War on Silence (I)

When they came for the Irish, Blacks and Jews I
remained silent. You see, I was yet to be born.
And when it happened again I was too young

and - waiting to go into college. Later when they
jailed anti-war protestors, waiting to become a doctor I
still could not speak out. And when the Twin Towers

fell and they pulled Muslim, Sikh and Turkish students
from my classroom, without tenure and vulnerable I
remained silent. And when they came for my colleagues

tenured but waiting to become dean or provost, I
would not speak out. And when they again started to shut
down universities, steal elections, assassinate, detain

torture and make wars without cause it was too late. I
could not speak. I did not know how. I had lost my
tongue. So when they finally came for me, I

could not scream, there was no one left to hear me. “You
see” they said as they pulled out my eyes, “You! So mute
and silent, how can you be trusted to keep your eyes closed?


Mukoma Ngugi

Te busco en la fuerza del futuro

Sola yo, amor,
y vos quién sabe dónde;
tu recuerdo me mece como al maíz el viento
y te traigo en el tiempo,
recorro los caminos,
me río a carcajadas
y somos los dos juntos
otra vez,
junto al agua.
Y somos los dos juntos
otra vez,
bajo el cielo estrellado
en el monte,
de noche.
Yo, amor, he aprendido a coser con tu nombre,
voy juntando mis días, mis minutos, mis horas
con tu hilo de letras.
Me he vuelto alfarera
y he creado vasijas para guardar momentos.
Me he soltado en tormenta
y trueno y lloro de rabia por no tenerte cerca,
en viento me he cambiado,
en brisa, en agua fresca
y azoto, mojo, salto
buscándote en el tiempo
de un futuro que tiene
la fuerza de tu fuerza.

Gioconda Belli

Como pesa el amor

Noche cerrada
ciega en el tiempo
verde como la luna
apenas clara entre las luciérnagas.

Sigo la huella de mis pasos,
el doloroso retorno a la sonrisa,
me invento en la cumbre adivinada
entre árboles retorcidos.

Sé que algún día
se alzarán de nuevo
las yemas recién nacidas
de mi rojo corazón,
entonces, quizás,
oirás mi voz enceguecedora
como el canto de las sirenas;
te darás cuenta
de la soledad;
juntarás mi arcilla,
el lodo que te ofrecí,
entonces tal vez sabrás
como pesa el amor
endurecido.

Gioconda Belli

Those Three Days

You say there's always gonna be this thing
Between us days are filled with dreams
Scorpions crawl across my screen
Make their home beneath my skin
Underneath my dress stick their tongues
Bite through the flesh down to the bone
And I have been so fuckin' alone
Since those three days

Did you only want me for those three days?
Did you only need me for those three days?
Did you love me forever
just for those three days?

You built a nest inside my soul
You rest your head on leaves of gold
You managed to crawl inside my brain
You found a hole and in you came
You sleep like a baby breathing
Comfortably between truth and pain
But the truth is nothing's been the same
Since those three days

Did you only want me for those three days?
Did you only need me for those three days?
Did you love me forever
just for those three days?

You say there's always gonna be this thing
Between us days are filled with dreams
Scorpions crawl across my screen
Make their home beneath my skin
Underneath my dress stick their tongues
Bite through the flesh down to the bone
And I have been so fuckin' alone
You built a nest inside my soul
You rest your head on leaves of gold
You managed to crawl inside my brain
You found a hole and in you came
You sleep like a baby breathing
Comfortably between truth and pain
But the truth is nothing's been the same
Since those three days

Did you only want me for those three days?
Did you only need me for those three days?
Did you love me forever
just for those three days, baby?

Did you only want me for those three days?
Did you only need me for those three days?
Did you love me forever
just for those three days?

For those three days

Lucinda Williams (cantautora)

In Spite of All the Damage

If I wanted to say to you
That I wanted to see your face again
That I want to hear you laughing
In spite of all the damage I've done

If I wanted to hear you talkin'
Or to hear your sense of things
Or to call you up on a Sunday morning
In spite of all the damage I've done

Well I broke our home and left you nowhere to run
Yes I broke our home and left you nowhere to run

But I never knock my days away
I think you understand that I could not stay
But I like to hear you laughing
In spite of all the damage I've done
In spite of all the damage I've done

Well I broke our home and left you nowhere to run
Yes I broke our home and left you nowhere to run

The Be Good Tanyas (from Chinatown)

Para vivir no quiero...

Para vivir no quiero...
Para vivir no quiero
islas, palacios, torres.
¡Qué alegría más alta:
vivir en los pronombres!

Quítate ya los trajes,
las señas, los retratos;
yo no te quiero así,
disfrazada de otra,
hija siempre de algo.
Te quiero pura, libre,
irreductible: tú.
Sé que cuando te llame
entre todas las gentes
del mundo,
sólo tú serás tú.
Y cuando me preguntes
quién es el que te llama,
el que te quiere suya,
enterraré los nombres,
los rótulos, la historia.
Iré rompiendo todo
lo que encima me echaron
desde antes de nacer.
Y vuelto ya al anónimo
eterno del desnudo,
de la piedra, del mundo,
te diré:
«Yo te quiero, soy yo».


Pedro Salinas

L’Esca del Retorn

De tota espera, amor, visc en exili,
reptant el desdesig. Tindrà retorn
aquest tirany que enfila, lent, els dies,
i el vol de corbs, tibant, que estreny el coll
de l’alegria? Veus? La primavera
d’hivern s’ha fet mestressa de l’agenda.

Cerco en les fulles mortes de l’agenda
les vedrunes que m’han dut a l’exili.
Els teus ulls han vençut la primavera:
fins que li donis porta de return
duc el pes mort del meu desig a coll
i el colgo on moren, sense tu, els meus dies.

Deso el mirall on fan l’ullet els dies
que em disfressaven de festa l’agenda.
Vaig caminant amb la set fins al coll
cap on l’aigua emmiralla el meu exili.
Tot és no res: l’anada i el retorn
i se’m fa un nus al cor la primavera.

Nego les deus que adollen primavera
i els daus que glaça el trasmudar dels dies.
Refaig, tenaç, el cercle del retorn
al punt del meu amor, que no té agenda
ni rellotge i que s’arma –a cor d’exili-
sense oferir a cap destral el coll.

“Travessaré la carena pel coll
del teu desig cofat de primavera”,
afirmo a contrallum del meu exili
quan només tinc sorra al davant, i dies...,
quan giro cada plana de l’agenda
esborrant bé la tinta del retorn.

No pot callar, no, l’esca del retorn:
duc el senyal del seu ullal al coll.
He tancat bé les portes i l’agenda,
però ho clivella tot la primavera.
Amor, les hores estalonen els dies
i triomfen exsangües de l’exili.

Amb sang d’exili signo el meu retorn,
quan, dejuna de dies, em ve al coll
la primavera, perforant l’agenda.

Maria Merce Marçal (de Terra de Mai)