{"id":6659,"date":"2018-11-19T18:57:40","date_gmt":"2018-11-19T18:57:40","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/?p=6659"},"modified":"2019-08-24T20:42:33","modified_gmt":"2019-08-24T20:42:33","slug":"homage-to-francisca-aguirre-the-lullaby-poems-translated-from-spanish","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/homage-to-francisca-aguirre-the-lullaby-poems-translated-from-spanish\/","title":{"rendered":"Homage to Francisca Aguirre – The Lullaby Poems (Translated from Spanish)"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n
Francisca Aguirre, Premio Nacional de las Letras 2018 El jurado la ha elegido <\/strong>\r\n\u201cpor estar su poes\u00eda (la m\u00e1s machadiana de la generaci\u00f3n del medio siglo)<\/strong>\r\nentre la desolaci\u00f3n y la clarividencia, la lucidez y el dolor\"\r\n\r\nFrancisca Aguirre, National Literature Prize 2018<\/span>\r\nThe jury chose it \"because its poetry is (the most Machadian* of the generation \r\nof the half century) between desolation and clairvoyance, lucidity and pain\"<\/span><\/span>\r\n\r\n* In the tradition of Antonio Machado\r\n\r\nhttps:\/\/elpais.com\/cultura\/2018\/11\/13<\/a><\/strong>\r\n\r\nFrancisca Aguirre was born in 1930 in Alicante, Spain, and fled with her family to France \r\nat the end of the Spanish Civil War, where they lived in political exile.\u00a0 When the Germans \r\ninvaded Paris in 1942, her family was forced to return to Spain, where her father, painter \r\nLorenzo Aguirre, was subsequently murdered by Francisco Franco's regime.\u00a0 \r\nAguirre published \u00cdtaca (1972), currently available in English (Ithaca [2004]), when she was \r\n42 years old. Her work has garnered much critical success, winning the Leopoldo Panero, \r\nPremio Ciudad de Ir\u00fan, and Premio Galliana, among other literary prizes.\u00a0 \r\nAguirre is married to the poet F\u00e9lix Grande and is the mother of poet Guadalupe Grande.<\/b>\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\nFrom \"<\/span>NANAS PARA DORMIR DESPERDICIOS<\/b><\/span>\" <\/span><\/pre>\n<\/div>\n
LULLABIES TO LULL THROWN AWAYS<\/span><\/p>\n
by FRANCISCA AGUIRRE<\/span><\/p>\n
 Translated by Amparo Arrosp\u00edde & Robin Ouzman Hislop *** <\/span><\/p>\n
NANA DE LAS SOBRAS\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 A Esperanza y Manuel Rico <\/i><\/span>Vaya <\/span><\/p>\n
canci\u00f3n la de las sobras, <\/span>eso s\u00ed\r\n                      que era una nana para dormir el hambre.\r\n<\/span>Vaya canci\u00f3n aquella\r\n<\/span>                      que cantaba mi abuela con aquella voz\r\n<\/span>que era la voz de la misericordia\r\n<\/span>disfrazada de voz angelical.\r\n<\/span>                             Porque la voz de mi abuela\r\n<\/span>nos cantaba la canci\u00f3n de las sobras.\r\n<\/span>                             Y nosotras, que no conoc\u00edamos el pan,\r\n<\/span>cant\u00e1bamos con ella que\r\n<\/span>                             las sobras de pan eran sagradas,\r\n<\/span>las sobras de pan nunca se tiran.\r\n\r\n<\/span>Siempre recordar\u00e9 su hermosa voz\r\n<\/span>cantando aquella nana mientras el hambre nos dorm\u00eda.<\/span><\/pre>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 **<\/span><\/span><\/pre>\n
LULLABY FOR LEFTOVERS\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 To  Esperanza and Manuel Rico\r\n\r\n<\/i><\/span><\/span>Well, a leftovers song,\r\n<\/span><\/span>                    that truly was a lullaby to lull hunger to sleep.\r\n<\/span><\/span>Wow, that song <\/span><\/span>\r\n                    my grandmother sang with a voice\r\n<\/span><\/span>that was the voice of mercy\r\n<\/span><\/span>disguised as the voice of an angel.\r\n<\/span><\/span>                              Because my grandmother\u00b4s voice\r\n<\/span><\/span>sang for us the leftovers song.\r\n<\/span><\/span>                              And we, who did not know bread,\r\n<\/span><\/span>sang together with her that\r\n<\/span><\/span>                              bread leftovers were holy,\r\n<\/span><\/span>bread leftovers shall never be thrown away.\r\n\r\n<\/span><\/span>I will always remember her beautiful voice\r\n<\/span><\/span>singing that lullaby while hunger lulled us to sleep.\r\n\r\n                                                                                                       <\/span><\/span>**\r\n\r\n<\/span>NANA DE LAS HOJAS CA\u00cdDAS                                                                       \r\n                                                                                                                       <\/span>A Mari\u00e1n Hierro\r\n<\/i><\/span>Casi todo lo que se pierde tiene m\u00fasica,\r\n<\/span>                                                             una m\u00fasica oculta, inolvidable.\r\n<\/span>Pero las hojas, esas criaturas parlanchinas\r\n<\/span>que son la voz de nuestros \u00e1rboles,\r\n<\/span>                    tienen, como la luz, el agua y las lib\u00e9lulas\r\n<\/span>una nana secreta y so\u00f1adora.\r\n<\/span>                    Lo que se pierde, siempre nos deja\r\n<\/span>                       un rastro misterioso y cantar\u00edn.\r\n<\/span>\r\nLas hojas verdes o doradas\r\n<\/span>              cantan su desamparo mientras juegan al corro.\r\n<\/span>Cantan mientras los \u00e1rboles las llaman\r\n<\/span>como llaman las madres a sus hijos\r\n<\/span>sabiendo que es in\u00fatil, que han crecido\r\n<\/span>                     y que se han ido a recorrer el mundo.\r\n\r\n                                                                                                      <\/span>****\r\n\r\n<\/span><\/span>LULLABY FOR FALLEN LEAVES\r\n<\/span><\/span>                                                                                                                     To Mari\u00e1n Hierro\r\n\r\n<\/i><\/span><\/span>Almost everything which is lost has a music,\r\n<\/span><\/span>                                                                     a hidden, unforgettable music.\r\n<\/span><\/span>But leaves, those chattering creatures\r\n<\/span><\/span>who are the voices of our trees\r\n<\/span><\/span>                       have -- like light, water and dragonflies --\r\n<\/span><\/span>a secret dreamy lullaby.\r\n<\/span><\/span>                                   That which is lost to us, always leaves\r\n<\/span><\/span>                                           the mysterious trace of its song.\r\n<\/span><\/span>Green or golden leaves\r\n                        <\/span><\/span>sing of their neglect as they dance their ring a ring of roses.\r\n<\/span><\/span>They sing while trees call to them\r\n<\/span><\/span>as mothers do calling their children\r\n<\/span><\/span>knowing it is futile, as they have grown up\r\n<\/span><\/span>                                     and left to travel the world over.\r\n                                                                                          \r\n                                                                                                                               <\/span><\/span>**\r\n\r\n<\/span>NANA DE LAS CARTAS VIEJAS\r\n\r\n<\/span>Tienen el olor desvalido del abandono\r\n<\/span>y el tono macilento del silencio.\r\n<\/span>Son desperdicios de la memoria, residuos de dolor, \r\n<\/span>                                                   y hay que cantarles muy bajito\r\n<\/span>para que no despierten de su letargo.\r\n<\/span>En ocasiones las manos se tropiezan con ellas\r\n<\/span>                                                  y el pulso se acelera\r\n<\/span>porque notamos que las palabras\t\r\n<\/span>                                                 como si fueran mariposas\r\n<\/span>quieren bailar delante de nosotros\r\n<\/span>y volver a contarnos el secreto\r\n<\/span>                                                 que duerme entre sus p\u00e1ginas.\r\n<\/span>Son las abandonadas,\r\n<\/span>                                 los residuos de un tiempo de desdicha,\r\n<\/span>relatan pormenores de un combate\r\n<\/span>                                 y al rozarlas o\u00edmos el trist\u00edsimo andar\r\n<\/span>de los presos en los penales.\r\n\r\n                                                                                                         <\/span>**\r\n\r\n<\/span><\/span>LULLABY FOR OLD LETTERS\r\n\r\n<\/span><\/span>They give off the helpless smell of neglectfulness\r\n<\/span><\/span>and the emaciated tone of silence.\r\n<\/span><\/span>They are memory\u00b4s cast offs, residues of pain\r\n<\/span><\/span>                                                   and should be sung to in a low croon\r\n<\/span><\/span>so as not to awaken them from their lethargy.\r\n<\/span><\/span>Sometimes your hands chance upon them\r\n<\/span><\/span>                                                   and your pulse races\r\n<\/span><\/span>because we realize that words\r\n<\/span><\/span>                                                   wish to dance before us\r\n<\/span><\/span>as if they were butterflies\r\n<\/span><\/span>and tell us again the secret\r\n<\/span><\/span>                                                  sleeping inside their pages.\r\n<\/span><\/span>They are the neglected,\r\n<\/span><\/span>                                                  the remnants of unhappy times,\r\n<\/span><\/span>recounting the details of a struggle\r\n<\/span><\/span>                                                  and as we brush them we hear the saddest steps\r\n<\/span><\/span>of prisoners in jails.\r\n\r\n                                                                                                          <\/span><\/span>**\r\n<\/span><\/span>\r\nNANA DEL HUMO\r\n\r\n<\/span><\/span>La nana del humo tiene muchos detractores,\r\n<\/span>casi nadie quiere cantarla.\r\n<\/span>                                            Muchos dicen que el humo los ahoga,\r\n<\/span>otros piensan que eso de dormir al humo\r\n<\/span>                                            no les da buena espina,\r\n<\/span>que tiene algo de gafe.\r\n<\/span>                                   El humo no resulta de fiar:\r\n<\/span>en cuanto asoma su perfil oscuro\r\n<\/span>todo son malas conjeturas:\r\n<\/span>                                             se nos est\u00e1 quemando el bosque,\r\n<\/span>aquella casa debe de estar ardiendo.\r\n<\/span>El humo es un extra\u00f1o desperdicio,\r\n<\/span>                                             tiene muy mala prensa.\r\n<\/span>Es un abandonado,\r\n<\/span>                                   es un incomprendido;\r\n<\/span>casi nadie recuerda que el humo es un vocero,\r\n<\/span>un triste avisador de lo que se nos avecina.\r\n<\/span>Y por eso, cuando lo escucho vocear con impotencia\r\n<\/span>yo le canto la nana del silencio\r\n<\/span>                                   para que no se sienta solo.\r\n                                                                                                            \r\n\r\n                                                                                                                       <\/span>**\r\n<\/span>\r\nLULLABY FOR SMOKE\r\n\r\n<\/span>The lullaby for smoke doesn\u00b4t get many supporters,\r\n<\/span><\/span>almost nobody wants to sing its song.\r\n                                               <\/span><\/span>Many say smoke stifles them,\r\n<\/span><\/span>others think to lull smoke to sleep\r\n                                               <\/span><\/span>makes them queasy, \r\n<\/span><\/span>that it\u00b4s a bit of a jinx.\r\n                                  <\/span><\/span>Smoke is not trustworthy:\r\n<\/span><\/span>as soon as it rears its dark head\r\n<\/span><\/span>it conjures up conjectures\r\n                                                        <\/span><\/span>-- a forest fire,\r\n<\/span><\/span>a house burning down.\r\n<\/span><\/span>Smoke is a weird remain,\r\n                                             <\/span><\/span>it\u00b4s got bad reports.\r\n<\/span><\/span>It\u00b4s a reject,\r\n                                  <\/span><\/span>it\u00b4s a misunderstood thing;\r\n<\/span><\/span>almost nobody remembers smoke is a herald,\r\n<\/span><\/span>a sad forwarner of what looms over us.\r\n<\/span><\/span>That\u00b4s why, when I hear it calling out helplessly,\r\n<\/span><\/span>I sing to it the lullaby for silence\r\n                                             <\/span><\/span>so that it doesn\u00b4t feel so lonely.\r\n\r\n\r\n                                                                                                     ***\r\nTranslators:\r\n<\/strong><\/span><\/span>\r\nAmparo Arrospide (Argentina) is a Spanish poet and translator. She has published \r\nseven poetry collections, Mosaicos bajo la hiedra, Alucinaci\u00f3n en dos actos y algunos \r\npoemas, Pa\u00f1uelos de usar y tirar, Presencia en el Misterio, En el Oido del Viento, \r\nHormigas en Di\u00e1spora and Jaccuzzi, as well as poems, short stories and articles on \r\nliterary and film criticism in anthologies and in both national and foreign magazines. \r\nShe has received numerous awards. \r\n<\/b>\r\nRobin Ouzman Hislop is Editor of Poetry Life and Times<\/a> his publications include <\/strong>\r\nAll the Babble of the Souk<\/em> <\/a>and Cartoon Molecules<\/em> <\/a>collected poems and Key of Mist<\/em> <\/a><\/strong>\r\nthe recently published Tesserae<\/em> <\/a>translations from Spanish poets Guadalupe Grande <\/a><\/strong>\r\nand Carmen Crespo visit Aquillrelle.com\/Author Robin Ouzman Hislop <\/a>about author. <\/strong>\r\nSee Robin performing his work Performance (University of Leeds)<\/a> and his latest \r\nCollected Poems Volume at  Next-Arrivals <\/em><\/a><\/strong><\/pre>\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/div>\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":"
Francisca Aguirre, Premio Nacional de las Letras 2018 El jurado la ha elegido \u201cpor estar su poes\u00eda (la m\u00e1s machadiana de la generaci\u00f3n del medio siglo) entre la desolaci\u00f3n y la clarividencia, la lucidez y el dolor” Francisca Aguirre, National Literature Prize 2018 The jury chose it “because its poetry is (the most Machadian* of … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":6665,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[50,1,770,781,201,854,366,754,401,43,855,52,771,388],"tags":[314,857,18,136,3,818,856,95,127],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6659"}],"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=6659"}],"version-history":[{"count":13,"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6659\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7090,"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6659\/revisions\/7090"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/6665"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=6659"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=6659"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.artvilla.com\/plt\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=6659"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}