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martes, 6 de agosto de 2013


Nació el 8 de noviembre de 1954 en Ucrania. Graduada en la Universidad de Taras Shevchenko de Kyiv en 1976. Ha estado trabajando para la "cultura ucraniana" con entusiasmo. Vive en Kyiv. Es el autora de 6 libros de poesía, los dos últimos "Alergy" (1999) y "Central del hotel" (2004). Sus poemas se han traducido al inglés, alemán, holandés, sueco y la mayoría de las idiomas de Slavic (ruso, pulimento, esloveno y otros).


Ballad about the Invincibles (poems, 1976); 
The Underground Fire (poems, 1984); 
November (poems, 1989); 
Allergy (poems, 1999).

¡En un subterráneo donde habita dolor
entre el mendigo y los vendedores de flores,

entre impuros charcos congelados y colillas,
suena, clarín de oro, este músico!

 Alto y pálido
 en una bruma sucia
 su saxofón
 suena para la gente

jalea fiesta
en la noche fría
y trae primavera
al subterráneo,

es sollozo feliz
es grito de amor
es lengua de sangre
es gran ofrenda

es gran ofrenda
es lengua de sangre
es grito de amor
es sollozo feliz.

Traducción del ucraniano:
Natalka Bilotserkivets y José María Lopera


In memory of Ernst Juenger

There are boys who befriend snakes. 
They are fearless and they sing.
Their white shirts, like snow
fly above a fresh grave.

Beneath the black velvet of their pants
their knees burn, torn in marches
on the marble cliffs. Their voices
are thin, but even thinner is their pure breath.

Their perfect pitch resounds like thunder
from lop-eared ears to tender ribs.

...There is no falsity in my feelings
for You, my Lord, for You.

O this love, cold and clear,
this steel honor:
like crystal, salty and icy
and crystal.

There are lips that close the seam
on the sleepy wound;
and blood that drips from the sole
becomes dew.

This is the love that befriends snakes
and beats without pity;
and will kill if Your image
winks from the crystal

and points towards the bloodied path
between reapings
where snow lies on dead ships
and sailors sleep.


for anyone

in one of the cities where at an uncertain time
capricious fate acknowledges us
where in the evening you can hear jazz in the restaurants
in the morning — bells from the gothic arches
water-lilies bloom in the canals there
people drink coffee there and later on beer
and the bicycles of radiant schoolgirls fly
in their sweet way in flocks

their backpacks bright and light
their legs long their hips slim
my God we once were like them too
ten twenty thirty years ago
but cast aside your itinerant pity
there's a Hotel Central in every city —
for those just like you who are no one for no one

here you'll unpack your ordinary things
remove the contacts from your eyes
wash your flesh get your drink
push the button of the pay TV —
there's everything you'd want; and how you'd want it too;
shut your eyes enter and take
nocturnal music knows no bounds
in the chambers of your Hotel Central

at three AM God like Bosch will come
to Hotel Central from the heavenly halls
with insects playing clarinets
with mosquitoes drinking submissive blood
with frogs and snails;
with fish, too;
and all your love —
is just caviar in the repositories of hell

just the struggle of a puny and a miserable slave
spread all over the walls,
of a human being — with a smiting Spirit
he sculpts and bends your body
then throws it into a tub of dung
removing it with his two fingers
shaking it looking and listening

like the first look of tender compassion
like the first touch of a somber "I love you"
like the burst of sun in the folds of a curtain —
Hotel Central meets the new dawn

and every day is like your last chance
and every night as though for the last time
and over the lily-flowered canals
the bicycles
of anxious schoolgirls fly

Grand Hotel Central
Rotterdam, June 22, 2002

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