Myth of Arrival

Istarú’s IV. “Ahora que el amor”

"I engage in the work/ of undressing myself./ And I love …" warns Ana Istarú in the 4th poem from her La estación de fiebre. It is an interesting poem, concerning a type of love that was once present in everyday life, "the forgotten fashion of our/ grandmothers," but now is horrible, a love censored by officals, spoken only in "archaic documents," a corrupt love. There is no instant gratification to be found here.

Interesting. The words "instant gratification," "gardening" and "nudity" aren't usually bantered around in the same sentence; however they are in the gardening world of Kitsap County, Washington ("a ferry ride across Puget Sound from Seattle … it contains 250,000 people, of which 250 are master gardeners," reads their flyer). I mention this because I have relatives who are part of the Master Gardener Foundation of Kitsap County, and recently sent my folk's their 2006 Gardening Au Naturel calendar. I do not think they are some of the nude gardeners featured inside, but who really knows? The photographs are by Winifred Whitfield, and there is a whole lots of very white flesh on display (I always thought gardening would lead to exposure to the sun, except probably in Seattle's rain zone,¹ silly me).

The Eurythmics' The Last Time is on the record player: "There's a garden full of roses/ There's a necklace full of pearls/ You have come to take the roses/ To give to other girls" The date on the record jacket is 1986, the same year La estación de fiebre was published. I am not sure why I have this particular record on as I labor over this translation. All morning I have been lost in thought of my own ghosts. The record is full of lyrics of betrayal, and yet it ends in a sort of sad peace, the song, I Remember You, has the chorus: "Oh — we were so young/ we didn't realise/ just what we'd done./ Oh — we were so young." Still I sigh and keep typing; I want to be like the speaker in this poem, burning with love, "simply/ intoxicated and pregnant." She rises up from the page to reclaim, "the first utterance from the womb." I want to find that first word too.

IV. "Ahora que el amor" Ana Istarú	IV. "Now that love" translated by ZJC
Ahora que el amor es una extraña costumbre, extinta especie de la que hablan documentos antiguos, y se censura el oficio desusado de la entrega; ahora que el vientre olvidó engendrar hijos, y el tobillo su gracia y el pezón su promesa feliz, de miel y esencia; ahora que la carne se anuda y se desnuda, anda y revolotea sobre la carne buena sin dejar perfumes, semilla, batallas victoriosas, y recogiendo en cambio redondas cosechas; ahora que es vedada la ternura, modalidad perdida de las abuelas. que extravió la caricia su avena generosa; ahora que la piel de las paredes se palpan varón y mujer sin alcanzar el mirto, la brasa estremecida, ardo sencillamente, encinta y embriagada Rescato la palabra primera del útero, y clásica y extravagante emprendo la tarea de despojarme. Y amo.	Now that love is a shocking custom, an extinct species of which they talk of in archaic documents, all officially censured, discarded on the exchange; now that the guts have ignored how to engender children and gracefulness in the ankle and the nipple such bright joy of manna and honey; now that the flesh is intimate and naked, walking over and slouching onto the good flesh leaving neither essence nor egg, nor conquering war, discovering again such complete harvest; now that tenderness is taboo, the forgotten fashion of our grandmothers, now that the caress has wandered from its jellied porridge; now that the skin on the wall is quivering male and female without forgetting myrtle, its smoldering ember, I burn, simply intoxicated and pregnant. I reclaim the first utterance from the womb, classic and inexhaustible I engage in the work of undressing myself. And I love.

IV. "Ahora que el amor"
Ana Istarú

IV. "Now that love"
translated by ZJC

Ahora que el amor
es una extraña costumbre,
extinta especie
de la que hablan
documentos antiguos,
y se censura el oficio desusado
de la entrega;
ahora que el vientre
olvidó engendrar
hijos,
y el tobillo su gracia
y el pezón su promesa feliz,
de miel y esencia;
ahora que la carne se anuda
y se desnuda,
anda y revolotea
sobre la carne buena
sin dejar perfumes, semilla,
batallas victoriosas,
y recogiendo en cambio
redondas cosechas;
ahora que es vedada la ternura,
modalidad perdida de
las abuelas.
que extravió la caricia
su avena generosa;
ahora que la piel
de las paredes se palpan
varón y mujer
sin alcanzar el mirto,
la brasa estremecida,
ardo sencillamente,
encinta y embriagada
Rescato la palabra primera
del útero,
y clásica y extravagante
emprendo la tarea
de despojarme.
Y amo.

Now that love
is a shocking custom,
an extinct species
of which they talk of
in archaic documents,
all officially censured,
discarded on the exchange;
now that the guts
have ignored how to engender
children
and gracefulness in the ankle
and the nipple such bright joy
of manna and honey;
now that the flesh is intimate
and naked,
walking over and slouching
onto the good flesh
leaving neither essence nor egg,
nor conquering war,
discovering again
such complete harvest;
now that tenderness is taboo,
the forgotten fashion of our
grandmothers,
now that the caress has wandered
from its jellied porridge;
now that the skin
on the wall is quivering
male and female
without forgetting myrtle,
its smoldering ember,
I burn, simply
intoxicated and pregnant.
I reclaim
the first utterance from the womb,
classic and inexhaustible
I engage in the work
of undressing myself.
And I love.

I suppose I am thinking of Bill Cosby's routine concerning Seattle on I Started Out As a Child [back]

This entry was posted on Thursday, December 8th, 2005 at 10:57 am and is filed under Scantily Clad Info Dump, Translations, Spanish Translations. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

Istarú’s IV. “Ahora que el amor”

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