An interpretation, not a translation (because translation is never poetry) The brilliance of the sun upon a robin's red, I hear its singing and I smile nostalgically because I do not warble ballads of celestial fledglings. I walk my hound dog, gods lightly trampling on my feet smelling the rose weed, the yucca, the helter-skelter grass. I pull her tether and wonder at the parties of closed-in houses and music floating through the air. I am not part of them. I am not part of anyone. I am not here or other, but everywhere I give of me. Yet I wonder who really knows that I feel blue wonder at the robin's nest eggs and the ant hill smothered by the rain. The loneliness of family dispersed and far away; the empty words of giving independence. Proudly my heart breaks at all the awe I feel, at the blue sky shining sun bright golden beam. At what all become, at what all have grown. Yet reminiscence chokes my sentiment so that I stop, I stifle, I contort and disengage for just one day, but then I shake myself free of oh such nonsense, and I look at the birds' sapphire spectacle, and flabbergasted at my recollected wistfulness, I laugh with fascination at the new-laid eggs.
El nido del petirrojo
El sol brilla sobre el carmesí del petirrojo, escucho su canción y nostálgica, suspiro, ya que no canto coplas de esos celestes pajaritos. Paseo a mi sabueso, los dioses pisoteando mis pies, oliendo los helechos de rosa, de yuca, de atolondrada hierba. Le jalo al collar y me asombran las fiestas de enrejadas casas con música flotando en el aire. Yo no soy parte de ellas. No soy parte de nadie. No estoy aquí ni en ningún otro, pero en todas partes sí doy de mí. Aún me pregunto si alguien comprende que puedo sentir una maravilla azul observando los huevos del nido o el hormiguero cubierto de lluvia. La soledad de familia dispersa y distanciada; las vacías palabras de dar tanta independencia. Orgullosa, mi corazón se rompe de asombro, siento el cielo azul brillando sol luciente rayo dorado. Veo en lo que todos se convierten, en lo que todos han crecido. Sin embargo, el recuerdo ahoga mi sentimiento y me detengo, me sofoco, retroceso y desconecto por solo un día, pero luego me libero de tantas tonterías y miro al espectáculo de zafiro nato en pájaros y, estupefacta, ante la melancolía, Me río con fascinación de los huevos recién creados.
by Ana M. Fores Tamayo
Ana M. Fores Tamayo works with asylum seekers. She advocates for marginalized refugee families from Mexico and Central America. Her labor has eased her own sense of displacement, being a child refugee, always trying to find home. In parallel, poetry is her escape: she has published in The Raving Press, Indolent Books, the Laurel Review, Shenandoah, and many other anthologies and journals, both in the US and internationally, online and in-print. Her poetry in translation with its accompanying photography has been exhibited in art fairs and galleries as well.
Picture by Ana M. Fores Tamayo. @anamfores
Aayo Magazine 