Fugues

Fugues

by Claribel Alegría
Fugues

Fugues

by Claribel Alegría

Paperback(1st ed)

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Overview

Well-known for her incisive descriptions of war and violence in El Salvador, Claribel Alegría is one of Central America's most eminent poets. In Fugues, a lucid and strikingly beautiful original collection, she looks squarely into the face of mortality, love, and aging, to explore the personal as well as universal questions that face each human being.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781880684108
Publisher: Northwestern University Press
Publication date: 07/01/1995
Edition description: 1st ed
Pages: 143
Product dimensions: 5.40(w) x 8.40(h) x 0.40(d)
Lexile: 1750L (what's this?)

About the Author

Claribel Alegría was a Salvadorian-Nicaraguan poet, essayist, novelist, and journalist who was a major voice in the literature of contemporary Central America. She has been called "one of the region's finest writers" by The Washington Post. Alegría published over forty books, including fifteen collections of poetry, and was a recipient of the Casa de las Americas Prize of Cuba. Her works in English include Ashes of Izalco, Luisa in Realityland, and Family Album. She was awarded the 2006 Neustadt International Prize for Literature. She died in 2018.

In 1947 Alegría married the U.S.-born journalist Darwin J. ("Bud") Flakoll; they had three daughters and one son. Flakoll coauthored some of her novels and translated much of her work into English. He died in 1995. Alegría's Sorrow, a collection of love poems, was written for her deceased husband.

Read an Excerpt

Fugues


By Claribel Alegría, D. J. Flakoll

Curbstone Press

Copyright © 1993 Claribel Alegría
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-880684-10-8



CHAPTER 1

    LLUVIA

    La vida es una lluvia
    que cavilosamente nos confunde
    hasta que llega el viento
    de la muerte.


    IN MEMORIAM
    Para A. A. Flakoll

    Bajo la luz neón
    del sanatorio
    rodeado de frascos
    y de tubos
    nos explicaste padre
    tu aventura
    con la muchacha vestida de enfermera.
    Llegó junto a tu lecho
    y tú quisiste liberarla
    era jóven y bella
    y saltaron los dos
    al aire amanecido.
    Recordaste de pronto
    tus pantuflas
    y volviste a tu lecho
    solitario.
    Se clavaron tus ojos
    en la ventana abierta:
    la ligera silueta
    de un jinete
    cabalgando en las nubes.
    Te mordieron las ganas
    de saltar a las ancas
    del caballo
    y atravesar los llanos
    de tu joven Dakota.
    Las agujas
    los tubos
    te impedían moverte.
    Miraste tus pantuflas
    que pesaban de arena
    y de recuerdos
    pensaste en los tambores
    de la vida
    que nunca tocaron
    para ti
    en la gota de sangre en tus entrañas
    en el grifo goteando
    desde siempre
    (desde que eras maestro
    en tu escuela rural)
    diluyendo tus días
    en un plaf plaf tedioso.
    Cerraste los ojos
    agobiado
    te sumiste en el sueño
    y allí estaba ella
    y saltaste al caballo
    sin pantuflas
    y el jinete era ella
    era tu muerte.


    EVASIONES

    Cada vez
    cada encuentro
    pensamos que es el último.
    Ni tú
    ni yo lo dice.
    Me miras a los ojos
    desesperadamente
    y te devuelvo la mirada.


    SAVOIR FAIRE
    A Erik

    Mi gato negro ignora
    que va a morir un día
    no se aferra a la vida
    como yo
    salta desde el tejado
    ligero como el aire
    se sube al tamarindo
    arañándolo apenas
    no lo amedrenta el paso de los puentes
    ni el callejón oscuro
    ni el pérfido alacrán
    mi gato negro ama
    a cuanta gata encuentra
    no se deja atrapar
    por un único amor
    como lo hice yo.


    TANKA

    Esta mañana
    fui pájaro y fui pez
    cambié de forma
    y destejí en el aire
    las tinieblas del mar.


    ESPEJEOS

    ¿Por qué te empeñas
    día a día
    en mostrarme esas cuencas
    que antes fueron mis ojos?
    Veo mi calavera
    y no mi rostro
    debajo de las cuencas
    dos promontorios altos
    de osamenta
    el puente en la nariz
    de pronto el lago
    el lago son mis ojos
    es tu piel
    atraviesan el lago
    las estrellas
    el lago me succiona
    atravieso tu piel
    y abrazo a la niña
    que aún perdura en mí
    a la gitana abrazo
    y a la maga
    y a todos los seres
    que yo amé
    y recorro ciudades
    reconozco sus plazas
    los caminos convergen
    contemplo aquella tarde
    junto al mar
    a mis hijos contemplo
    corriendo por las dunas
    y te contemplo a ti
    eres joven
    maduro
    y eres cano
    y se resume todo
    en un mágico instante.


    AMOR

    Con mis dedos caricia
    deletreo tu nombre
    te hago nacer de nuevo
    para luego borrarte
    con mis dedos espina.


    CONTABILIZANDO

    En los sesentiocho años
    que he vivido
    hay algunos eléctricos instantes:
    La alegría de mis pies
    brincando charcos
    seis horas en Macchu Pichu
    los diez minutos necesarios
    para perder la virginidad
    el zumbido del teléfono
    mientras esperaba la muerte de mi madre
    la voz ronca
    anunciándome el asesinato
    de Monseñor Romero
    quince minutos en Delft
    el primer llanto de mi hija
    no se cuántos años soñando
    con la liberación de mi pueblo
    algunas muertes inmortales
    los ojos de aquel niño desnutrido
    tus ojos cubriéndome de amor
    una tarde nomeolvides
    y en esta hora húmeda
    las ganas de plasmarme
    en un verso
    en un grito
    en una espuma.


    HOY LO SE

    Iba caminando por el mundo
    sin saber que existías
    sin embargo
    (hoy lo sé)
    desde la incierta niebla del comienzo
    caminaba buscándote
    en los rostros.


    ARS POETICA

    Yo,
    poeta de oficio,
    condenada tantas veces
    a ser cuervo
    jamás me cambiaría
    por la Venus de Milo:
    mientras reina en el Louvre
    y se muere de tedio
    y junta polvo
    yo descubro el sol
    todos los días
    y entre valles
    volcanes
    y despojos de guerra
    avizoro la tierra prometida.


    EROSION

    No quiero verte
    no
    tengo otro rostro
    ahora
    aquel
    el que tú amabas
    se quedó para siempre
    en tus pupilas.


    VISITAS NOCTURNAS

    Pienso en nuestros anónimos muchachos
    en nuestros héroes apagados
    los mancos
    los rencos
    los que perdieron las dos piernas
    los dos ojos
    los casi niños balbucientes.
    Escucho por las noches sus fantasmas
    gritándome al oído
    me sacan del letargo
    me conminan
    pienso en su vida hecha girones
    en sus febriles manos
    queriendo asir las nuestras.
    No es que estén mendigando
    nos exigen
    se han ganado el derecho a exigir
    a romper nuestro sueño
    a despertarnos
    a sacudir de una vez
    esta modorra.


    SILENCIO

    Un fogonazo tu muerte
    y luego vino el silencio.
    Después del silencio
    ¿qué?


    ¿Y SI NAZCO?

    ¿Y si nazco a la muerte
    prematura?
    ¿Y si aún no puedo caminar
    entre las sombras
    ni atravesar murallas
    ni esquivar la serpiente?


    RAIN

    Life is a downpour
    whose brooding mutter confounds us
    until Death's wind
    cuts it short.


    IN MEMORIAM
    For A. A. Flakoll

    Beneath the neon light
    of the sanatorium
    surrounded by bottles
    and tubes
    you told us, father,
    about your adventure
    with the girl dressed as a nurse.
    She came to your bedside
    and you wanted to free her
    she was young and beautiful
    and the two of you leaped
    into the dawn air.
    Suddenly you remembered
    your bedroom slippers
    and went back to bed
    alone.
    Your eyes were riveted on
    the open window:
    the slender silhouette
    of a rider
    galloping through the clouds.
    You wanted to leap
    onto the back of the horse
    and race across the plains
    of your young Dakota.
    The needles
    the tubes
    held you fast.
    You looked at your slippers
    weighted with sand
    and memories
    you thought of the drums
    of life
    that never beat
    for you
    of the dribble of blood
    in your entrails
    the spigot dripping
    since the start
    (since you were
    a country schoolmaster)
    dissolving your days
    in a tedious plop plop.
    Wearied
    you closed your eyes
    and drifted in a dream
    and there she was
    and you leaped up onto the horse
    without your slippers
    and she was the rider:
    was your death.


    EVASIONS

    Every time
    every encounter
    we think it the last.
    Neither you
    nor I say so.
    You look into my eyes
    desperately
    and I return your look.


    SAVOIR FAIRE
    For Erik

    My black cat doesn't know
    he will die one day
    he doesn't cling to life
    as I do
    he leaps from the rooftop
    light as air
    climbs the tamarind tree
    barely scratching it
    doesn't dread crossing bridges
    or dark alleyways
    nor the perfidious scorpion
    my black cat falls in love
    with every cat he meets
    he refuses to be snared
    by a single love
    the way I did.


    TANKA

    This morning
    I was fish and I was bird
    I shifted forms
    and unwove in the air
    the darkness of the sea.


    MIRROR IMAGE

    Why do you insist
    on showing me day after day
    these sockets
    that used to be my eyes?
    I see my skull
    and not my face
    below the twin ridges
    two high promontories
    of bone
    the bridge of my nose
    and suddenly the lake
    the lake is my eyes
    is your skin
    stars drift across
    the lake
    it sucks me under
    I traverse your skin
    to embrace the little girl
    who still resides in me
    I embrace the gypsy
    and the maga
    and all those I loved
    and I wander through cities
    I recognize their plazas
    the roads converge
    I contemplate that afternoon
    beside the sea
    I contemplate my children
    scampering through the dunes
    and I contemplate you
    you are young
    mature
    and gray-haired
    and everything is summed up
    in one magic instant.


    LOVE

    With tender fingers
    I spell your name
    give you birth anew
    only to erase you
    with my spiny claws.


    ACCOUNTING

    In the sixty-eight years
    I have lived
    there are a few electrical instants:
    the happiness of my feet
    skipping puddles
    six hours in Macchu Pichu
    the ten minutes necessary
    to lose my virginity
    the buzzing of the telephone
    while awaiting the death of my mother
    the hoarse voice
    announcing the death
    of Monsignor Romero
    fifteen minutes in Delft
    the first wail of my daughter
    I don't know how many years
    dreaming of my people's liberation
    certain immortal deaths
    the eyes of that starving child
    your eyes bathing me with love
    one forget-me-not afternoon
    and in this sultry hour
    the urge to mould myself
    into a verse
    a shout
    a fleck of foam.


    NOW I KNOW

    I wandered through the world
    without knowing you existed
    however
    (now I know)
    since the uncertain mist of the beginning
    I went searching for you
    among the faces.


    ARS POETICA

    I,
    poet by trade,
    condemned so many times
    to be a crow,
    would never change places
    with the Venus de Milo:
    while she reigns in the Louvre
    and dies of boredom
    and collects dust
    I discover the sun
    each morning
    and amid valleys
    volcanos
    and debris of war
    I catch sight of the promised land.


    EROSION

    I don't want to see you
    no
    I have another face
    now
    that one
    the one you loved
    remains forever
    in your pupils.


    NOCTURNAL VISITS

    I think of our anonymous boys
    of our burnt-out heroes
    the amputated
    the cripples
    those who lost both legs
    both eyes
    the stammering teen-agers.
    At night I listen to their phantoms
    shouting in my ear
    shaking me out of lethargy
    issuing me commands
    I think of their tattered lives
    of their feverish hands
    reaching out to seize ours.
    It's not that they're begging
    they're demanding
    they've earned the right to order us
    to break up our sleep
    to come awake
    to shake off once and for all
    this lassitude.


    SILENCE

    An explosion your death
    and then this silence.
    After the silence
    what?


    IF I AM BORN

    And if I am born
    prematurely in death?
    And if I can't yet walk
    among the shadows
    or pass through walls
    or avoid the serpent?


(Continues...)

Excerpted from Fugues by Claribel Alegría, D. J. Flakoll. Copyright © 1993 Claribel Alegría. Excerpted by permission of Curbstone Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Table of Contents

Contents

Lluvia,
Rain,
In memoriam,
In Memoriam,
Evasiones,
Evasions,
Savoir Faire,
Savoir Faire,
Tanka,
Tanka,
Espejeos,
Mirror Image,
Amor,
Love,
Contabilizando,
Accounting,
Hoy lo sé,
Now I Know,
Ars Poética,
Ars Poetica,
Erosión,
Erosion,
Visitas nocturnas,
Nocturnal Visits,
Silencio,
Silence,
¿Y si nazco?,
If I Am Born,
La abuela,
The Grandmother,
Piedad,
Have Pity,
Deafío,
Challenge,
Carta a un desterrado,
Letter To An Exile,
No importa que no estes,
No matter,
La intrusa,
The Intruder,
Proverbio persa,
Persian Proverb,
Ira Demetrae,
Ira Demetrae,
Augurios,
Portents,
Unicornio cimarron,
Unbridled Unicorn,
Galatea ante el espejo,
Galatea before the Mirror,
Soy,
I Am,
Deseo,
Desire,
Incertidumbre,
Uncertainty,
Perséfone,
Persephone,
¿Cómo no amarte ?,
Why Not Love You,
Resurrección,
Resurrection,
Nostalgias,
Nostalgia,
La Malinche,
Malinche,
El espejo,
The Mirror,
Ambivalencias,
Ambivalences,
¿Por qué?,
Why?,
Pandora,
Pandora,
Luna vieja,
Old Moon,
Perplejidad,
Perplexity,
Igloolik,
Igloolik,
Los ríos,
The Rivers,
Hécate,
Hecate,
Pasando revista,
Thinking Back,
Estrella inalcanzable,
Unreachable Star,
Frustraciones,
Frustrations,
Haciendo maletas,
Packing My Bags,
Sala de transíto,
Transit Lounge,

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