Two Poems

By Julia Wong Kcomt

Translated by Jennifer Shyue

 

 

 

 

Behind Mount Fright

 

I was waiting for our strange love, for you to tuck scales in your pockets,
and slit my indigos with scalpels.

A surgeon of doubt is a good man, I’ve lied:
000000000000000I never wanted a family, or a house.
I longed, a little, for a dialogue with the unknown,
000000000000000I would like for you to perform amputations
00000000000000000000on the corner of desperation,
000000000000000for you to slay the faun spying on us, here
000000000000000between rooted moons and salads of hypnotized
0000000000radishes.

The bottle of Cusqueña is unchilled and will not inebriate.

00000Fear in every step draws me toward your voice.
00000Yes,
00000your voice exists, here,
00000in the damp garden of wireless valleys.

I bump into clouds, couches, the Chinese chest that survived shipwreck
000000000000000000000000000000000000000and the invasion of Nanjing.
No embroidered skirts, or limes that bleed.

Argentine masks hide their devotion to the black spirits of the sea.
00000The moth-eaten blouse of a father opening and closing his mouth like a frog,
00000old now, blind now, and thus loving…
00000000000000000000000000000His finger pointing.

An ear of corn brought from Cajamarca, desiccated.

000000000000000What neverending vice makes you master of our fear?

Turn the lever and descend till you take pity on my fright.
Do not attempt to shuck the absurd flower of my doubts about the Fatherland.

We’ll celebrate over the graves, you’ll see,
000000000000000that death brings sadness is another lie.
It’s just a matter of adjusting.

Spectating, a task that goes hand in hand with your eloquence

The rectangular voice of a TV reporter bakes petals and sprigs into stone,
to seduce children with no serpents or bumper cars.
00000You are a gilded man full of fear.

We crank the gramophone and pay to watch you cry.

 

 

 

OPHELIA
“And keep you in the rear of your affection,
Out of the shot and danger of desire.
The chariest maid is prodigal enough,
If she unmask her beauty to the moon”
(Laertes to Ophelia)

 

 

The Widower

 

There, dead, lie I beneath the wheels/ no one could clench a doubt against you.
Me, poor, brown, coal for your skin/ You, the kingdom’s raptor.
Me daughter of the commoners’ ossuary, on Calle Guadalupe,
wa-dal-hupe.

River of Emotion I have been/ You, mighty Eagle, king of North America.
You cry for me, you say?
Who’s to believe your bald calumny?

You love all the precious false doves that plunge down at your feet.

Me: black lily of the desert.
We had a daughter.
Remember?

 

You knew, when you reached the throne
you’d need to invent ghosts.
00000000000000Circus of and for jackal gods.

00000Suicide, madness,
000000000a shove brittling in appearance…

I’ve come undone and why matters to no one.
0000The king seeks his crown on the asphalt. Me,
0000I ought to go down to the bottom of the sun.

Without my shadow/ you, denuded of me,
decorated in shields and poisoned swords.

000000000Red wine with notes of expiration.

You, my immortal victim, my bona fide galaxy, kingly tear.
00000000000000000000000000000000000Me, beneath the wheels.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Detrás de la montaña del miedo

 

Yo esperaba de nuestro extraño amor, que tú llevaras en el bolsillo una balanza,
que rasgaras mis añiles con bisturís.

Un cirujano de la duda es buen hombre, he mentido:
000000000000000nunca quise tener una familia, ni una casa.
Anhelaba, apenas, un diálogo con lo desconocido.
000000000000000Me gustaría que hicieras amputaciones
00000000000000000000en la esquina de la desesperación,
000000000000000que mates al fauno que nos espía, aquí
000000000000000entre lunas profundas y ensaladas de rabanitos
0000000000hipnotizados.

La cerveza cusqueña no está helada y no embriaga.

00000El temor en cada paso me atrae hacia tu voz.
00000Sí,
00000tu voz existe, aquí,
00000en el húmedo jardín de los valles inalámbricos.

Tropiezo con las nubes, los muebles, el baúl chino que superó el naufragio
000000000000000000000000000000000000000y la invasión a Nanjing.
No hay faldones bordados, ni limones sangrientos.

Máscaras argentinas esconden su devoción a los espíritus negros del mar.
00000La camisa apolillada de un padre que abre y cierra la boca como una rana,
00000ya viejo, ya ciego, por eso amante…
00000000000000000000000000000Señalando con el dedo.

Hay una mazorca de maíz traída de Cajamarca, se ha secado.

000000000000000¿Qué vicio perpetuo te hace maestro de nuestro temor?

Gira la manivela y desciende hasta que te apiades de mi miedo.
No intentes deshojar la flor absurda de mis dubitaciones sobre la Patria.

Celebramos sobre las tumbas, como verás,
000000000000000también es mentira que la muerte provoca tristeza.
Sólo hay que acostumbrarse.
00000Ser espectador es un trabajo que va de la mano con tu elocuencia

La voz cuadrangular de un periodista televisivo, hornea pétalos y espigas en la piedra,
para seducir a niños sin sierpe ni carros chocones.
00000Tú eres un hombre dorado lleno de miedo.

Encendemos el gramófono y pagamos para verte llorar.

 

 

 

 

OFELIA
“Quédate tras el baluarte de tu afecto,
lejos del dardo y el peligro del deseo.
La más escrupulosa de las vírgenes
es demasiado pródiga,
si destapa a la luna su belleza”.

(Laertes a Ofelia)

 

 

El Viudo

 

Allí, muerta, yazco bajo las ruedas/ nadie empuñaría una duda en tu contra.
Yo, pobre, morena, carbón para tu piel/ Tú, pájaro enorme del reino.
Yo hija del osario popular, de la calle Guadalupe,
wa–dal-hupe.

Un río de Amor he sido/ Tú, poderosa Águila, rey de Norteamérica.
¿Me lloras, dices?
¿Quién ha de creerte tanta infamia?

Amas a cuanta bella paloma falsa se te asoma.

Yo: la azucena negra del desierto.
Una hija tuvimos.
¿Lo recuerdas?

Tú sabías que al llegar al trono
había que inventar fantasmas.
00000000000000Circo de y para dioses chacales.

Suicidio, demencia,
000000000atropello quebradizo en las formas…

Qué poco importa la razón de mi derrota.
0000El rey busca su corona en el alquitrán. Yo,
0000debo entrar al fondo del sol.

Sin mi sombra/ tú, desnudo de mí,
condecorado de escudos y espadas con veneno.

000000000Vino tinto con aromas de expiración.

Tú, mi víctima inmortal, mi galaxia genuina, lágrima de reyes.
00000000000000000000000000000000000Yo, bajo las ruedas.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Detrás de la montaña del miedo” and “El Viudo” appear in 18 poemas de fake love para Keanu Reeves (Cascada de Palabras, 2021).

 

 

 

 

 

This week’s Poesía en acción feature also includes:

Translator Micro-Interview Series: Jennifer Shyue

 

 

 

 

 

 

Julia Wong Kcomt was born into a tusán (Chinese Peruvian) family in Chepén, Peru, in 1965. She traveled from an early age, and her perceptions of country borders, different cultures, and diversity in ethnicity and religion became a strong motivation to write. She is the author of 16 volumes of poetry, including Un salmón ciego (Borrador Editores) and 18 poemas de fake love para Keanu Reeves (Cascada de Palabras); five books of fiction; and two collections of hybrid prose. She currently lives between Lima and Lisbon.

 

Jennifer Shyue is a translator focusing on contemporary Cuban and Asian-Peruvian writers. Her work has been supported by fellowships and grants from Cornell University’s Institute for Comparative Modernities, Fulbright, Princeton University, and the University of Iowa and has appeared in The Common online, New England Review, Words Without Borders, and elsewhere. Her translation of Vice-royal-ties by Julia Wong Kcomt is forthcoming from Ugly Duckling Presse’s Señal chapbook series. She can be found at shyue.co.

 

Poesía en acción is an Action Books blog feature for Latin American and Spanish poetry in translation and the translator micro-interview series. It was created by Katherine M. Hedeen and is currently curated and edited by Olivia Lott with web editing by Paul Cunningham.