by
rita martin
translated into
English by
Manuel A. Tellechea
He padecido la certidumbre
De no tener un nombre.
Como un acabamiento
He intentado esa búsqueda
Si la noche y lo oscuro
Se confunden.
Una sola estación
Para la ida
Conforma el laberinto
Trazado por los otros.
Destino de este ser
Ajeno. Íntimo
Se distancia
Gravitando
Si el día y lo claro
Se trastocan.
Un sólo paisaje:
Profecía de sucesivos círculos
Que habitan en el puerto.
Reflejo del instante
Entorpecido por la palabra.
Un nombre
Pudiera revelar
A quien pertenece
O pertenezco.
Un nombre pudiera ser
También la Nada
Donde me aferro
Con violencia
Escupiendo inmemorial
Hastío. La presencia del nombre,
Que es su ausencia:
La costumbre de la muerte
Confundida.
Without a Name
I have suffered from the certainty
Of not having a name.
As my last act,
Y have attempted to search for it,
Though hindered by obscurity and night,
Which have become enmeshed.
There is but one station
On the way of life,
And we must conform to a labyrinth
Laid out by others.
Such is the fate
Of an intimate stranger
Who distances herself
While gravitating
Toward the day and the light
Which are always changing places.
The landscape is all one:
A prophecy of successive circles
Inhabiting the port.
A reflection of the moment
That was obstructed by the word.
A name could reveal
To whom it belongs,
Or to whom I belong.
But a name could also be
The Nothingness
To which I violently cling,
Sputtering immemorial
Disdain. The presence of my name
Is a token of your absence:
A custom of death
Confused.