AFRIC McGLINCHEY [10.881]

Afric McGlinchey

Afric McGlinchey nació en Irlanda y se crió en Zimbabwe. Es ganadora del Premio de Hennessy para la poesía emergente. Ha sido nominada para el Premio Pushcart. Sus poemas han sido publicados en Southword, Moth, New Mirage, Poetry Ireland Review, Scottish Poetry Review, Tears in the Fence, Wordlegs, the SHOp, Magma, Acumen, Under the Radar, Scaldy Detail, Crannóg and other journals. Afric writes poetry reviews for Sabotage, is a book reviewer for the Irish Examiner and an online tutor at http://creativewriting.ie/online-writing-courses/ y otras revistas. 

Afric escribe reseñas de poesía de Sabotaje, escribe la crítica de libros para el Irish Examiner.

Debajo del corazón, la forma de una herradura

nunca te conocí, danny murphy

pero sé que tenías un hijo de seis

y que christy te hizo

boca a boca y te apretó

el pecho, y cuando la ambulancia

llegó, siguieron una hora

y te sonó el teléfono

en el bolsillo

alguien que se llamaba kath

y me imaginé

una cita arreglada

y tú, tarde

y me imaginé tu futuro

saliéndote de la existencia

en el espacio de un auto que dobla

en el espacio de un caballo que se alza

en el espacio de un sol que se hunde

colina abajo.

The Lucky Star of Hidden Things, Salmon Press, Clare, Irlanda, 2012

Traducción de Jorge Fondebrider

Under the heart,

a horseshoe shape

I never met you, danny murphy

but I know you had a child of six

and that christy gave you 

mouth-to-mouth and pressed 

your chest, and when the ambulance

came, they continued for an hour

and your phone 

rang in your pocket

someone called kath

and I imagined 

a planned date

and you, late

and I imagined your future, 

trampled out of existence

in the space of  a car turning 

in the space of a horse rearing

in the space of the sun sinking

below the hill

pendulum 

mute as the wall,

four swings

into an envelope of light

which dissects glint and shadow

in the long neck of love where we play

breath and dash

thunder full

exploding maledictions

you reign in all the dark rooms of my fantasy

supersede every phantom lover in the longest night

hell's leviathans may swallow their revenge

for a glimmer

i become whole with expectation;

rush, night; i am ready

wayward 

(after Roethke) 

fingers red to ruin day

dreams appear through slow eye

of mud-soft needle, signal swift

surprise, then sudden swiping swing

to a blue and blackened dog -cloud 

pooled into a spreading lace,

blue-throated, long limbed tamarack

looms over lake, while sunset's cleft

breaks the tide of evening 

slow ache of bruising skin

muds you, cool and wavering

with hesitant hug of penitant

guilty of the silent crime

of biting cut and gloomy grin

eyes wide open 

your wide-eyed lies are plums,

their purple plumes

smoke and mirrors in the sun –

suddenly I'm sane 

not squeamish anymore

won't go vertigo, wallow

in a sink-hole, sallow

and sunless 

i'm revved as an engine;

even a smidgen of your sorrow

will be battered by a pair of drums

pounding a palindrome

on no