Embraceable

By JUAN CARLOS MARSET 

Translated by ILAN STAVANS 

 

Abrazable

A Piedad Bonnett

Irremplazable tú,

voz tú vacía

de mi vacío en ti

inconsolable.

Mi tú irremediable

tu mí espejo

de tu reflejo

en mí. Nada clavada

en tu silencio,

callada voz del sueño

desalmada

entre mi cuerpo

y el tuyo deshaciendo

este recuerdo

 

de mi abrazable tú,

voz tú que alientas

al ahuyentar el ángel

que nos dimos

cuando dijimos

lo que puede que nunca

nos haya sucedido.

 

Embraceable

To Piedad Bonnett

Irreplaceable you,

voice, your empty

of my inconsolable

emptiness in you.

My irremediable you,

you, my mirror

of your reflection

 

in me. Unforced

into your silence,

silent voice of heartless

dream

between my body

and yours, undoing

this memory

 

of my embraceable you,

you, voice that strengthens

while banishing the angel

we gave ourselves

when we said

what might never have

happened to us.

 

[Purchase Issue 13 here]

Juan Carlos Marset was born in Albacete, Spain, in 1963. He is editor-in-chief of the magazine Sibila, professor of aesthetics and theory of the arts at Universidad de Sevilla, and author of Puer profeta, Leyenda napolitana, Laberinto, and Días que serán, where “Abrazable/Embraceable” is included.

 

Ilan Stavans is publisher of Restless Books, Lewis-Sebring Professor in Latin American and Latino Culture at Amherst College, and author of On Borrowed Words, Dictionary Days, and Quixote. His latest books are I Love My Selfie (with ADÁL), Pablo Neruda: All the Odes, and a Spanglish translation of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince.

Embraceable

Related Posts

Top-down view of bouquets of various flowers, presumably for sale at a market.

Translation: Poems by Mireille Gansel

MIREILLE GANSEL
this morning while I was going to the docks looking for summer's last flowers at the florist's suddenly the look of this young boy with his mother her head scarf knotted like the Romani women who had offered us hospitality he and she hurrying both of them grasping black bags

Washington Heights

November 2022 Poetry Feature: Anacaona Rocio Milagro

ANACAONA ROCIO MILAGRO
Because there weren’t any fireflies in the hood / as a child i imagined roaches were angels on a / mission. To save lives, they’d crawl into the mouths / of the chosen. Initially i found them disgusting. / They’d infest my Fruity Pebbles cereal. i’d pluck / them out

Image of the moon. Camera is focused on the moon against a pitch black background.

Klan Giant

TOMMYE BLOUNT
Look up here, the air is Aryan. The moon, / our white hood. Our life must loom large / above that which is darkened in our shadow. / A fate loomed long ago, ours // in the weft and warp of hems, / a lowered white curtain on this / re-coonstructed show