From Historia de la leche
By Mónica Ojeda
Translated by Kymm Coveney
I A Study in Flesh and Blood ii
Time to flee
the mother
In the beginning is a needle
writing the names of the dead
on the pupils of fish
0000000Oceanic blindness
Without an image only the sense of what’s invisible remains
and a bloody point as starting line on the way to the surface
00000000000000000000000000000As you take a breath
00000000000000000000the future saturates your writing
II I Killed My Sister Mabel iv
I carried your body into the darkest room of our house
I licked the traces of my violence on your corpse
Flaccid,
like naked slugs,
your white remains slid from my weariness
000000little prisons of locust noise,
000000dark x-rays of our love’s left plague
Wounds flower from the echo of the howls you loosed as I loved you with resounding blows to your forehead
Your remains were miniature snowcaps melting onto trails of blood and our mother’s fresh milk
0000000000000000000000000000000000000Her milk, maternity’s dead sea,
000000000000000000000000000000000fattened your bones one moon before
00000000000000000000000000000000000000you came upon deeper waters
Heat shrunk you on a mattress of unfathomable
memory
I drag your death by the hair and feed it the guilt
that weighs on me
I drag your death with the siblinglessness that fratricide left me,
but, Mabel,
I had to die you to learn the meaning of justice
I had to die you to see you eternal,
to dissect your dove spirit at the feet of the harpies’ temples
You were the delusional fire of the cave;
your flames fevered by the shadows of my conscience
Yet truth wasn’t in the apparent origin of forms, but in the haze
of your cult of transparency
I had to die you to plumb your white shadow
and kiss it with the desire of the early images
that populate this cavern where I clean even your name
In one corner of the room
a monstrous Pietà breathes;
reclaims your body for its twisted winter arms
Say goodbye to this old mother,
saint of leprosy
With its open design extinguished
your corpse is nothing but a visible testament
to my creative power
I Estudio inicial de la sangre ii
Hora de huir
de la madre
El origen es una aguja
escribiendo los nombres de los muertos
en las pupilas de los peces
000000Ceguera oceánica
Sin imagen sólo queda el sentido de lo invisible
y una punta sangrienta como línea de salida a la superficie
00000000000000000000000000000Mientras tomas aire
0000000000000000000la escritura se humedece de futuro
II Maté a mi hermana Mabel iv
Llevé tu cadáver a la habitación más oscura de nuestra casa
Lamí los rastros de mi violencia sobre tu cuerpo
Flácidos,
como babosas desnudas,
resbalaron de mi cansancio tus restos blancos
000pequeñas cárceles del ruido de las langostas,
000radiografías negras de la plaga izquierda de nuestro amor
Heridas florecen del eco de los alaridos que lanzaste cuando
te amé con golpes rotundos sobre la frente
Tus restos eran nevados en miniatura derritiéndose en
caminos de sangre y leche fresca de mamá
00000000000000000000000Su leche, mar muerto de maternidad,
0000000000000000000000000engordó tus huesos una luna antes
0000000000000000000000de que descubrieras aguas más hondas
El calor te encogía sobre un colchón de incomprensible
memoria
Arrastro tu muerte del pelo y le doy de comer la culpa que
me pesa
Arrastro tu muerte con la orfandad que me dejó el fratricidio,
pero, Mabel,
yo tenía que morirte para conocer el sentido de la justicia
Yo tenía que morirte para mirarte eterna,
para diseccionar tu espíritu de paloma al pie de los templos de las arpías
Eras el fuego delusorio de la caverna;
las sombras de mi conciencia afiebraban tus llamas
Pero la verdad no estaba en el origen aparente de las formas,
sino en la opacidad
de tu culto a la transparencia
Tuve que morirte para estudiar el interior de tu sombra blanca
y besarla con el deseo de las primeras imágenes
que pueblan esta cueva en donde limpio hasta tu nombre
En una esquina de la habitación
respira una Piedad monstruosa;
reclama tu cuerpo para sus brazos torcidos de invierno
Dile adiós a esa vieja madre,
santa de la lepra
Apagado su diseño abierto
tu cadáver es sólo un testimonio visible
de mi capacidad de crear
poesía en acción | Kymm Coveney: A Micro-Interview
Mónica Ojeda (Guayaquil, Ecuador, 1988) was named one of the Bogota39, a selection of the best young writers in Latin America in 2017. In 2021 she was included in Granta’s Best of Young Spanish-Language Novelists. Candaya Editores published her novels Nefando (2016) and Mandíbula (2018) (Jawbone is being published by Coffee House Press, 2022) and her poetry collection Historia de la leche (2020). Her short story collection, Las voladoras was published in 2020 by Páginas de Espuma. Her prizes include Premio ALBA Narrativa (La desfiguración Silva, 2014 novel), Desembarco National Poetry Prize in 2015, and “Next Generation” Award from the Prince Claus Foundation, 2019.
Kymm Coveney was born in Boston and has lived in Spain since the 1982 World Cup. Co-host of Barcelona’s multilingual poetry recital series, PoémameBCN, she is a freelance writer and translator. Her poems have been published in The Blue Nib, Under the Radar, Prole, and The Interpreter’s House. Her translations have been published in Rio Grande Review, The Glasgow Review, and online in Palabras Errantes, Surreal Poetry and LaReversible. She has translated the books Forest Bathing, by Hector Garcia and Francesc Miralles; Tokyo Sketchbook, by Amaia Arrazola, both by Tuttle Publishing; and Nórdica Libros’ Barcelona by Javier Zabala.
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.