LIV LUNDBERG [970]

Liv Lundberg 

Nació en Noruega en 1944. Poeta, novelista y ensayista. Publicaciones: Den klare tonen (The Clear Tone), 1979; Hjerterspeil (Mirror of Hearts), 1981; Språkets hus har åpninger (The House of Language has openings), 1982; Steindrømt (Stone dreamed), 1985; Lady Lazarus (Selección y traducción de poemas de Sylvia Plath, 1986; Tveegget engel (Double Edged Angel), 1988; Vinterens hjerte (Heart of Winter), novela, 1990; Nybegynnerens forutsetningsløshet (Beginner’s Mind), 1996; circum polaris (ed.), anthología, 1997; Alfabet (Alphabet) traducción de poemas de Inger Christensen, 1997; afrika (africa), 1998; Iverksatt (Works), 1999; Harlekins hud (Harlequin’s Skin), 2001. Desde 1993 es profesora de escritura creativa en la Universidad de Tromso en Noruega. Miembro de la Unión de Autores de Noruega y del Comité Internacional de la Unión de Escritores de Noruega. Según Sebastián Barker “Su poesía es seria, responsable, además de ser colorida, nublada, dura, helada y pétrea. Las palabras saltan como chispas de un extraño yunque interior; es como si observáramos a una mujer forjando herraduras bajo un sol helado. Pero detrás de ello está la conciencia del mundo atravesada por la espada del horror: ¿quién nos redimirá, cómo seremos redimidos? Esta pregunta es de tal profundidad que no podemos esperar una respuesta fácil. Pero presuponer que no existe una respuesta, es de alguna manera, una respuesta, ciertamente la equivocada. Y continúa Per Aage Brandt: “…Es doloroso saber u observar un mundo en el que la pasión del hombre participa en la obra de la muerte. La claridad de Liv Lundberg se transforma en un canto acerca de esta actitud, la pasión por la muerte, y como en todo arte, expresa lo contrario de lo que nos dice el poder: Nadie puede detener el trabajo de la muerte, pero el poeta puede dar cuenta de ello en una obra de arte. Puede inscribir su visión en un tono de voz. Entonces todo se clarifica, y esa es la única claridad posible del tono. Quizás la única expresión posible de la claridad se halla en el arte y la poesía. Entonces aquí arribamos a la claridad, no porque la busquemos pero si porque ella nos acecha, y lo podemos soportar, y por lo tanto llegar ‘a ella’, sólo si la recibimos como una paradójica dulzura, ‘con el amargo sabor de la estrella’ o punzante como una lesna, del mismo modo que sobrevivimos al amor: este dolor que llamamos ‘deseo’.

(ROSTRO)

la imagen de un ser humano
objetivamente un rostro que es un destino
cara a cara con el silencio y la habitación
el retrato de una mujer joven que desea morir
retratada como una cosa entre otras cosas
frente a una rústica pared de ladrillos, al roto
enrejado de caños, y este cuestionamiento
casi deseando rogar
por el perdón

un ser humano presentado como un rostro
un ser humano que pronto ya no será
un ser humano mirando a la nada en el ojo
asombrado, es el ojo que ve
el ojo claro
que ya no desea saber nada más

(ESCULTURA)

una escultura en una habitación
simples elementos de materia y tiempo
ensamblarán una imagen
que se parece a ti
esta es tu imagen
punta de la nariz, lóbulo de la oreja, hueso de la mandíbula
en la garganta están atoradas las palabras
que ninguna boca pronunció
ropas cosidas alrededor de un cuerpo, una cartera
con documentos de identidad
quien quiera que seas
con tu rostro pálido, difuso
un certificado de nacimiento
una firma sombra y sol, las diarias
repeticiones casi mecánicas
ellos dicen saber quién eres
dicen que eres
una imagen de ti misma
te pareces a una escultura en una habitación

(VISIÓN)

una visión te visita
te encuentra en tu casa, en la cama, arropado, soñando
en las horas de frío
no está madura
te dice que es una visión acabada
más o menos
una creación consumada
que sólo necesita de una mano y un martillo
un poco de trabajo, unas horas de labor
para elevarse y permanecer de pie
más larga que una vida
fuera de los jardines de la realidad
sus pies de piedra apoyados en la hierba fragante




(Mármol)

un niño que duerme en las palabras del futuro
la mejilla descansando apoyada
en un sueño puramente topográfico
anuncian una niñez meditativa
que luego amanecerá
en una superficie de mármol
el rostro elevado por el vuelo de sus ojos
la cabeza apesadumbrada por la sombra de su significado



(Rodin)

veo
recién nacidos desnudos, los brazos estirados
veo algo sufriente, desplegándose
estirado como una mujer
bajo observación
y el pensador pensante
inclinándose

veo un brazo omnipotente alzado
por el legislador, por el que inscribe palabras en piedra
de pie frente a las figuras sin terminar
entumecidas, silenciadas
en el desarrollo de su apariencia

veo
a un humilde testigo
atravesando el portal del monasterio
para escribir todos estos días
anotando las explicaciones contemporáneas
en la computadora
en su celda
con la precisión que otorgan las pesadillas




(Naturaleza muerta)

quién arrojó al ángel del cielo
un resplandor, salpicadura de materia azul negra
amorfa, horrible, extraña criatura
de los límites del espacio sideral
o del interior del globo terráqueo estallado
en chorros de lava
y ahora solidificándose en un instante de piedra

quién delineó
las costas irregulares del matrimonio
entre el orden y el caos
quién retorció de adentro hacia fuera la cueva, destruyó las máscaras
de aquellos que danzan,
de aquellos que mueren

quién
descubrió
las leyes físicas de la sabiduría
su exterior azul negro
y documentó su verdadera desesperación




(Forma)

en la forma de la almendra
dos segmentos circulares se tocan
vulva: ojo y boca




(Figura humana)

una figura de arcilla
un hombre relativamente pequeño
está de pie con su cabeza ladeada
humilde casi suplicando
tiene enormes orejas y su cabello
recogido en la base del cuello
uno de sus brazos, cayendo
alrededor del cuerpo
se recoge en sí mismo
un modo de ser humano
simplemente ser
actitud presente en la obra de su vida

Traducción de Esteban Moore

Liv Lundberg was born in 1944 in Bardu, Northern Norway. Liv has received an income grant as an author from the Norwegian Cultural Department since 1983. She is currently the Art Director of The Creative Writing Workshop of Tromso, since 1993, where she teaches creative writing. Since 2001 she has been a member of the International Committee of Norwegian Author's Union, and since 1982 has been a member of the Norwegian Authors' Union. From 1981-83 and 1990-91 Liv has been Leader of the Regional writer's organization of Northern Norway, and a member of the Literary Council of Norwegian Author's Union, as well as serving on several other boards of cultural organizations.

Liv Lundberg's poetry, novels and essays have been translated into many languages, and she has translated Sylvia Plath's poems into Norwegian. She has participated in poetry readings in numerous countries. Apart from her many poetry publications, Lundberg has worked and performed in other genres, such as writing a song cycle for soprano with the late Norwegian composer, Gunnar Germeten jr., which was performed twice in '95 and '98; and touring with musicians and dancers with a performance called Stone - Roses, which was documented for television by the world renowned TV producer and film-maker, Knut Erik Jensen whose documentary Cool and Crazy was an international success. She has also performed readings of her work to cello accompaniment, and has made several radio broadcast readings.

Publications: Den klare tonen (The Clear Tone), 1979; Hjerterspeil (Mirror of Hearts), 1981; Språkets hus har åpninger (The House of Language has openings), 1982; Steindrømt (Stone dreamed), 1985; Lady Lazarus (selection and translation of Sylvia Plath’s poems), 1986; Tveegget engel (Double Edged Angel), 1988; Vinterens hjerte (Heart of Winter), novel, 1990; Nybegynnerens forutsetningsløshet (Beginner’s Mind), 1996; circum polaris (ed.), anthology, 1997; Alfabet (Alphabet) translation of Inger Christensen’s poem), poems, 1997; afrika (africa), 1998; Iverksatt (Works), 1999; Harlekins hud (Harlequin’s Skin), 2001.

(sculpture)

a sculpture in a room
simple elements of material and time
will assemble a picture
which looks like you
this is the picture of you

nose tip, ear lobe, jaw bone
in the throat are stuck the words
no mouth has uttered
clothes stitched around a body, a purse
with identity papers
whoever you may be
with your pale, unclear face
a birth certificate
a signature

shadow and sun, the daily
almost machinelike repetitions
they say they know who you are
they say you are
a picture of yourself
you look like a sculpture in a room

(marble) a sleeping child in words from the future
cheek resting against
a pure topographical dream
in form’s meditative childhood
to awaken later
in a marble surface
face lifted by the flight of its eyes
skull burdened by the shadow of its meaning



(vision)

a vision visits you
finds you home in bed one fresh hour
warm and dreamy, unripe
it tells you it is complete
more or less
a consummate creation
needing just a hand and a hammer
a little of your labor, a few hours’ work
to rise up and remain standing
longer than a life
out in the gardens of reality
its stony feet in the fragrant grasses



(rodin)

I see
naked newborns with outstretched arms
I see something suffering, extended
stretched out like a woman
under observation
and the thinker thoughtful
bent over

I see an omnipotent arm raised
by the lawmaker, the tablet writer
standing before the unfinished figures
stiffened, silenced
in their becoming

I see
a humble witness
enter through the monastery gate
to write down all these days
noting the contemporary explanations
on the computer
in his cell
with the nightmare’s gift for precision




(still life)

who threw the angel out of heaven
a shining, blue black splash of matter
amorphous, ugly, alien creature
from the outskirts of space
or from the inner globe exploded
in lava spurts
and solidified into a stony moment

who drew
the ragged coastline of the marriage
between order and chaos
who twisted the cave inside out, smashed the masks
of those who dance, who die

discovered
the physical law of wisdom
its blue black exterior
and recorded its de facto despair




(form)

in the almond form
two circle segments meet
vulva: eye and mouth

(human figure) a figure of clay a rather small man stands with his head tilted in the fields outside the village humble almost pleading with enormous ears and his hair gathered at the nape of his neck
one arm, draped
around him
collecting himself
a form of being human
simply being
present in his life's work




(meaning)

1. the rooms chained together through corridors and stairways
start to relate to each other when double doors are thrown open so the light from tall opposing arched windows meets in the airy room
where light crosses light a human being stands still, almost transparent
and waits and grows


2. in the shadows along the garden wall
flows a canal, the dark water mirror adorned with coloured leaves
scattered by a natural autumn hand we arrive by crossing the stone bridge’s arc and see a person pass
under the vault of the arcade
a glimpse of body between column and column
like a measure of the building's rhythm and life content, a study in mankind’s construction of meaning

(two chairs) on a desolate heath between mountain ridges
by the shore of a lake
lies a little stone cabin
its low broad door hewn of rough wood we peek inside and see the light fall at a slant in broad twin stripes
down from the high window frame
across the chalky rough surface of the wall below the window, pushed into the corner two spindled chairs with straw seats stand
pressed together tightly as if shrinking from an unwelcome visit from a person who might break in with the whole burden of loneliness collapse onto one of the chairs and start a monologue to which there is no reply



(cell)

we imagine a person
in a room
with masonry walls, paint peeling
the only furnishing
a wash basin and a radiator
mounted beside
a bolted door

a holding cell
for locking up and keeping
unfortunate times, uncomfortable skin colours
confusing blows against the head
the body search and deportation
of someone
who can only plead
guilty or at least to being an accomplice
to his own debasement



(auditorium)

a french museum of contemporary art is built of thick, black petroleum pipes
angled with elbow joints
against walls of snow white marble cool, formal as antique columns
in a landscape of light

we listen to sophisticated french theories
about transmodern space-time works
at the new millenium
we don't know what to believe
having lost our old imperatives
locked in the illusions of art and knowledge
wandering in the dizzying state
of europe

no exits are visible
the eye’s only way out is through a barred window
with a view past the treetops
to a red sunset
glowing like a detonation
mirrored in the glistening oily black surface

we tread carefully
we do not know how far it is to the bottom


(face)

the picture of a human being
a face objectively as fate
face to face with silence and the room
the portrait of a young woman who wants to die
portrayed like a thing among other things
against a rough brick wall, a broken pipe
railing, and this questioning
almost wanting to beg
for forgiveness

a human being as a face
a human being who will soon not be
a human being looking nothingness in the eye
in wonder, it is the eye that sees
the clear eye
that does not want to know any more




(box)

a box not yet opened
no one knows what’s inside, empty or full
of small things, treasures, a dead man’s belongings
codes left behind that no one wants to break
no heirs have come forward
no one has claimed the memories
maybe no one knows where to find the key
but the box will never disappear
from a person’s inventory
we all carry with us such black, rectangular boxes
when we leave home, get married and
break up to set off on new
and equally dubious journeys



(witness)

we are modest witnesses
to what we see
we are responsible for what we report
from strange, fossilized places
in accounts of hardening, dehumanizing, disintegrating
and dinosauric experience
in evolution's gradual, skillful
contact with matter

time's distances
are burning their ice ages
into our palms
like liquid nitrogene

selected and translated from the book of poetry Iverksatt (1999)
by Susan Schwartz Senstad and the poet