2 poems by Lauren Mendinueta
Translated from Spanish by Andres Alfaro
I have traveled, too.
Like a particle of dust
I have fluttered through the house and landed on the books.
.....
Poet Lauren Mendinueta is from Colombia. Her poems are simple and thoughtful. She was born in 1977 and has two kids that are teenagers, born 1995 and 1996, so she was a very young mother. She has published several books and won many national poetry awards both in Colombia and Spain.
The Years Go on Like This
The years go on
and even though life accuses me of immobility
I have traveled, too.
Like a particle of dust
I have fluttered through the house and landed on the books.
Like an insect I have rested by the bank of a channel
or simply been a woman that from afternoon to afternoon
has looked out toward the sea
searching for forgotten ships in the mist
which come back to mind
without clear hope of death.
The Mirror that Flees
On the bank of ancient waters
next to the abandonment of contemplation,
my sorrow slides out nearly touching the purity
and immaculateness of those rebellious waters
where the reflection of my face observes me.
I am alone, contemplated by myself,
judged and condemned to exist now,
sadder than ever in the certainty
that I have refused to forgive myself.
I have traveled, too.
Like a particle of dust
I have fluttered through the house and landed on the books.
.....
Poet Lauren Mendinueta is from Colombia. Her poems are simple and thoughtful. She was born in 1977 and has two kids that are teenagers, born 1995 and 1996, so she was a very young mother. She has published several books and won many national poetry awards both in Colombia and Spain.
The Years Go on Like This
The years go on
and even though life accuses me of immobility
I have traveled, too.
Like a particle of dust
I have fluttered through the house and landed on the books.
Like an insect I have rested by the bank of a channel
or simply been a woman that from afternoon to afternoon
has looked out toward the sea
searching for forgotten ships in the mist
which come back to mind
without clear hope of death.
The Mirror that Flees
On the bank of ancient waters
next to the abandonment of contemplation,
my sorrow slides out nearly touching the purity
and immaculateness of those rebellious waters
where the reflection of my face observes me.
I am alone, contemplated by myself,
judged and condemned to exist now,
sadder than ever in the certainty
that I have refused to forgive myself.