Three poems by Idea Vilariño translated by Jesse Lee Kercheval
Tango
by Idea VilariñoYo vengo por la calle
compro pan
entro en casa
hay niebla y vengo triste
tu amor es un ausencia
tu amor digo mi amor
amor que quedó en nada.
Subo las escaleras
repasando esa historia
y me quedo en lo oscuro
tras de la puerta
amarga
pensando no pensando
en tu amor
en la vida
en la soledad que es
única certidumbre.
Tango
by Idea VilariñoI come down the street
buy bread
enter the house
there is fog and I arrive home sad
your love is an absence
your love, I say, my love
love that came to nothing.
I climb the stairs
reviewing this history
and I stop in the dark
behind the bitter
door
thinking not thinking
on your love
on life
in the solitude that is
the only certainty.
translated from Spanish by Jesse Lee Kercheval
Después
by Idea VilariñoEs otra
acaso es otra
la que va recobrando
su pelo su vestido su manera
la que ahora retoma
su vertical su peso
y después de sesiones lujuriosas y tiernas
se sale por la puerta entera y pura
y no busca saber
no necesita
y no quiere saber
nada de nadie.
Later
by Idea VilariñoThere is another
perhaps there is another
the one going to recover
her hair her clothes her manners
the one that now measures again
her height her weight
and after sessions luxurious and tender
she goes out the door whole and pure
and does not seek to know
does not need or want to know
anything about anyone.
translated from Spanish by Jesse Lee KerchevalMe pregunto
by Idea VilariñoNo pensarás a veces
no volverás los ojos
a aquel estante al libro
que volví a su lugar
a aquella mesa de café en Malvín
ya tarde
al aire libre
conmigo y los muchachos
o tal vez al café pajarería
de donde huíy dejé que me alcanzaras.
No te acordás
supongo
de mi puerta entreabriéndose
a las dos de la tarde
y tú con un sombrero
que por fin regresabas.
No te acordás
seguro
no sabés que una noche
te esperé y fue una noche
de amor
y no viniste
y fui feliz vagando por la casa
escuchando la escalera
esperándote.
Hubo también las noches
—torpe de mí
te odiaba—
en que llamabas
—dígame
cómo ordeno esta serie
es mejor esto o esto—
y esa otra en el suelo
con luna y mis retratos
tirados por ahí que todavía
tienen manchas de vino.
O la noche terrible en que tú estabas
llorando en el teléfono
nunca lloré decías
y yo mi amor mi amor
—te había echado
había muerto
y yo mi amor
mi amor
y yo estaba con otro.
I Wonder
by Idea VilariñoWill you not think sometimes
will you not return your eyes
to that shelf to the book
that I returned to its place
to that table in the bar in Malvin
already late
outdoors
with me and the boys
or perhaps at the café like a bird cage
from which I fled and left you to catch up with me.
You don’t remember
I suppose
my door half-open
at two in the afternoon
and you with a hat
finally returning.
You don’t remember
I am sure
don’t know that one night
I waited for you and it was a night
of love
and you did not come
and I was happy wandering in the house
listening at the stairs
waiting for you.
There were also nights—
clumsy with my
hating you—
when you called
—Tell me
how to order this sequence
is it better like this or like this—
and this other one on the floor
with the moon and my portraits
thrown around that still
have wine stains.
Or the terrible night when you were
crying on the telephone
I never cried you were saying
and me my love my love—
I had thrown you out
I was dead
and me my love
my love
I was with another.
translated from Spanish by Jesse Lee Kercheval