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Read the English translation.

se abres unha mazá

se lle partes o corazón

cun corte crocante

dos que desprenden olor

un cheiro rubio profundo por un silencio

a clorofila

 

se abres a mazá así entre as túas mans

de primate

esas mans que non coñezo e adoro de antemán

 

se cortas | a mazá | polo seu | eixo imaxinario | de mazá

o seu ecuador de mazá /a súa traxectoria dividida en dous/

no aire introvertido sobre a cabeza dun newton que toquea

dun fillo de guillermo tell cunha espiñada

se abres a mazá de turing

a mazá madrasta

a mazá mordida cun xersei de arco iris

 

se abres as mazás máis mazás de todas as mazás

e todas as mazás do mundo

ácidas e nucleicas

as camoesas que xamais probei

as de paris volto hespéride

ese mozo louco con roupa de muller

mazá travestida

con marcas de dentes e unha drupa fértil

até a voracidade

 

se o fas

 

se o fas

 

mete a lingua na estrela de cinco puntas que rodea o poema

la pomme

la pomme fatale

pebideiro de estrela

semente de cianuro

 

ácido azul a eslavar enlaces celulares

 

mete a lingua no que non se atreven outros

mete a lingua até a dor á fin das mazás en flor

 

estrela coa tua lingua na semente do abismo

é dicir

 

rompe a falar

 

rompe a falar dioivo vivo o que unha vez foi escuro

no centro explosivo dunha froita fetal feita na luz

 

a túa lingua

cara ao sobrenatural

 

de curiosidade, 2015



Estíbaliz Espinosa (A Coruña, Spain): writer. Musician. Philologist and sociologist. Dilettante astronomer. Her poetic work emerges from her curiosity about literature and science (linguistics, puns, maths, astrophysics or biology), and from her search for new approaches to content, on paper or screen She also writes—in Galician and Spanish—short stories and articles; she runs workshops and musical readings. Her most recent poetry book is Curiosidade.
Current Issue
22 Apr 2024

We’d been on holiday at the Shoon Sea only three days when the incident occurred. Dr. Gar had been staying there a few months for medical research and had urged me and my friend Shooshooey to visit.
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Le petit monstre n’était pas né comme un enfant des hommes, criant de froid et de terreur au sortir du ventre maternel. Il avait pris vie peu à peu, sur la haute selle à trois pieds, et quand ses yeux s’étaient ouverts, ils avaient rencontré ceux du sculpteur aux larges épaules, qui le regardaient tendrement.
We're delighted to welcome Nat Paterson to the blog, to tell us more about his translation of Léopold Chauveau's story 'The Little Monster'/ 'Le Petit Monstre', which appears in our April 2024 issue.
For a long time now you’ve put on the shirt of the walls,/just as others might put on a shroud.
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