Silencio cerca de una piedra antigua
Rosario Castellanos (1925-1974)
Estoy aquí, sentada, con todas mis palabras
como con una cesta de fruta verde, intactas.
Los fragmentos
de mil dioses antiguos derribados
se buscan por mi sangre, se aprisionan, queriendo
recomponer su estatua.
De las bocas destruidas
quiere subir hasta mi boca un canto,
un olor de resinas quemadas, algún gesto
de misteriosa roca trabajada.
Pero soy el olvido, la traición,
el caracol que no guardó del mar
ni el eco de la más pequeña ola.
Y no miro los templos sumergidos;
sólo miro los árboles que encima de las ruinas
mueven su vasta sombra, muerden con dientes ácidos
el viento cuando pasa.
Y los signos se cierran bajo mis ojos como
la flor bajo los dedos torpísimos de un ciego.
Pero yo sé: detrás
de mi cuerpo otro cuerpo se agazapa,
y alrededor de mí muchas respiraciones
cruzan furtivamente
como los animals nocturnos en la selva.
Yo sé, en algún lugar,
lo mismo
que en el desierto el cactus,
un constelado corazón de espinas
está aguardando un hombre como el cactus la lluvia.
Pero yo no conozco más que ciertas palabras
en el idioma o lápida
bajo el que sepultaron vivo a mi antepasado.
Translation by Richard E. McDorman
© 2011
Silence near an Ancient Stone
Rosario Castellanos (1925-1974)
Here I sit with all my words intact,
as if with a basket of green fruit.
The fragments
of a thousand fallen ancient gods
seek and bind each other in my blood, yearning
to restore their statue.
A song desires to rise
from their shattered mouths to mine,
a scent of burned resins, some gesture
of mysterious wrought stone.
But oblivion and treachery am I—
the shell that of the sea kept not
even the echo of the smallest wave.
And I look not upon
the sunken fanes,
but only at the trees
that move their vast shadow
above the ruins and gnaw
the passing wind with acid teeth.
And the signs close beneath my eyes like
the flower beneath a blind man’s clumsy fingers.
But this I know: behind my body
another one lies low,
and around me many breaths
in secret cross
like forest creatures in the night.
I know that in some place,
as the desert cactus does,
a starry heart of thorns
awaits a man like the cactus does the rain.
But I know just a few words
in the tongue or tombstone
under which they buried my ancestors alive.
Translation by Richard E. McDorman:
Experimental version in iambic tetrameter
© 2011
Silence near an Ancient Stone
Rosario Castellanos (1925-1974)
So here I sit with all my words
intact like with a basketful
of fruit both green and still unripe.
The fragments of a thousand gods:
the fallen ancient ones that seek
and bind each other in my blood;
they yearn to bring their statue back.
A song desires to rise above
from shattered mouths of theirs to mine,
a scent of burned resins and
a gesture of mysterious stone.
Oblivion and treachery am I—
the shell that of the sea kept not
the echo of the smallest wave.
I look not at the sunken fanes,
but only at the trees that cast
their shadow vast above the ruins
and gnaw the wind with acid teeth.
The signs do close beneath my eyes
like flowers beneath a blind man’s hands.
Yet I know that behind me goes
another body hiding low.
Around me many breaths do cross
in secret like the forest beasts
move furtively throughout the night.
I know that in some place a heart
of stars and thorns awaits a man
just like the cactus does the rain—
this both I and the cactus know.
But I know hardly any words
among the tongue or on the stone
beneath which they did bury my
ancestors who were still alive.
I would like to express my profound gratitude to poet and translator Dan Bellm, Instructor of Translation at New York University, for his generous advice and assistance with this translation. His critical comments, especially of the experimental version in quantitative meter, were as helpful as they were insightful.
