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All photographs by Tania Franco Klein © The artist. Courtesy ROSEGALLERY

Issue 117, Summer 2022

El Hogar Que Compartimos/Homes We Share

Te Presento Mi Noche De Paz
Poem by Clara Muschietti

te presento mi noche de paz
sin amor
sin fuegos de artificio
es de tarde pero la noche
los secretos del invierno que dije
mi secreto tiene vena
soy primera en un torneo
que no le importa a nadie,
como hija de padres recientemente separados
me dejo acariciar la cabeza por cualquiera 
es que un corazón así
en esas circunstancias
es un corazón mareado
golpeado 
tengo adentro un órgano golpeado
cagado a palos
soy grosera por necesidad
como es la vida conmigo 
me rapa literalmente hablando 
no. 
te presento la vida amable
que me hubiera gustado
nací, prácticamente 
viví
vivo, prácticamente 
tirito
el reflejo del agua
me tiñe esta parte del alma
de acá
y me daña eso que llamo “ser adecuado”
o estilo de vida que corresponde con la idiosincrasia 
de otra gente
adentro de cada persona hay otra persona
que piensa más o menos lo mismo
pero en otro idioma.


This Is My Night Of Peace

Poem by Clara Muschietti 
Translation by Curtis Bauer

this is my night of peace
without love
without fireworks
it’s afternoon but the night 
the winter secrets I told 
my secret has blood flowing through
I’m the first in a tournament 
no one cares about,
like the daughter of parents recently separated 
I’ll let anyone caress my head
it’s just that a heart like this
in these circumstances 
is a dizzy heart 
beaten
I have a beaten organ inside me
fucked up
I’m rude by necessity 
the way life is rude to me
it shaves my head literally speaking 
no.
this is the kind life
I would have liked
I was born, practically
I lived
I live, practically
I shiver
the reflection of the water
tints this part of my soul 
from here 
and what I call being adequate hurts me
or that way of life aligned with the idiosyncrasies 
of other people
inside every person there is another person
who thinks more or less the same thing 
but in another language. 

Photograph by Tania Franco Klein © The artist. Courtesy ROSEGALLERY

Genealogía De La Mancha 
Poem by María Sánchez

I

Nacimos hermanas de la gravedad y el paisaje 
—zurcidas, impecables, portadoras de aguarrás, estropajos 
                 y lejía. — 
De memoria bordada en nuestra piel 
una plegaria siempre dispuesta 
—de clase trabajadora—
imposible ser fuera de lo doméstico, 
confinadas a lo innombrable. 
¿podríamos deshacernos y así escapar?
¿dejar que la luz convirtiera cada una de nuestras falanges
                 en un ciempiés? 

II 

Pregunte aquí cómo quitar una mancha y se encontrará siempre 
      con la misma metodología: 
aquí el aguafuerte y la lejía
aquí la desinfección
—porque todas las manchas, 
aquí, 
se quitan de la misma manera—

¿Cómo concebir la pureza fuera del óxido y de la química?
Qué más da la superficie, la hierba, la carne.
Aquí la pureza duerme en la cal y en los dedos rotos 
en los nudillos manchados de tanto frotar 

Sí, la sangre mancha menos mezclada con lejía. 
Sí, la sangre deja de oler si estoy empapada en lejía.
Sí, la sangre olvida su color si la arrastro a la lejía. 

¿Podré confundir al agua y a la muerte si les doy el mismo 
                color? 

Quiero un color para la muerte
un color para el dolor
un color aséptico y tembloroso
un color y ella solo responde azul. 

III 

En la cocina la ternura se amasaba siempre a la hora del café 
un venero era mi corazón, 
limpiaba la mesa con retales de la bata de mi abuela.
Mamá siempre fregaba, 
sólo reía, 
—yo ya tengo las manos estropeadas, hija mía—
puchero y picón,
entrelazándose mientras llega el ausente.
Huid del hombre que no duda
que solo sonríe y no tiembla. 
Creedme que ese dolor,
que poco a poco comienza a nacer 
no os remendará las manos. 

 

Genealogy Of The Stain 
Poem by María Sánchez
Translation by Curtis Bauer

I

We were born sisters of gravity and landscape
—stitched, impeccable, those who carry mineral spirits, 
               scouring pads, and bleach. 
Of memory embroidered on our skin
an always ready prayer 
—of the working class—
impossible to exist outside domestic space, 
we are confined to the unnamable. 
could we come undone and so escape?
let the light turn each of our phalanxes into a centipede? 

II 

Ask here how to remove a stain and you will always find the 
     same methodology: 
here nitric acid and bleach 
here disinfection 
—because all stains,
here, 
are removed the same way. 

How to conceive purity without rust and chemistry?
Who cares about the surface, the grass, the flesh.
Here purity sleeps in whitewash and broken fingers
in knuckles marred by so much rubbing. 

Yes, blood stains less when mixed with bleach.
Yes, blood stops smelling if I’m soaked in bleach.
Yes, blood forgets its color if I draw it through the bleach. 

Can I confuse water and death if I give them the same 
                 color? 

I want a color for death 
a color for pain
a color aseptic and trembling
a color and she only answers blue

III 

In the kitchen, tenderness was always kneaded at coffee time 
my heart was a treasure trove,
I wiped the table with scraps of my grandmother’s robe. 
Mamá always did the dishes, 
she only laughed, 
—my hands are already ruined, my girl— 
stewpot and charcoal,
intertwining while the absent one arrives. 
Run away from the man who does not doubt 
who only smiles and does not tremble. 
Believe me that such pain, 
which little by little begins to bud, 
will not mend your hands. 

Photograph by Tania Franco Klein © The artist. Courtesy ROSEGALLERY

El Mundo No Puede Ir Tan Lejos
Poem by Fedosy Santaella

And I’ll never look behind. 
—Sixto Rodríguez 

Habitar la misma casa, 
desde siempre, 
con la frente en alto, 
como esperando 
que un día
llamen a la puerta 
y te anuncien 
que todo fue un error, 
mira usted,
qué pena.

 

The World Can’t Go That Far 
Poem by Fedosy Santaella
Translation by Curtis Bauer

And I’ll never look behind. 
—Sixto Rodríguez 

Living in the same house 
from the start, 
head held high,
as if hoping
that one day 
someone knocks on the door
to say
it was all a mistake,
look at you,
what a shame. 





Curtis Bauer, Clara Muschietti, María Sánchez, and Fedosy Santaella

Curtis Bauer is a poet and translator. His most recent poetry collection is American Selfie. His translation publications of contemporary Spanish-language literature include María Sánchez’s Land of Women (Trinity University Press, 2022) and Clara Muschietti’s This Could Take Some Time (Eulalia Books, 2022). He lives in Spain and Texas.

Clara Muschietti is a photographer, poet, and teacher. She has published numerous books, including La campeona de nado, Karateka, and Podría llevar cierto tiempo. In 2013 and 2021 she received National Arts Endowment Grants from the Argentine government, and in 2015 she received a Metropolitan Fund for Culture, Arts and Sciences grant. This Could Take Some Time was translated into English by Curtis Bauer and published by Eulalia Books in spring 2022.

María Sánchez is a veterinarian and writer. Her books include her first collection of poems Cuaderno de campo and her bestselling memoir Tierra de mujeres: Una mirada íntima y familiar al mundo rural, which explores the links among people, animals, and nature. In 2021, she received the Princess of Girona Foundation Arts and Letters Prize. In spring 2022, Curtis Bauer’s English-language translation of Land of Women was published by Trinity University Press.

Fedosy Santaella writes prose and poetry. In 2009 he was a fellow in the University of Iowa International Writing Program. In 2016 he won the Novela Corta Ciudad de Barbastro (Spain) International Book Award for Los nombres. His poetry collections include Russian Criminal Tattoos, The Invisible Boat, and Daemon.