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Poetry

I’m not going to talk

By Paula Simonetti
Translated from Spanish by Catherine Jagoe

I’ll talk about something else
never that
I’m not going to tell you
enough!
I’m going to draw this subtle
paradise of paper
that doesn’t mention lice or dreams
a look back at a brief childhood
I’m going to talk about hammocks
and rosaries
I assume you don’t pray
and you never slept in a hammock
yesterday
tomorrow
never
I won’t keep a tally
bruises that go away go inwards
to explode again in the faces of children
your children and ad eternum
I’ll forget later when I’m talking
to no one
about Picasso
all that
hurts
not your hand hard as
a madman is rigid
you turned away and
he came back another person
one punch made your boy a man
you can’t tell me they’re children
Goyeneche sings about a man who’s a thousand
years old
I’ll talk about something else
although I come back
to this alphabet to say without complaining
I celebrate what’s bitter in these pages
this alphabet
speaks only of you and my childhood
and helps to get to know death
nothing more
he doesn’t say stop, enough
he’s not the sort to say stop
I’m not going to talk about the fist and the mark
of that shape in which your hand crushes the look
on your son’s face like a fly in summer
I’m going to speak of the way your hand
rises inside the poem
and undoes it

“No voy a hablar” © Paula Simonetti. By arrangement with the author. Translation © 2014 by Catherine Jagoe. All rights reserved.

English Spanish (Original)

I’ll talk about something else
never that
I’m not going to tell you
enough!
I’m going to draw this subtle
paradise of paper
that doesn’t mention lice or dreams
a look back at a brief childhood
I’m going to talk about hammocks
and rosaries
I assume you don’t pray
and you never slept in a hammock
yesterday
tomorrow
never
I won’t keep a tally
bruises that go away go inwards
to explode again in the faces of children
your children and ad eternum
I’ll forget later when I’m talking
to no one
about Picasso
all that
hurts
not your hand hard as
a madman is rigid
you turned away and
he came back another person
one punch made your boy a man
you can’t tell me they’re children
Goyeneche sings about a man who’s a thousand
years old
I’ll talk about something else
although I come back
to this alphabet to say without complaining
I celebrate what’s bitter in these pages
this alphabet
speaks only of you and my childhood
and helps to get to know death
nothing more
he doesn’t say stop, enough
he’s not the sort to say stop
I’m not going to talk about the fist and the mark
of that shape in which your hand crushes the look
on your son’s face like a fly in summer
I’m going to speak of the way your hand
rises inside the poem
and undoes it

“No voy a hablar” © Paula Simonetti. By arrangement with the author. Translation © 2014 by Catherine Jagoe. All rights reserved.

No voy a hablar

voy a hablar de otra cosa
nunca es eso
no te voy a decir
basta
voy a dibujarte este sutil
paraíso de papel
sin contarte los piojos ni los sueños
la mirada que se abre hacia una infancia breve
de las hamacas voy a hablar
de los rosarios
será que no rezás
que no te hamacaste
ayer
mañana
nunca
no voy a retomar la cuenta
moretones que se van pero hacia adentro
para volver a estallar en el gesto de los hijos
de tus hijos y ad eternum
me olvidaré después cuando esté hablando
a nadie
de Picasso
eso
duele
no tu mano firme como
la rigidez de un loco
le diste vuelta la cara y volvió otro
de un golpe tu hijo se hizo hombre
no me vas a decir que ellos son niños
hombre de mil años canta Goyeneche
voy a hablar de otra cosa
aunque me vuelvo
a este abecedario para decir sin lamentarme
que celebro la amargura de estas páginas
este abecedario
que solo habla de vos y de mi infancia
y sirve para conocer la muerte
nada más
no dice basta
no se hizo para decir basta
no voy a hablar del golpe y de la marca
de la forma en que tu mano aplasta el gesto
de tu hijo como si fuera mosca de verano
voy a hablar de la forma en que tu mano
se levanta desde adentro del poema
y lo deshace

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