Gedicht
Luisa Futoransky
JOAN OF ARC, THE GATEWAY
a beginner practices the saxophone badly over and overif it makes a sound that means he’s doing well, I tell myself
long endless lines of sad city dwellers
wind around supermarkets
every so often the metro runs by on the rails
empty cars help us remember that we are in a metropolis
where day by day reason
does not rule
the dream sequence:
that despite all this the palms of Waikiki Beach still exist
© Translation: 2020, Living Poetry: Women in Translation
Translated by Living Poetry: Women in Translation, part of the 4W Initiative’s International Women Collective Translation Project and a Borghesi Mellon Research Workshop on Translation of the Center For Humanities at UW-Madison. A project which convenes readers, translators, and interpreters from various disciplines and institutions to collaborate on translation praxis of literary texts by writers and scholars from the Americas and Spain. Members collaborator in this translation: Lori DiPrete Brown, Jeannine Pitas, Erika Rosales, Beatriz Botero, Clara Haeffner, Vicente López Abad and Sarli E. Mercado.
JUANA DE ARCO, EL PORTAL
JUANA DE ARCO, EL PORTAL
un principiante repite malamente su lección de saxofónsi sopla quiere decir que anda bien, me digo
largas, continuadas filas de ciudadanos tristes
asoman en torno de los super
cada tanto por el elevado los vagones del metro,
vacíos ayuda memoria de que estamos en una metrópoli
donde hoy por hoy la razón
no rige
la parte de sueño:
y sin embargo las palmeras de waikiki beach existen
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Gedichten van Luisa Futoransky
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JUANA DE ARCO, EL PORTAL
un principiante repite malamente su lección de saxofónsi sopla quiere decir que anda bien, me digo
largas, continuadas filas de ciudadanos tristes
asoman en torno de los super
cada tanto por el elevado los vagones del metro,
vacíos ayuda memoria de que estamos en una metrópoli
donde hoy por hoy la razón
no rige
la parte de sueño:
y sin embargo las palmeras de waikiki beach existen
JOAN OF ARC, THE GATEWAY
a beginner practices the saxophone badly over and overif it makes a sound that means he’s doing well, I tell myself
long endless lines of sad city dwellers
wind around supermarkets
every so often the metro runs by on the rails
empty cars help us remember that we are in a metropolis
where day by day reason
does not rule
the dream sequence:
that despite all this the palms of Waikiki Beach still exist
© 2020, Living Poetry: Women in Translation
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