National Poetry Month 2016: April 14th, Luz Machado

La Casa Por Dentro

Luz Machado

La casa necesita mis dos manos.
Yo debo sostener su cal como mis huesos,
su sal como mis gozos,
su fábula en la noche
y el sol ardiendo en mitad de su cuerpo.
Deben dolerme las cortinas y sus gaviotas
muertas en el vuelo.
Conmoverme el jardín y su antifaz de flores dibujado,
el ladrillo inocente acusado
de no haber alcanzado los espejos,
y las puertas abiertas para las recién casadas
con su rumor de arroz creciendo bajo el velo.
Debo atender su réplica del universo,
la memoria del campo en los floreros,
la unánime vigilia de la mesa,
la almohada y su igualdad de pájaros dispersos,
la leche con el rostro del amanecer bajo la frente
con esa yerta soledad de una azucena
simplemente naciendo.
Debo quererla entera, salida de mis manos
con la gracia que vive de mi gracia muriendo.
Y no saber, no saber que hay un pueblo de trébol
con el mar a la puerta
y sin nombres
ni lámparas.

The House Inside

By Luz Machado, translated by Rowena Hil

The house needs both my hands.
I must hold up its plaster like my bones,
its salt like my joys,
its fable in the night
and the sun burning in the middle of its body.
I have to suffer the curtains and their seagulls
dead in flight.
Be moved by the garden and its sketched mask of flowers,
the innocent brick accused
of not being up to the mirrors,
and the doors open for new brides
with their sound of rice growing under the veil.
I have to look after its replica of the universe,
the memory of fields in the vases,
the concerted vigil of the table,
the pillow and its likeness of strayed birds,
the milk with dawn’s face under its brow
with the stiff solitude of a lily
simply being born.
I have to love it whole, going out of my hands
with the grace that lives on my dying grace.
And not know, not know there’s a clover village
with the sea at it’s door
and no names
nor lamps.

Source material from prometeodigital.org and the Poetry Foundation.

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