By Miguel Bacho, translated by Lynn Levin
A Pablo Bacho
Cuál es la tierra, cuál el olvido
y qué mapa nos reparte la mirada:
acaso las estrías lloran, piden que lleguemos a nacer
sin ser fuego ni piedra.
Todos los pájaros nos llenan el alma,
prófuga y abandonada.
Dime, hermano,
cuál es la montaña que revela nuestra tumba,
qué aposento florece para las voces,
para los ecos que serán nosotros sin reconocernos.
Todas las montañas nos caen del cielo,
si acaso el cielo nos aguarda en los llanos del
misterio.
Y dime, si no es mucha la molestia,
qué páramo se tragará nuestros pasos,
dónde seremos miles y germinaremos
dónde el árbol abrirá nuestro pecho
soñando con los siglos de nuestros hijos.
Vasto e incierto es el próximo segundo,
ancho como la congoja
implacable
fecundo:
Una gota que refleja la historia que no se
ha escrito.
Up-Rooted
Translated by Lynn Levin
What is the land, what is oblivion
and what map bestows its gaze upon us:
perhaps the stretch marks weep, ask us to what we might give birth
without fire or stone.
So many birds clutter the soul
flighty and abandoned.
Tell me, brother,
which mountain reveals our grave,
what place of shelter flourishes through our speech,
through the echoes that will be us without our recognizing each other.
All the mountains tumble upon us from heaven,
perhaps heaven awaits us in the plain
of mystery.
And tell me, if it isn’t too much of a bother,
what expanse will swallow our footsteps,
where we will be as thousands and sprout
where the tree will branch out in our shared heart
dreaming of the centuries of our children.
Vast and uncertain is the next step
expansive as anguish
relentless
fertile:
A teardrop that reflects the history that has not yet
written itself.
Note: This poem is part of the book “Papeles Sueltos”, published in
Argentina by Universidad Nacional de Lanús Press, EDUNLA Cooperativa in 2013. The translation was published in Solstice Magazine: a voice of diverse voices, and can be found here: https://solsticelitmag.org/content/up-rooted/
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