Night - Via Negativa

Drawing one by Claudia Torres (Yellow Butterfly , Navigational Editions, Austin, TX, 1996)

The evening weaves its silence and on the small edges of the houses.

The beams embrace the soleras and their shingles < The yellow of the rays shrinks until they become nothing.

The intense blue ball becomes a twinkling buzz,
sighs the morning light.

The eye longs for
just a reflection in the inner depths that battle the senses.

Fear jumps victorious. Tremble, tremble.

The whisper is a long cry without noise.
_

Evening weaves its silence along the narrow borders of the houses. conceals sharp edges
with the advancing sound of dense night.

The rafters tighten their grip on crossbeams, roof tiles.
The last yellow rays dwindle,
return to nothing .

Skein of vivid blue becomes an arousing hum, the light of morning on its breath.

The eye hungers:
scarcely a single glimmer in the deep core
at war with the senses.

Night - Via Negativa

Fear leaps up,
overwhelms the moment.
Trembling, quaking, trembling.

A whisper is a long scream without a sound.
_

Claudia Torres is a linguist and a native of Tegicigalpa, Honduras, born in 1951. In the above poem, I like the images of weaving, and the way its synaesthesia evokes a confusion of emotions Perhaps even better understood by someone who grew up under dictatorship, where to midnight knock might mean two, almost opposite things.

Another poem by Torres, "Gentleman of the Night," includes the following explanatory note: "Gentleman of the Night and Love for a Day are the literal translations of flowers that are common in the author's native country of Honduras." This time I'll put my translation first. _

Shy caresses
all over my skin,
scent of cinnamon,
of guava.

In my tangled hair and there dreams of the dry stroke > of a tender hand.

Gentleman of the night,
love for a day,
lemon tree in blossom,
unpollinated orchid. ,
and it was killing me
_

Knight of Night

About the skin with harsh caresses, > cinnamon scent,
guava.

In the hair
tangled sleep
the dry sound of a tender hand.


love of a day,
lemon tree open,
failed orchid.

You left, and I died.

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