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Poetry Information |
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Memoirs of a Wastelands Rim [a Poem: now in Spanish and English]
Memoirs of a Wasteland's Rim It still was light when she paused at the wasteland's rim- Over, the rim rest like a sleeping brute, a wooden frame Adjacent to the blue where early stars hung like oil lamps Hanging from old beams and shade?the wooden frame Her footing caught the beams, as she had fallen onto it Alone, she watched the forenoon, climbing around her A drifter woman, marked by life, and slanting dreams With appearance of hurt and molded muscle on her face Her figure etched against the wooden frame, She tried to jump, and lost her balance, hanging like a bird Now sipping the gloom in the ledge and shattered hopes She yielded before the sluggish advance of sunset Blood dripped, with her dying darkness And a crimson moon hurled a flame across The shadowy clouds, burning throughout the sky The tormented sky above her? Crossing the valley's floor her eye gripped it Rocky images, highest points Thrusting herself up boldly from to the ledge The painted morning blushed over the rim Her brows and nose, face against the granite stone Massive injuries was taking form, Her silhouette floating so indolently across the sun It was too great a task-to die alone?she wished now She had not jumped?a thousand feet below, yet to go. Too much for any woman in a lost world Out of the weak wood her mind had peace; She knew soon it would all be over-alas Mute and protesting against life's uselessness A narrow path lay below her slender body Between death and attainment, a careless foot The rocks beneath her weakening, she plunged Plunged to her death, in the carving hands of the valley Thinking of it, as she fell, thinking with a smiled, Saying, looking up-dead before her echoes: 'Time is short?time is short?time is short!' When they found her, her face was unafraid of falling. #808 8/20/05 In Spanish Translated by Nancy Penaloza Las memorias del Borde de una Tierra desértica Todavía estaba iluminado cuando ella pausó en el borde de la tierra desértica- Sobre, el borde descansaba como un bruto durmiente, un marco de madera Adyacente hacia el azul donde estrellas mañaneras colgadas como lámparas de aceite, colgando desde viejos rayos y dando sombra? al marco de madera? Su equilibrio cogiendo los rayos, mientras ella había caído sobre esto Sola, ella miró la mañana, subiendo hacia ella Una mujer trainera, marcada por la vida, y sueños inclinados Con el aspecto de dolor y el músculo moldeado sobre su cara Su figura inclinada contra el marco de madera, Ella trató de brincar, y perdió el equilibrio, colgando como un pájaro Ahora bebiendo a sorbos la penumbra en la repisa y esperanzas trastornadas Ella cedió antes del avance inactivo de la puesta del sol La Sangre goteó, con su oscuridad mortal Y una luna carmesí lanzó una llama a través De las nubes vagas, ardiendo en todas partes del cielo El cielo atormentado encima de ella? Cruzando el piso del valle su ojo agarró esto Imágenes rocosas, lo más altos puntos. Desde donde se empujó ella con audacia hacia la repisa, La mañana pintada ruborizada sobre el borde Sus frentes y nariz, de cara contra la piedra de granito, Heridas masivas tomaban la forma, Su silueta flotando tan indolente a través del sol Esto fue demasiado una gran tarea - para morir sola?que ella deseó ahora Ella no había brincado?miles de pies abajo, aún ir. Demasiado para cualquier mujer en un mundo perdido Fuera de la madera débil su mente tenía paz; Ella sabía que pronto todo esto estaría sobre ¡ay! Muda y protestando contra la inutilidad de la vida Un camino estrecho descansa debajo de su cuerpo delgado Entre la muerte y el logro, un pie descuidado Las rocas debajo de su debilitamiento, ella se sumergió Sumergida a su muerte, en las manos de talladura del valle Pensando en ello, mientras ella se cayó, pensando con una sonrisa, Diciendo, alzando la vista-muerta ante sus ecos: "¡El tiempo es corto, el tiempo es corto?. El tiempo es corto!" Cuando ellos la encontraron, su cara estaba sin miedo a la caída. *808 8/20/05
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