAM I [...]

A woman      in a black kimono      dyed black hair disappeared      behind a black curtain I

Marge Piercy

Poem: Behind the War On Women

Naive Paintings

Raphael Perez

Marie Miazziotti -Gillam [...]

Maria Mizzotti-Gillan

Vicky Dantel

Short Story

In This Issue

Pilar Fraile Amador poem

Quassan Castro

Poem

Lugensky Durosier [...]

Lady Haiti

In This Issue

David Trinidad

In This Issue

Landzy Theodore

In This Issue

Angelo Nikolopoulos

Scroll to top