Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Sara Uribe

"They didn’t want to tell me anything"

                They didn’t want to tell me anything. 

                Tadeo hasn’t appeared. They didn’t want to tell me
                anything.

                A glass slipping from a wet hand. Shattering shards. The knot in the stomach. The
                knot and nausea. The knot.
                Small drops of fresh blood on tiles.

                A broken glass is no longer a glass. That’s what I
                thought. That’s what I told them.

                What are they murmuring? Why do they mutter
                everything under their breath? What are they erasing
                We’re telling you that Tadeo has not appeared. We’re
                telling you that there are a lot of us who have lost
                someone.

"Ze wilden me niets zeggen"

Ze wilden me niets zeggen.

Tadeo is niet verschenen. Ze wilden me niets zeggen.

Een glas dat uit een natte hand glipt. Gekletter
van scherven. De knoop in je buik. De knoop en
de misselijkheid. De knoop. Kleine druppels vers bloed
op de tegels.

Een gebroken glas is geen glas meer. Dat dacht ik. Dat
zei ik tegen ze.

Wat mompelen ze toch? Waarom vertellen ze alles
tersluiks met zachte stemmen? Wat maken ze ongedaan?
Wat we je zeggen is dat Tadeo niet is verschenen. Wat we
je zeggen is dat er zovelen zijn die net als wij iemand zijn
verloren.

 

               No querían decirme nada.

               Tadeo no aparece. No querían decirme nada.

               Un vaso resbalando de una mano húmeda. Estrépito
               de cristales. El nudo en el vientre. El nudo y la náu­-
               sea. El nudo. Pequeñas gotas de sangre fresca sobre
               los mosaicos.

               Un vaso roto ya no es un vaso. Eso pensé. Eso les
               dije.

               ¿Qué es lo que murmuran? ¿Por qué todo lo
               deslizan en voz baja? ¿Qué es lo que están
               deshaciendo? Te estamos diciendo que Tadeo no
               aparece. Te estamos diciendo que somos muchos
               los que hemos perdido          a alguien.

Close

"They didn’t want to tell me anything"

                They didn’t want to tell me anything. 

                Tadeo hasn’t appeared. They didn’t want to tell me
                anything.

                A glass slipping from a wet hand. Shattering shards. The knot in the stomach. The
                knot and nausea. The knot.
                Small drops of fresh blood on tiles.

                A broken glass is no longer a glass. That’s what I
                thought. That’s what I told them.

                What are they murmuring? Why do they mutter
                everything under their breath? What are they erasing
                We’re telling you that Tadeo has not appeared. We’re
                telling you that there are a lot of us who have lost
                someone.

"They didn’t want to tell me anything"

                They didn’t want to tell me anything. 

                Tadeo hasn’t appeared. They didn’t want to tell me
                anything.

                A glass slipping from a wet hand. Shattering shards. The knot in the stomach. The
                knot and nausea. The knot.
                Small drops of fresh blood on tiles.

                A broken glass is no longer a glass. That’s what I
                thought. That’s what I told them.

                What are they murmuring? Why do they mutter
                everything under their breath? What are they erasing
                We’re telling you that Tadeo has not appeared. We’re
                telling you that there are a lot of us who have lost
                someone.

Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Hendrik Muller fonds
Lira fonds
J.E. Jurriaanse
Literature Translation Institute of Korea
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère