To My Youth, Good Riddance
I was happy, but really bored—Graham Greene
A body gets up slowly
because the air and the dress weigh it down.
No thirst, no questions to ask, the mouth droops,
the breasts of rumpled silk also droop,
and the tinted cheeks are dried fruit.
The sunken eyes do not look out
to see the cushion lying limp on the sofa
or the light overheating the flowers;
it is the invisible that they see now,
like a face no longer there
or the green steel of a river
paralyzed forever in memory.
To my youth, good riddance:
heroine of mysterious fables
dressed in borrowed clothing, good riddance.
You take with you the flirting in mirrors
and the joy of using a young body.
But why yearn for the turbid monologs of love,
of Saturday evenings with all their failed efforts,
that blind waiting for something that does not come,
and the many beaches, wine and roses, bare legs
that announced infernos and paradises
only to be remembered afterwards with a yawn.
To my youth, good riddance,
it’s time I change dreams.
Juventud, bien ida seas
Fui feliz, pero me aburrí tanto—Graham Greene
Un cuerpo que se alza con pereza
porque el aire le pesa y el vestido.
Sin sed ni preguntas, la boca cae,
caen también los pechos, tela de seda ajada,
y son frutas secas los pómulos maquillados.
Los ojos hundidos no miran hacia fuera
para ver el cojín desgonzado en el sofá
o la luz que recalienta las flores;
pasa ahora por ellos lo invisible,
como una cara que ya no es
o el verde acero de un río
paralizado para siempre en la memoria.
Juventud, bien ida seas:
heroína de fábulas misteriosas
vestida con ropas prestadas, bien ida seas.
Te llevas el coqueteo de los espejos
y la alegría de gastar un cuerpo joven.
Pero cómo añorar los turbios monólogos del amor,
las tardes de sábado con sus afanes fracasados,
aquella espera ciega de algo que no llega
y tanta playa, vino y rosas, piernas desnudas
que anunciaron infiernos y paraísos
y sólo se recuerdan después con un bostezo.
Juventud, bien ida seas,
es el momento de cambiar de sueños.
Today, May 13, 1985
Your voice arrives through the telephone,
I hear it next to me in bed,
a feeling or deception or shadow.
The early light blends
with the disorder of my blankets
and the thick taste in my mouth.
I try to see you while your voice speaks:
your disheveled hair against the pillow,
your relaxed body
at the other end of the line.
Not knowing what’s around you, I imagine
the lamp on the night table turned on,
maybe a book beside it,
the white curtains already open
and a family photo sitting somewhere.
Everything is unreal at this moment,
the dirty light dawning,
the words between two lips I do not see
and the false scene where this occurs.
At last, the same as always,
you say “hasta luego”
and as in a jigsaw puzzle, all things
fall back into place.
Already your voice is only a memory.
Hoy, 13 de mayo de 1985
Llega tu voz por el teléfono,
la oigo a mi lado en la cama:
sensación o engaño o sombra.
Se mezclan el amanecer,
el desorden de las cobijas
y un sabor espeso en la boca.
Trato de verte mientras tu voz habla:
el pelo despeinado contra la almohada,
el despreocupado ademán de tu cuerpo
al otro lado del teléfono.
Sin conocerlos imagino los objetos que te rodean,
la lámpara encendida sobre la mesa de noche,
tal vez un libro al lado,
las cortinas blancas ya descorridas
y una foto familiar en cualquier sitio.
Todo es irreal en este momento,
esa luz sucia que comienza,
las palabras entre dos labios que no veo
y el escenario falso en el que esto ocurre.
La frase final, la de siempre,
“hasta luego” dices
y todas las cosas igual que un rompecabezas
se colocan de nuevo en su lugar.
Tu voz es un recuerdo ya.
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María Mercedes Carranza (1945-2003) was one of the most vehement of Colombia’s so-called “disillusioned generation” of young poets. Today she is esteemed for her clear poetic voice unafraid to confront, in frank, colloquial language, her internal desolation and the violence of Colombian society. These two poems come from her third book, Hola soledad (Hello Solitude) (1987), in which, at the threshold of middle age, she writes about love. Informed that “you are going to be my friend, maybe even a close one, for the time it takes to read these poems,” the reader witnesses the poet reflecting on the solitude that lies beyond illusions of romantic love. Carranza’s influential public career as poet, cultural journalist, and arts activist ended with her suicide at age 58.
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Jere Paulmeno has published his poems in various journals. Recently, after years of reading poetry in Spanish and Italian, he began translating poems from those languages. His translations of sonnets by Francisco de Quevedo and Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz were published earlier this year in the journal Think. Jere lives in Denver, Colorado.
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Jury S. Judge is an internationally published artist, writer, poet, and cartoonist. Her Astronomy Comedy cartoons were published in The Lowell Observer. She was interviewed on the television news program NAZ Today for her work as a cartoonist. Her artwork has been featured in over one hundred thirty-five literary magazines, including the covers of Blue Mesa Review, 3 Elements Review, Glass Mountain, and Levitate. She has also been interviewed by Streetlight Magazine and The Antonym. She graduated Magna Cum Laude with a BFA from the University of Houston, Clear Lake in 2014.
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