Damaris Calderón

Damaris Calderón Poems

The cold
of a lump of sugar
on the tongue of a cup of tea
of a loaf of bread that leaps
in bloody slices.
The dishwasher's trade
the genuflections
and hands that are still
being submerged with certain good sense.
The reds
the whites
the skinheads
and Cossacks
might kick down my door
or there may appear a rope
for securing a trunk and hang me
without me shuddering a centimetre.
...

El frio
de un terrón de azúcar
en la lengua de una taza de té
de un pan que salta
en rebanadas sangrientas.
El oficio de lavaplatos,
las genuflexiones
y las manos que todavía
se sumergen con cierta cordura.
Los rojos
los blancos
los cabezas rapadas
y los cosacos
podrán echar mi puerta a patadas
o aparezca una cuerda
con que atar un baúl y colgarme
sin que me estremezca un centímetro.
...

Los segadores
tienen una rara vocación por la simetría
y recortan las palabras sicomoro,
serbal, abeto, roble.
Guardan las proporciones
como guardan sus partes pudendas—
Y ejercen sin condescendencia
el orden universal
porque el hombre
- como el pasto—
también debe ser cortado
...

Reapers
have a rare vocation for symmetry
they clip the words sycamore,
service tree, fir, elm.
They guard proportions
as they guard their private parts—
and enact without indulgence
the universal order
because man too
- like a lawn—
must be mown down.
...

No,
el cielo no se tiende
como un paciente
anestesiado
sobre la mesa
El paciente
en su camilla
anestesiado de sí mismo
no mira al cielo
espera
el corte
el bisturí
que haga saltar al potro de su infancia
y las canciones natales que volverán
con las agujas hipodérmicas.
...

No,
the sky is not stretched out
like a patient
anesthetized
upon the table
The patient
on his stretcher
anesthetized to self
is not looking at the sky
he awaits
the cut
the scalpel
that will make the colt of childhood leap
and the birth songs come rushing back
with the hypodermic needles.

Translated by Barbara Jamison
...

I came to you, with so much hope
That love was real, and we would cope
I trusted all, the words you said
They seemed to always be inside my head.

And then one day, I had a fear
That you no longer held me dear
The truth it seemed, I did not know
The love you no longer seemed to show.

How could it be, I wondered why
I gave you all, so hard I tried
The hours and days seemed to go by so fast
And yet I knew, this would not last.

I cried forever, and so it seemed
You begged to be forgiven, and be redeemed
How can I believe these words you say
I've struggled with pain, to go on my way.

What makes you think I should want to be there
What makes you believe, with you my life I should share
You couldn't see the love in me
Now I know in love, there are no guarantees.

I wish you the best, even though you were wrong
In each passing day, God has kept me strong
One day you will realize love isn't a game
And when trust is gone, it is never the same.

I know some day, I will love again
But for now, I can only call you my friend
I hold on to my dreams, and hold on to my heart
But now my friend, I shall have to part.
...

The Best Poem Of Damaris Calderón

TO MARINA TSVETAEVA

The cold
of a lump of sugar
on the tongue of a cup of tea
of a loaf of bread that leaps
in bloody slices.
The dishwasher's trade
the genuflections
and hands that are still
being submerged with certain good sense.
The reds
the whites
the skinheads
and Cossacks
might kick down my door
or there may appear a rope
for securing a trunk and hang me
without me shuddering a centimetre.

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