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martes, 2 de septiembre de 2014

GALI-DANA SINGER [11.055]



Gali-Dana Singer 

Nació en San Petersburgo en 1962. Emigró a Israel en 1988 y vive en Jerusalén. Ha publicado tres poemarios en ruso y dos en hebreo. Suele traducir poesía hebrea al ruso y viceversa. Ha editado la antología bilingüe "Poetas"  junto con Peter Kriksunov en 1999 y la publicación (en ruso) “Dibweitotz’ih” que luego se transformaría en bilingüe. Ha participado en festivales internacionales de poesía y dirigido un taller de traducción poética.

Gali-Dana Singer es también artista plática, fotógrafa e ilustradora de libros. Obtuvo el Premio del Ministerio de Absorción para escritores inmigrantes en 1996 y el premio  “Poetry – 2000” en el festival de poesía de Metula.


La pintura es obra de su esposo, Nekoda Singer.



Gali-Dana Singer 

Born in St. Petersburg, Russia in 1962. Immigrated to Israel in 1988 and lives in Jerusalem.  Published three poetry books in Russian and two in Hebrew: “To Think: A River” (2000), “Blind Poems” (2002). Her poems have been published in Hebrew literary journals in Israel, they have been translated to English, Yiddish and Georgian and have appeared in Russia and Europe.

Gali Dana Singer often translates Hebrew poetry into Russian, and also translates poems from their original languages of Russian, English, Polish and Spanish to Hebrew. In 1988, her translation of the anthology “Shalom Aleichem (50 years of Israeli Poetry)” was published in Moscow.

She edited the bilingual anthology “Poets’ Dialogue” (with Peter Kriksunov in 1999), and edited the Russian language journal “Dibweitotz’ih” (from 1996) which became a bilingual magazine (Hebrew and Russian) published by HaKibbutz Hameuchad Publishing House.  She participated in international poetry festivals, and directed a poetry translation workshop in Jerusalem (1995-2000).

Gali Dana Singer also engages in visual art, photography and book illustration. She has displayed her work at exhibitions, including (in 1990) exhibitions of children’s books illustrations at the Youth Wing of the Israel Museum (with her husband, Nekoda Singer). She won the Absorption Minister’s Prize for Immigrant Writers (1996) and the “Poetry – 2000” Prize at the Poetry Festival in Metula.



Fragmento de un poema

Pretendamos que estoy muerta.
Tú me llamarás, no te contestaré.
No he decidido aún una postura acorde.
En todo caso, no será en pose de víctima.

No. Al principio alcanzará con cerrar los ojos,
boca, oídos, narinas y poros.
Obturar algunos con cera, tapar otros con algodón.
Dos centavos en los párpados,
una moneda en los dientes.

Por fin, comenzaré a corromperme.

La tierra ha de ser negra, agusanada.
La arena no sirve para este propósito
aun cuando resulte difícil afirmar 
que sea del todo inconveniente.

Cambiaré de color, de forma, de perfume
y tú reescribirás el listado de ofensas.
Me llamarás, no atenderé.
Luego me incorporaré, saldré, 
cerraré la puerta con un golpe,
me iré, saldré de viaje, olvidaré
y fingiré: me pondré una sábana,
me echaré en la tierra.
La tierra debe ser cálida y limpia.

Así, una vez disuelta, me absorberá.


Traducción: Gerardo Lewin





FRAGMENT OF A POEM

Come on let’s pretend that I’m dead.
You’ll call to me, and I won’t answer.
I still haven’t chosen a position.
In any case, it won’t be the pose of a victim.
No, at the beginning
It’s enough to close one’s eyes, mouth, ears, nostrils, pores –
Seal them with wax, stuff them with cotton wool.
Two nickels on the eyelids and a penny between the teeth.
Finally I’ll begin to decompose.
The earth must be black and wormy –
Sand isn’t good enough for this,
Although you can’t say that it’s completely unsuitable.
I’ll change color, odor and form,
And you will rewrite the list of offenses.
You’ll call to me, and I won’t answer,
Afterwards I’ll get up, go out, slam the door,
Walk, ride away, forget and fake it:
I’ll take a sheet and lower myself into the ground,
which has to be warm and clean.
That way, after I crumble, 
it will take me in.


© Translation: 2003, Lisa Katz







LAMENTATION OF THE BORDERGUARD

I do not want to be a borderguard, said the borderguard.
I don’t want to be a bodyguard.
I don’t want to be a guardian angel.
I don’t want to be a guide.
I want not to be a grinder.
I don’t want to be a garnet.
I don’t want to be a guerdon.
I don’t want to be a gaud.
But my own unwillingness is grinding and grounding me
and I’m standing on guard,  in my own octagonal garden.

I don’t want to be a watchman, answered the watchman.
I don’t want to be a guardsman.
I don’t want to be a watchguard.
But my own unwillingnesss is watching over me,
standing alone, wavering in the wind.

I’m the door-keeper, observed the porter.
But nobody asked me
about my will.

Translation: Gali-Dana Singer and Ashraf Noor