Marta López Luaces

Excerpts Translated by Tanya Huntington

De Talar un nogal

el halcón planea
                        sobre
                        los cerezos en flor
                        el verde de los arces
                        un sauce llorón
adornos fatuos de la ciudad

                        el ingrávido cielo todo lo contempla

                                                                                                                                                                        porque hay dolor / hay llanto
                                                                                                                                                                        en el canto de los pájaros

los ritos
que comienzan con el relente
se funden
con el agua del río

                                                                                                                                                                        [La Venda Cycad, Sudáfrica
                                                                                                                                                                        extinita en su estabdo salvaje
                                                                                                                                                                        en 1996]

y los viejos hechizos
ya han perdido
su convicción

una bandada de pájaros se abre camino

el puente vínculo
que se refleja
en la intimidad desgarrada
                                                de las aguas

bajo el relámpago
                        bajo el trueno
se iluminan sus formas

intensa desazón
                        sin claridad
la erosión del cielo arrebolado

                                                                                                                                                                        porque hay dolor / hay llanto
                                                                                                                                                                        en el canto de los pájaros

perfora
            traspasa
            y las sombras
borran el fulgor,

                                                                                                                                                                        [La pelota de golf, México
                                                                                                                                                                        en peligro de extinción]

            la hoguera del crepúsculo
                                    entre las entrañas de este azul
                                                                                    bermejo
se derrama por las alas del halcón

que busca en el seno de este universo
su hábitat

una oropéndola
sortea
el puente
cruza la autopista
                        se posa            en un banco de madera

desde el celaje de la mañana
el halcón la sobrevuela
y vislumbra una ausencia

                                                                                                                                                                        porque hay dolor / hay llanto
                                                                                                                                                                        en el canto de los pájaros

anhelo de la naturaleza
de ser canto
presencia        en este universo
donde los dioses han muerto
y lo humano se impone
                                    en el cielo

                                                                                                                                                                        [El Palisandro de Madagascar
                                                                                                                                                                        en peligro de extinción]

            talar un nogal / matar a un animal / asesinar a una mujer

cómo crear un jardín
                                    sin
                                    destruir          sin dominar
                                                un bosque

talar un nogal
inmensidad
                        de cristal y cemento

                                                                                                                                                                        porque hay dolor / hay llanto
                                                                                                                                                                        en el canto de los pájaros

en el puente
            anida hoy
el torcaz y el mirlo
confunden

los pilares de acero                con brezos
los arcos                     con las copas de los árboles

                                                                                                                                                                        [El árbol Coralino,
                                                                                                                                                                       
Tanzania en peligro de extinción]

un zarzal crece
                        sin sentido del infinito

un jilguero pía
                        en la rama de un álamo solitario
                        su trino
                        llama al jacarandá
                                    a florecer en la ciudad

            aquí se taló                 mató              se asesinó

                                    GOZO DEL MAL

una golondrina en la tierra              baldía
                        sueña                          su bosque
mientras el ruiseñor canta
                                    su deseo

                                                                                                                                                                        porque hay dolor / hay llanto
                                                                                                                                                                        en el canto de los pájaros

el canto es el mismo que antaño                  el contexto
                                                                                    se ha perdido
apagamos las estrellas
y creamos un parque para recobrar
                                                            el cielo abierto

                                                                                                                                                                        [El Euphorbia Mayurnathanii, de la India
                                                                                                                                                                        sobrevive en cauitiverio]

 ¿sólo el centro puede crear desde la violencia
 o la marginalidad                             también es culpable?

                        a veces hasta las palabras callan

deforestar
                        cazar
                                                asesinar

El derecho natural es aquello que es dado a cada ser vivo

Y somos Ifigenia camino al sacrificio
Y somos Edipo camino al parricido

y porque hay luz                  hay sombras
en la misma palabra            que la convoca

                                                                                                                                                                        porque hay dolor / hay llanto
                                                                                                                                                                        en el canto de los pájaros

en gélido soplo enhebra el follaje
del jardín junto al rio
como un esbozo de forma y ritmo

                                                                                                                                                                        [La Planta de Jarra de Attenborough,
                                                                                                                                                                        Filipinas, en peligro de extinción
]

el halcón se alza                     retoma el vuelo

            hoy su paisaje:
                                    coches
                                    metro
                                    buses
                                    gentío
                                    edificios

el usurpador de los sueños ha invadido el reino

y el jacarandá en su exilio siente
cómo
            la aves pierden su cielo

                                                                                                                                                                        porque hay dolor / hay llanto
                                                                                                                                                                        en el canto de los pájaros

                        a veces hasta las palabras callan


From To Fell a Walnut Tree

a hawk soars
                        over
                        cherry trees in bloom
                        the greenery of maples
                        a weeping willow
fatuous embellishments of the city

                        the weightless sky sees all

                                                                                                                                                                        in birdsong
                                                                                                                                                                        because there is pain / there are tears

the rites
that began in moisture
are blended
with river water

                                                                                                                                                                        [The Venda Cycad of South Africa
                                                                                                                                                                        extinct in the wild
                                                                                                                                                                        since 1996]

and the old spells
have already lost
their conviction

a flock of birds makes way

the bridge is a bond
reflected
in the frayed intimacy
                                    of water

its shapes illuminated
                        below the lightning bolt
below the thunder

intense disquiet
                        with no clarity
the erosion of the ruddy sky

                                                                                                                                                                        in birdsong
                                                                                                                                                                        because there is pain / there are tears

perforates
            penetrates
            and shadows

erase the glow,

                                                                                                                                                                        [The golf ball cactus of Mexico
                                                                                                                                                                        critically endangered]

            the bonfire of dusk
                                    among the entrails of this russet
                                                                                    blue

spills across the wings of a hawk

that seeks its habitat in the bosom
of this universe 

an oropendola
dodges
the bridge
crosses the highway
                        and perches                on a wooden bench

out of the morning cloudscape
a hawk soars
and senses absence

                                                                                                                                                                        in birdsong
                                                                                                                                                                        because there is pain / there are tears

the desire of nature
to become song
a presence                  in this universe
where gods are dead
and humanity has imposed itself
                                                on the heaven
s

                                                                                                                                                                        [The Madagascar rosewood
                                                                                                                                                                        endnngered]

            to fell a walnut tree / to slay an animal / to murder a woman

how to create a garden
                                    without
                                    the destruction          or domination
                                                of a forest

to fell a walnut tree
the vastness
                        of cement and glass

                                                                                                                                                                        in birdsong
                                                                                                                                                                        because there is pain / there are tears

on the bridge
            nesting today
wood pigeons and blackbirds
confuse

steel pillars                 with heather
arches                                     with treetops

                                                                                                                                                                        [The coral tree of Tanzania
                                                                                                                                                                        endangered]

a bramble grows
                       
with no concept of infinity

a goldfinch chirps
                        on the branch of a solitary poplar
                        its trill
                        calls on the jacaranda
                                    to blossom in the city

            here, we felled           slayed             murdered

                                    WE REVEL IN EVIL

a swallow in the barren                    wasteland
                        dreams                       of its forest
while the nightingale sings
                                    its desire

                                                                                                                                                                        in birdsong
                                                                                                                                                                        because there is pain / there are tears

while the song is the same as yesteryear                 the context
                                                                                    has been lost
we extinguished the stars
and created a park to recover
                                                            the open sky

                                                                                                                                                                        [The Euphorbia Mayurnathanii of India
                                                                                                                                                                        survives in captivity]

can the center create only out of violence
or does marginalization                    bear some of the blame?

                        sometimes even words can silence

deforest
                        hunt
                                                murder

Natural law is that which is granted to every living being

And we are Iphigenia           bound for sacrifice
And we are Oedipus             bound for parricide

and because there is light                  there is shadow
found inside the same word             used to summon it

                                                                                                                                                                        in birdsong
                                                                                                                                                                        because there is pain / there are tears

an icy gust threads the foliage
of the garden by the river
like a gesture of form and rhythm

                                                                                                                                                                        [The Attenborough’s pitcher plant of the
                                                                                                                                                                        Philippines, endangered
]

the hawk ascends                     resuming its flight

            its current landscape:
                                    cars
                                    subway
                                    busses
                                    masses
                                    buildings

the usurper of dreams has invaded the realm

and the jacaranda in its exile feels
how
            the birds are losing their sky

                                                                                                                                                                        in birdsong
                                                                                                                                                                        because there is pain / there are tears

                        sometimes even words can silence


Reproduced with permission of Marta López Luaces from the book Talar un nogal (Madrid, Spain: Ediciones Tigres de Papel, 2023).

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