Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Carlos López Degregori

THE RED WIND WHISTLING

She lives inside a stone in a stone country.

She opens and shuts her stone window each afternoon and knocks with stones on the stone door of her house.

Outside, the red wind whistles.

Are you made of stone? she asks.

But it’s a useless question. Here the wind is made of stone, just like the moons and birds that fly the solid air, rising until they dash themselves against the sky, or like the sea that walks among the hard, halted waves.

She listens to her pounding pulse. She lifts her hair of stone. She opens her arms and receives, with a difficult happiness, the red wind.

It doesn’t matter, she says, stay with me.
I’ll carry you inside my mouth.
I’ll keep you covered with my breasts.
I’ll keep you in my bridal heart.

FLUITEND KWAM DE RODE WIND VOORBIJ

Zij woont in een steen in een land van steen.
 
Ze opent en sluit elke middag haar stenen raam en slaat met stenen op de stenen deur van haar huis.
 
Buiten komt fluitend de rode wind voorbij.
 
Ben jij van steen? vraagt ze hem.
 
Een zinloze vraag. Hier is de wind van steen, net zoals de manen en de vogels die door de harde lucht vliegen en zó hoog gaan dat ze tegen de hemel botsen, of zoals de zee die tussen de stilstaande harde golven wandelt.
 
Zij beluistert kloppend haar pols. Ze trekt haar haren op in steen. Ze spreidt haar armen en ontvangt de rode wind met een gemelijk geluksgevoel.
 
Het geeft niet, zegt ze, blijf bij me.
Ik zal je in mijn mond dragen.
Ik zal je met mijn borsten bedekken.
Ik zal je in mijn bruidshart bewaren.
 

PASÓ SILBANDO EL VIENTO ROJO

Ella vive en una piedra en un país de piedra.

Abre y cierra cada tarde su ventana de piedra y golpea con piedras la puerta de piedra de su casa.

Afuera pasa silbando el viento rojo.

¿Eres de piedra? le pregunta.

Pero es una pregunta inútil. Aquí el viento es de piedra, igual que las lunas y pájaros que vuelan por el aire sólido y se elevan hasta estrellarse contra el cielo, o el mar que camina entre las duras olas detenidas.

Ella escucha su pulso golpeando. Levanta de piedra sus cabellos. Abre sus brazos y en una felicidad difícil recibe al viento rojo.

No importa, le dice, quédate conmigo.
Te llevaré en mi boca.
Te cubriré con mis pechos.
Te guardaré en mi corazón nupcial.
Close

THE RED WIND WHISTLING

She lives inside a stone in a stone country.

She opens and shuts her stone window each afternoon and knocks with stones on the stone door of her house.

Outside, the red wind whistles.

Are you made of stone? she asks.

But it’s a useless question. Here the wind is made of stone, just like the moons and birds that fly the solid air, rising until they dash themselves against the sky, or like the sea that walks among the hard, halted waves.

She listens to her pounding pulse. She lifts her hair of stone. She opens her arms and receives, with a difficult happiness, the red wind.

It doesn’t matter, she says, stay with me.
I’ll carry you inside my mouth.
I’ll keep you covered with my breasts.
I’ll keep you in my bridal heart.

THE RED WIND WHISTLING

She lives inside a stone in a stone country.

She opens and shuts her stone window each afternoon and knocks with stones on the stone door of her house.

Outside, the red wind whistles.

Are you made of stone? she asks.

But it’s a useless question. Here the wind is made of stone, just like the moons and birds that fly the solid air, rising until they dash themselves against the sky, or like the sea that walks among the hard, halted waves.

She listens to her pounding pulse. She lifts her hair of stone. She opens her arms and receives, with a difficult happiness, the red wind.

It doesn’t matter, she says, stay with me.
I’ll carry you inside my mouth.
I’ll keep you covered with my breasts.
I’ll keep you in my bridal heart.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère