JANUARY GILL O’NIEL [14.144] Poeta de Estados Unidos

 Imagen: Rachel Griffiths Eliza

JANUARY GILL O’NIEL

North Shore, Massachusetts

Es autora de: 

of Misery Islands (fall 2014) and Underlife (2009), both published by CavanKerry Press

Poemas y artículos de January han aparecido o están próximas en American Poetry Review, New England Review , Paterson Literary Review, Rattle, Ploughshares , Sou'Wester, North American Review, The MOM Egg, Crab Creek Review, Drunken Boat, Crab Orchard Review, Callaloo, Literary Mama, Field, Seattle Review , and Cave Canem anthologies II and IV, among others. Underlife was a finalist for ForeWord Reviews Book of the Year Award, and the 2010 Paterson Poetry Prize. In December 2009, January was awarded a Money for Women/Barbara Deming Memorial Fund grant. She was featured in Poets & Writers magazine's January/February 2010 Inspiration issue as one of its 12 debut poets. A Cave Canem fellow, she runs a popular blog called Poet Mom.

CÓMO AMAR

Después de ingresar en el mundo de nuevo,

está el asunto de cómo amar,

cómo protegerse de la escarcha de la mañana

—el crujido de la hierba helada bajo los pies, los arañazos

de las escobillas congeladas en el parabrisas—

y convertir el tiempo en distancia.

¿Qué canción tararear en la carretera vacía

cuando cada mañana emprendes el viaje hacia el trabajo?

¿Y tienes suficiente convicción para ver, realmente ver,

a los tres pavos salvajes que cruzan la calle

con la cabeza desplumada y las patas como zancos

en busca del alimento matinal? Nada que hacer

salvo agacharse y esperar a que crucen sin problemas.

A medida que se alejan, te preguntas si quieren

volver a estar aterrorizados en este mundo. Tal vez tú estés así, también,

esperando para dar el sí al amor,

mirar a los ojos de otra persona y sentir algo

—el placer de un nuevo amante en la noche inacabable,

tus extremidades plegadas alrededor de él, en el otro lado

de este precario enero, como si un largo sueño hubiera terminado.

Versión de Carlos Alcorta

How to Love

After stepping into the world again,

there is that question of how to love,

how to bundle yourself against the frosted morning—

the crunch of icy grass underfoot, the scrape

of cold wipers along the windshield—

and convert time into distance.

What song to sing down an empty road

as you begin your morning commute?

And is there enough in you to see, really see,

the three wild turkeys crossing the street

with their featherless heads and stilt-like legs

in search of a morning meal? Nothing to do

but hunker down, wait for them to safely cross.

As they amble away, you wonder if they want

to be startled back into this world. Maybe you do, too,

waiting for all this to give way to love itself,

to look into the eyes of another and feel something—

the pleasure of a new lover in the unbroken night,

your wings folded around him, on the other side

of this ragged January, as if a long sleep has ended.

Early Memory

 I remember picking up a fistful 

 of sand, smooth crystals, like hourglass sand 

 and throwing it into the eyes of a boy.  Johnny

 or Danny or Kevin— he was not important. 

 I was five and I knew he would cry.

 I remember everything about it—

 the sandbox in the corner of the room

 at Cinderella Day Care;  Ms. Lee,

 who ran over after the boy wailed for his mother,

 her stern look as the words No snack formed on her lips.

 My hands with their gritty, half-mooned fingernails 

 I hid in the pockets of my blue and white dress.

 How she found them and uncurled small sandy fists.   

 There must have been such rage in me, to give such pain

 to another person.  This afternoon, 

 I saw a man pull a gold chain off the neck

 of a woman as she crossed the street. 

 She cried out with a sound that bleached me. 

 I walked on, unable to help, 

 knowing that fire in childhood

 clenched deep in my pockets all the way home. 

Copyright @ 2014 by January Gill O’Neil.