{"id":1626,"date":"2013-11-05T14:24:22","date_gmt":"2013-11-05T14:24:22","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/?p=1626"},"modified":"2015-04-12T17:36:18","modified_gmt":"2015-04-12T17:36:18","slug":"madrid-1973-poem-video-guadalupe-grande","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/madrid-1973-poem-video-guadalupe-grande\/","title":{"rendered":"Madrid 1973.Poem.Video.Guadalupe Grande."},"content":{"rendered":"

http:\/\/youtu.be\/fv52Adoh_GE<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00bfY si fuera otra la ciudad,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201capenas vaho sobre el cristal\u201d,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0apenas un pu\u00f1ado de azogue sobre el vidrio?<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Pero entender es extranjero;<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

tienes que dar un paso a tu costado,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

abandonar el familiar aliento:<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

ese que teje con su alma de humo<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

el calendario absorto de los d\u00edas;<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

el que hilvana en la sombra del horizonte<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

la pupila del tiempo;<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

el que sostiene,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

con alfileres de arena entre los dedos,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

los muros de la infancia,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

las calles que ya no son, las horas<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

que ya se fueron,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

los escombrados descampados que ahora son penumbra en el mostrador<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Sin embargo, t\u00fa sigues viendo<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

el horizonte con su sombra<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

all\u00ed donde hoy hay un garaje.<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0Entre llaves y llantas,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0entre motores y carrocer\u00edas<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0entre este mono azul y el suelo gris<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0a\u00fan huyen por las piedras los lagartos,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0a\u00fan deja el caracol su rastro en la escombrera.<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0Florecen los almendros,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0los trigales se elevan:<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0regresas con un olor a cardo y cicatriz,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0vaho de miel,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0apenas\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 fragmentos de un azogue<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0ardidos en la hoguera.<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

La puerta del garaje se ha quedado abierta:<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

te asomas absorta a tu costado,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

te quedas ah\u00ed, quieta, \u201crespirando el verano\u201d,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

recordando,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

respirando, recordando<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

la can\u00edcula secreta,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

olvidando, mirando, quieta:<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

resbala una lib\u00e9lula<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

entre manos grasientas,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

cae una tuerca,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

cantan<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00bfqui\u00e9n canta?<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

llaves, llantas, ruedas<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

y unos ni\u00f1os que saltan<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

al estupor de piedra en piedra.<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Correr sin caerse entre los escombros.<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Correr deprisa, muy deprisa,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

saltar, correr, cantar,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

correr<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

antes de que todo desaparezca,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

antes de que se acabe el verano,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

antes de que ya solo quede<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

este garaje,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

este vaho, este cristal,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

este hombre rodeado de llaves,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

aceites, llantas, tuercas,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

piezas del velatorio de tu infancia.<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Qu\u00e9 tarde se ha hecho:<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

aunque hemos sorteado los escombros,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

cruzado los almendros, atravesado el trigal,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

aunque estamos sudorosos y sin aliento,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

la ciudad ha llegado antes,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

ha llegado m\u00e1s lejos,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

m\u00e1s deprisa, m\u00e1s d\u00f3nde:<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

apenas un hilo sobre el cristal,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

un pu\u00f1ado de azogue sobre el vidrio.<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Es otra la ciudad<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

y entender es extranjero.<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0***<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0Madrid, 1973<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

And if the city was otherwise,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cjust haze on crystal\u201d.<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

just a handful of quicksilver on the glass?<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

But understanding is alien;<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

you need to step beside your side,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

abandon the familiar breath:<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the one that with its soul of smoke <\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

knits the absorbed calendar days; <\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the one that threads the horizon\u00b4s shadow<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

through the pupil of time;<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the one that holds<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

with pin heads of sand between its fingers<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the walls of childhood,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the streets that are no more, the hours<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

already gone,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the dumping tips that are now twilight on the countertop.<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Yet still you continue to see<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the horizon with its shadow<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

where today a garage stands.<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Between spanners and tyres,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

between motors and bodyworks,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

between a blue boiler suit and a grey floor<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

where lizards still dart amongst the stones,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

where a snail still leaves its trail on the dump.<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Almond trees flourish,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

wheat fields rise up:<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

you return with a smell of thistle and scratches,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

honey dew,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

just fragments of quicksilver<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

burnt at the bonfire.<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The garage door has remained open:<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

absorbed you peer into your side,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

you remain there, still, \u201cbreathing the summer\u201d,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

remembering,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

breathing, remembering<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the secret midsummer heat<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Forgetting, looking, still:<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

a dragonfly glides<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

between greasy hands,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

a screw drops,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

they sing,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

who sings?<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

spanners, tyres, wheels<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

and children hop scotching<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

amazement from stone to stone.<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Run without stumbling over the rubble.<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Run fast, very fast,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

skip, run, sing,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

run<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

before everything vanishes,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

before summer is over,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

before only<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

this garage<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

this haze, this glass<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

remain,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

this man surrounded by spanners,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

oils, tyres, screws,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

pieces of your childhood\u00b4s wake.<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00a0How late it\u00b4s grown:<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

even though we\u00b4ve avoided the dump,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

crossed by the almond trees, passed through the wheat field,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

even though we are sweaty and breathless,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the city has arrived before,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

has arrived more far,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

more quick, more where:<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

just a thread on the crystal,<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

a handful of quicksilver on the glass.<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The city is otherwise<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

and understanding is alien.<\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Original Translation Amparo Arrospide & Robin Ouzman Hislop<\/strong><\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

\u00a0\"Guadalupe\"<\/a><\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Guadalupe Grande was born in Madrid in 1965. She has a Bachelor degree in Social Anthropology. Published poetry books:<\/span> El libro de Lilit<\/i><\/span>, (Renacimiento, awarded the 1995 Rafael Alberti Award, 1995), <\/span>La llave de niebla<\/i><\/span> (Calambur, 2003), <\/span>Mapas de cera<\/i><\/span> (Poes\u00eda Circulante, M\u00e1laga, 2006 and La torre degli Arabeschi, Mil\u00e1n, 2009), \u00a0<\/span>Hotel para erizos<\/i><\/span> (Calambur, 2010) and <\/span>M\u00e9tier de crhysalide<\/i><\/span> (an anthology, translated by Droth\u00e8e Suarez y Juliette Gheerbrant, Alidades, \u00c9vian-les-Bains, 2010).<\/span><\/b><\/p>\n

As a literary critic, she has published in cultural journals and magazines, such as <\/span>El Mundo, El Independiente, Cuadernos Hispanoamericanos, El Urogallo, Rese\u00f1a <\/i><\/span>and others.<\/span><\/b><\/p>\n

In 2008 she was awarded the Valle Incl\u00e1n grant for literary creation in the Academia de Espa\u00f1a in Rome.<\/b><\/span><\/p>\n

In the publishing and cultural management areas, she has worked in institutions such as the Complutense University of Madrid Summer Courses, Casa de Am\u00e9rica and Teatro Real. Currently she manages poetical activities in the Jos\u00e9 Hierro Popular University at San Sebastian de los Reyes, Madrid. <\/b><\/span><\/p>\n

The poems \u201cOcho y media\u201d (Half past eight) and \u201cMadrid, 1973\u201d belong to <\/span>La llave de niebla<\/i><\/span>, and have been translated into English by Robin Ouzman Hislop and Amparo Arr\u00f3spide.<\/span><\/b><\/p>\n

\u00a0***<\/p>\n

Guadalupe Grande naci\u00f3 en Madrid en 1965. Es licenciada en Antropolog\u00eda Social.<\/span><\/b><\/p>\n

Ha publicado los libros de poes\u00eda<\/span> El libro de Lilit<\/i><\/span>, (Renacimiento, Premio Rafael Alberti 1995), <\/span>La llave de niebla<\/i><\/span> (Calambur, 2003), <\/span>Mapas de cera<\/i><\/span> (Poes\u00eda Circulante, M\u00e1laga, 2006 y La torre degli Arabeschi, Mil\u00e1n, 2009), \u00a0<\/span>Hotel para erizos<\/i><\/span> (Calambur, 2010) y <\/span>M\u00e9tier de crhysalide<\/i><\/span> (antolog\u00eda en traducci\u00f3n de Droth\u00e8e Suarez y Juliette Gheerbrant, Alidades, \u00c9vian-les-Bains, 2010).<\/span><\/b><\/p>\n

Como cr\u00edtico literario, ha colaborado en diversos diarios y revistas culturales, como <\/span>El Mundo, El Independiente, Cuadernos Hispanoamericanos, El Urogallo, Rese\u00f1a, <\/i><\/span>etc\u00e9tera.<\/span><\/b><\/p>\n

En el a\u00f1o 2008 obtuvo la Beca Valle Incl\u00e1n para la creaci\u00f3n literaria en la Academia de Espa\u00f1a en Roma. <\/b><\/span><\/p>\n

En el \u00e1mbito de la edici\u00f3n y la gesti\u00f3n cultural ha trabajado en diversas instituciones como los Cursos de Verano de la Universidad Complutense de Madrid, la Casa de Am\u00e9rica y el Teatro Real. \u00a0En la actualidad es responsable de la actividad po\u00e9tica de la Universidad Popular Jos\u00e9 Hierro, San Sebasti\u00e1n de los Reyes, Madrid.<\/b><\/span><\/p>\n

Los poemas \u201cOcho y media\u201d y \u201cMadrid, 1973\u201d pertenecen a <\/span>La llave de niebla<\/i><\/span> y han sido traducidos al ingl\u00e9s por Robin Ouzman Hislop y Amparo Arr\u00f3spide.<\/span><\/b><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

 
\n\"OLYMPUS<\/a>
\n 
\nRobin Ouzman Hislop Editor of the 12 year running on line monthly poetry journal Poetry Life and Times<\/strong>. (See its Wikipedia<\/em> entry at Poetry Life and Times<\/a>). He has made many appearances over the last years in the quarterly journals Canadian Zen Haiku<\/em>, including In the Spotlight Winter 2010<\/em> & Sonnetto Poesia<\/em>. Previously published in international magazines, his recent publications include Voices without Borders Volume 1<\/em> (USA), Cold Mountain Review<\/em>, Appalachian University N Carolina, Post Hoc<\/em> installed at Bank Street Arts Centre, Sheffield (UK), Uroborus Journal<\/em>, 2011-2012 (Sheffield, UK), The Poetic Bond II & 111<\/em>, available at The Poetic Bond and Phoenix Rising from the Ashes<\/em> a recently published Anthology of Sonnets: Phoenix Rising from the Ashes<\/a>. He has recently completed a volume of poetry, The World at Large, for future publication. He is currently resident in Spain engaged in poetry translation projects.<\/strong>
\n 
\n 
\nrobin@artvilla.com<\/a>
\nPoetryLifeTimes<\/a>
\nPoetry Life & Times<\/a><\/strong>
\neditor@artvilla.com<\/a>
\nwww.artvilla.com<\/a>
\nArtvilla.com<\/a><\/strong>
\n 
\n 
\n\"OLYMPUS<\/a>
\n <\/p>\n

Amparo Arrospide (Argentina) is a Spanish poet and translator. She has published four poetry collections, Mosaicos bajo la hiedra, Alucinaci\u00f3n en dos actos y algunos poemas, Pa\u00f1uelos de usar y tirar and Presencia en el Misterio as well as poems, short stories and articles on literary and film criticism in anthologies and both national and foreign magazines. She has received numerous awards. Together with Robin Ouzman Hislop, she worked as co-editor of Poetry Life and Times, an E-zine.<\/b><\/p>\n

Share and Enjoy !<\/h3>
<\/i><\/span>Shares<\/small><\/div>
<\/i><\/span><\/a><\/span>\n<\/i><\/a><\/span>\n<\/i><\/a><\/span>\n<\/i><\/a><\/span>\n<\/i><\/a><\/span><\/div><\/div><\/div>
<\/i><\/a><\/span>\n<\/i><\/a><\/span><\/div><\/div><\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

http:\/\/youtu.be\/fv52Adoh_GE ***   \u00bfY si fuera otra la ciudad, \u201capenas vaho sobre el cristal\u201d, \u00a0apenas un pu\u00f1ado de azogue sobre el vidrio?     Pero entender es extranjero; tienes que dar un paso a tu costado, abandonar el familiar aliento: ese que teje con su alma de humo el calendario absorto de los d\u00edas; el … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[50,476,366,43,52,388,41],"tags":[479,480,477],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1626"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1626"}],"version-history":[{"count":30,"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1626\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1646,"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1626\/revisions\/1646"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1626"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1626"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1626"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}