Al principio éramos muchos / Antonia Palacios

In the beginning we were many

In the beginning we were many. We were dispersed, hoping to touch and hear each other. The place was vast and we could barely manage a slight caress, a brief closeness. Some escaped. Others began to ignore the elements, they began to change their customs, silently hesitating, blind and breathless. Afterwards there were so few of us, barely two or three, trembling and very close. In the end just one. One so alone. And the broken wait began to extend itself over the desert.


*


Al principio éramos muchos

Al principio éramos muchos. Andábamos dispersos intentando tocarnos, escucharnos. El sitio era muy vasto y apenas alcanzábamos un leve roce, un fugaz acercamiento. Algunos se escaparon. Otros comenzaron a ignorar los elementos, comenzaron a cambiar costumbres tanteándose en silencio, ciegos y sin aliento. Después fuimos muy pocos, apenas dos o tres, muy juntos y temblando. Al fin tan sólo uno. Uno tan sólo. Y la febril espera comenzó a extenderse por encima del desierto.


Textos del desalojo (1973)




{ Antonia Palacios, Ficciones y aflicciones, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }

No me sublevo en mi largo reposo / Antonia Palacios

I don’t subvert myself in my long repose

I don’t subvert myself in my long repose. I don’t break the lair that hides me. I don’t want the days to warm my face. I don't pine for the angel of lost vision. I don't pray to the gods that sustain my speech. I don’t want the spaces and the fixed rooftops, nor the vast lodgings full of signals. I don’t want to see where my highest memory nests.


*


No me sublebo en mi largo reposo

No me sublebo en mi largo reposo. No rompo la bóveda que me tiene oculta. No quiero que mi rostro lo calienten los días. No clamo por el ángel de la visión perdida. No clamo por los dioses que me ayudan el habla. No quiero los espacios, ni los techos fijos, ni los vastos aposentos llenos de señales. No quiero ver donde se anida mi más alta memoria.




Textos del desalojo (1973)




{ Antonia Palacios, Ficciones y aflicciones, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }

Estoy aquí en lo oscuro / Antonia Palacios

I am here in the dark

I am here in the dark with my back to the light, forgetting the beginning, the day’s eternity. I am here ignored, the profile of my face lost in the shade. I am here diminished, barely a line, a point with no terrain. I am here leaning letting the night pass through me. Outside the immense eagles battle the wind in space. I am here waiting… And I gather my gestures, and my breath retreats, I muzzle my voice and all of me is an occult silence amidst the dark. I am here vigilant, keeping vigil fearfully for a wandering creature that has stopped within me.

*

Estoy aquí en lo oscuro

Estoy aquí en lo oscuro de espaldas a la luz, olvidando el comienzo, la eternidad del día. Estoy aquí ignorada, el perfil de mi rostro perdido entre la sombra. Estoy aquí disminuida, apenas una línea, un punto sin relieve. Estoy aquí inclinada dejando que la noche me pase por encima. Afuera en el espacio las águilas inmensas batallan con el viento. Estoy aquí aguardando... Y recogjo mis gestos, y repliego mi aliento, amordazo mi voz y toda yo soy silencio oculta entre lo oscuro. Estoy aquí vigilante, velando temerosa una criatura errante que en mí se ha detenido.




Textos del desalojo (1973)




{ Antonia Palacios, Ficciones y aflicciones, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }

Este infatigable ascenso / Antonia Palacios

This indefatigable ascent

This indefatigable ascent, and my arms tied, and my foot sinking, sinking into the abyss. I’m full of froth, coarse powders, ashes. Time slowly pulled out my hair. Final plans are dragged away by oblivion. My soul grows giant in dilated flight. Oh the blood that flows with no measure, infinite. Oh the blood that runs, escapes in the air, the blood of my origin lost already in the depths.

*

Este infatigable ascenso

Este infatigable ascenso, y mis brazos atados, y mi pie que se hunde, se hunde en el abismo. Estoy llena de espumas, de polvos ásperos, de cenizas. El tiempo lentamente me arrancó los cabellos. Los últimos designios los arrastra el olvido. Mi alma se agiganta en dilatado vuelo. Oh la sangre que brota sin medida, infinita. Oh la sangre que corre, que se escapa en el aire, la sangre de mi origen perdida ya en el fondo.




Textos del desalojo (1973)




{ Antonia Palacios, Ficciones y aflicciones, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }

Iba vestida por el caudal del viento / Antonia Palacios

I was wandering dressed by the wind’s flow

I was wandering dressed by the wind’s flow. I was naked girded by the air. I was moving without realizing I was being dragged by its immobile semblance. I was wandering by the open channel. I was passing by ancient skies always bordering the shores of grief. I was listening to the already consumed beating of another heart.

*

Iba vestida por el caudal del viento

Iba vestida por el caudal del viento. Iba desnuda ceñida por el aire. Iba sin saber que iba arrastrada por su inmóvil semejanza. Iba rodando por el cauce abierto. Iba pasando por antiguos cielos bordeando siempre las orillas del duelo. Iba escuchando los latidos del otro corazón ya consumidos.




Textos del desalojo (1973)




{ Antonia Palacios, Ficciones y aflicciones, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }

Abre los espacios / Antonia Palacios

Open the spaces

Open the spaces. Let the weightless matter slip through your fingers. Stretch the arc over your dreams. Stop in front of swollen time. Remember your distant irradiation, you, the forgetful one. Drop the nets over the sea in fires. The Tributary will arise from the ruins. He will come to extinguish your sleepless thirst. No, don’t bow. Don’t give in. The day is tall. Tall light. Don’t let the edge of the shade graze you.


*


Abre los espacios

Abre los espacios. Deja que resbale entre tus dedos la materia sin peso. Tiende el arco por encima de tus sueños. Detente ante el tiempo hendido. Recuerda tus lejanas irradiaciones, tú, la desmemoriada. Deja caer las redes sobre el mar en fuegos. De entre los escombros surgirá el Tributario. Vendrá a apagar la sed de tus desvelos. No te inclines, no. No te doblegues. Es alto el día. Alta la luz. No dejes que te roce el borde de la sombra.




Textos del desalojo (1973)




{ Antonia Palacios, Ficciones y aflicciones, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }

¿Dónde la anchurosa curva apenas iniciada? / Antonia Palacios

Where is the barely initiated spacious curve?

Where is the barely initiated spacious curve? Where is the exiled sun? This pale glow holds the secret to everything that’s been lost. Vacillating light, fearful of illuminating my darkness, of touching the limits of the quiet ordering of the shade.

*

¿Dónde la anchurosa curva apenas iniciada?

¿Dónde la anchurosa curva apenas iniciada? ¿Dónde el desterrado sol? Este pálido fulgor guarda el secreto de todo lo perdido. Luz vacilante, temerosa de alumbrar mi tiniebla, de tocar el límite del callado ordenamiento de la sombra.




Textos del desalojo (1973)




{ Antonia Palacios, Ficciones y aflicciones, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }

Cuando vagábamos por los caminos / Antonia Palacios

When we wandered the roads

CLEFT TIME

Have the doors of death been revealed to you,
And have you seen the doors of the shadow of death?
JOB: 38:17

When we wandered the roads that seemed so open, we traveled with a desire as though a dense shade were pursuing us. The light was uncertain, in its beginning, in the ignored initiation. As we advanced without touching the air, the air was an augury, the morbid breath was already on its way from the depths. When we stopped, the resounding names, the refulgent space filled up with dust.


*

TIEMPO HENDIDO

¿Hante sido descubiertas las puertas de la muerte,
Y has visto las puertas de la sombra de muerte?
JOB: 38:17

Cuando vagábamos por los caminos que parecían abiertos, íbamos anhelantes como si una densa sombra nos persiguiese. La luz estaba incierta, en sus comienzos, en la ignorada iniciación. Cuando avanzábamos sin tocar el aire, el aire era augurio, el malsano aliento venía ya desde lo hondo. Cuando nos detuvimos, los nombres resonantes, el refulgente espacio se llenó de polvo.




Textos del desalojo (1973)




{ Antonia Palacios, Ficciones y aflicciones, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }

Estoy ya de regreso / Antonia Palacios

I’ve Already Returned

I’ve already returned. I pass my fingers over the relief of everything. Outside the air dissolves in a slight extenuation. Everything seems hidden, submerged, things occupying their ancient place. I think I’ve grown. Maybe I’ve stretched out beneath my shadow. Time is losing density on its silent trip. I look under the limits. The antecedents leave no trail.




Hondo temblor de lo secreto (1979-1980)




{ Antonia Palacios, Ficciones y aflicciones, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }

Una invisible oscuridad me sombra / Antonia Palacios

An Invisible Darkness Shrouds Me

An invisible darkness shrouds me. Day by day I make myself in the light of this obscure sparkle, this absence of sonorous vibration. I am attending a dissipated form, the space closing itself and here where I settle gradually loses its nascent light. The movement of my body escapes through the air. It will be still eventually, rooted in the depths, drinking a barely abandoned sip, exhausted sip the bodies left waiting. Maybe it’ll dream of touching a living being, wounded heart. Maybe it’ll dream it flies and decipher in the air the secret of the wind.




Hondo temblor de lo secreto (1979-1980)




{ Antonia Palacios, Ficciones y aflicciones, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }

Me estoy buscando en sitios de otros tiempos / Antonia Palacios

I’m Looking for Myself in Places from Other Times

I’m looking for myself in places from other times. Walking amid spaces where silence once passed through. I’m tracing the path of the dull trail my feet left in nights of oblivion. There is a changing light. A sky that hides while stretched out and floating. Distant is the earth that serves as my support. I seek it in the inclemency, in the special sadness of the disappeared days that continued their descent without knowing the destination. I don’t know who I am anymore. I lavish myself tracking the memories that are scattered everywhere. My hand is another hand, my arms and neck happen on someone else’s body. I am that unknown woman who was suddenly shut down in her own shadows.




Hondo temblor de lo secreto (1979-1980)




{ Antonia Palacios, Ficciones y aflicciones, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }

En esta casa no miro el cielo / Antonia Palacios

In this House I Don’t Look at the Sky

In this house I don’t look at the sky. I look at the hard extension surrounding me, I listen to the battle of the wind far off in the distance. Its limits marginalize me from the openness. It’s a closed house, nothing in it is revealed. There are no spaces or columns or eaves where restless birds might nest. A naked house without the deep tremor of the secret. I stick to its walls, to its desert scent. It’s my house.




Hondo temblor de lo secreto (1979-1980)




{ Antonia Palacios, Ficciones y aflicciones, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }

Estoy ensayando un gesto / Antonia Palacios

I’m Practicing A Gesture

I’m practicing a gesture. My equilibrium is broken at the start of a gesture. My body remains at rest. I have stopped at a gesture. I’m looking for another form, disengaging it from time, freeing it from the body. I have begun to flow like a swollen river. There are hands that sink, hands that want to touch. My gesture is stretched out, it stops belonging to me. Another gesture stands up, another flight, another distance.




Hondo temblor de lo secreto (1979-1980)




{ Antonia Palacios, Ficciones y aflicciones, Caracas: Biblioteca Ayacucho, 1989 }

La casa se derrumbó / Antonia Palacios

The house collapsed

The house collapsed. It left some scattered dust, slabs of hard cement. It also left memories scattered everywhere. The roof that overflowed with the stirring of doves also came down. I don’t want to rebuild the house, lift new walls, or doors, or roof tiles, or a small window through which the world passed, or that wide threshold where the front door towered and I would penetrate the days, nights, seeking my warmth there. The house collapsed, a transparent house where the day would light up and a thick darkness would tremble at night. Nothing was left of the house, not the light on the walls nor the patio’s splendor. Only silence moves through the vast empty space and the sterile words whose thin filaments the wind will dissolve. I will remain in the open air watching the fog in the trees until the arrival of death, a house erected by time that will never collapse.




{ Antonia Palacios, Ese oscuro animal del sueño, Caracas: Monte Ávila Editores, 1991 }

Hoy somos otros / Antonia Palacios

Today we are others

Today we are others. Today we are others who yesterday were breathing in the extremity of that short silence. We are others who would touch with absent rubbing the sharp edge of things. Today we are others who rise through the air and its high climbs. The old splendor was extinguished in quietest oblivion. Today we are others in merciless waiting stopped.




{ Antonia Palacios, Ese oscuro animal del sueño, Caracas: Monte Ávila Editores, 1991 }

Aquí donde me he detenido / Antonia Palacios

Here where I’ve stopped

Here where I’ve stopped I listen to strange sounds, flights of invisible birds, and I think of a firmament only my mind retains. Stilled I’m awaiting some diaphanous delivery, an ignored promise. The air is tinged with an impossible color and the wind intensely shakes the crossroad trees. In these parts of the world behind white mountains no one dares pass. Maybe the fear of death, a quick death with no time for pain. I hope the night will sprout with its mystical torment, its mantle of darkness. A star might shine in this wide open air that never has any end.




{ Antonia Palacios, Ese oscuro animal del sueño, Caracas: Monte Ávila Editores, 1991 }

De pronto llegó la noche / Antonia Palacios

Suddenly night arrived

Suddenly night arrived, its tormented presence. It opens furrows in the earth, the earth I carry inside. Arid my earth. Night approaches and touches my heart. Tumbling it breaks me. My heart is keeping vigil and night enslaves it, leaves it so darkened that it forgets the light. Time passes very slowly in this night without end. I open the leaves of my window one by one. I want to watch the other night, the one that stays outside in rigid darkness. A night without presences, monotonous and without stars. The one that penetrated my lodgings was maybe my own night.




{ Antonia Palacios, Ese oscuro animal del sueño, Caracas: Monte Ávila Editores, 1991 }

Estoy escuchando el temblor / Antonia Palacios

I’m listening to the trembling

I’m listening to the trembling of a distant night. A night that murmurs amid its dense foliage. I’m barely listening to it from this closed place where my spirit drags itself over hard foundations that wound me without bleeding. I want to penetrate the night, know of its occult aroma, have it fill me slowly with its stillness, its adventure. Go towards other continents where the night turns, raises small things that soar intact in a flight toward the skies. This night is magic, its curvature in sleeplessness. The wind carries me in its fervor to imagine another recondite and generous night that could illumine me completely from afar, from outside, and clear up this babbling subdued without violence. This night is so long.




{ Antonia Palacios, Ese oscuro animal del sueño, Caracas: Monte Ávila Editores, 1991 }

Regresa de tu nostalgia / Antonia Palacios

Return from your nostalgia

Return from your nostalgia. Watch the sun burn the leaves. Dance again. Turn in the middle of the patio beside the cypress tree bending its sadness, its vast mute sadness, leaning and breathlessly touching the edge of the water. What does it matter that you find yourself alone? Recover old habits, return to hope carrying in your hand the chalice of a flower stripped of its petals.




{ Antonia Palacios, Ese oscuro animal del sueño, Caracas: Monte Ávila Editores, 1991 }

Yo soy la que se incorpora / Antonia Palacios

I’m the one who sits up

I’m the one who sits up, who rises from the ground of a remote origin. I’m the disorderly one, the one who silenced her senses within infinite spaces to dislike the world. I’m the woman who returns on paths born amid yesterday’s dust. There is no word to name me. I’m the one who is pregnant with cursed rebels, feeling their deep pulse, their spying, their stupor. I’ve kept still here, diluted in darkness. I’m the one who noiselessly awaits immersed in solitude.




{ Antonia Palacios, Ese oscuro animal del sueño, Caracas: Monte Ávila Editores, 1991 }