• Robert L. Giron

Issue 43 — Sergio Téllez-Pon

Sergio Téllez-Pon


Días de 1998


para AG



La calle era larga y estrecha,

pocos autos podían circular por ella,

pocos, también, podíamos caminar.

Pero tú y yo pasamos

por el mismo lugar a la misma hora.

Alrededor, todo el estruendo citadino

nuestras miradas se cruzaron

y uno condujo al otro

a un pequeño escondrijo

donde se perdieron nuestras mentes,

con ellas divagamos largo rato.

Era el final del otoño, los días ya eran fríos

y nuestros cuerpos buscaban el calor humano.


Poco se podía ver allí dentro,

sin embargo, pronto, algo,

tus ojos claros,

tu piel resplandeciente,

la lubricidad de tus labios,

o todo tú,

iluminó esa y las siguientes noches

que permanecimos juntos.

Fueron pocos momentos, es cierto

sin embargo, supimos atesorar

nuestra compañía para conservarla

y así no tener que luchar en vano contra el Tiempo.


También es cierto que luego desapareciste:

no hubo otra cita, no volviste a llamar,

ni siquiera una justificación o disculpa.

Me quedé con mi esperanza latiendo fuerte.


Pero esa noche y esa calle

ya pertenecen solo a nosotros.



By Sergio Téllez-Pon from the book of poetry No recuerdo el amor sino el deseo (October, 2008) and used by permission of the publisher, Quimera ediciones (Mexico City).




Days of 1998


for AG


The street was narrow,

few cars could drive there

and few of us could walk through.

But you and I arrived

at the same place at the same time.

Around us all the noises of the city.

Our eyes made contact

and one lead the other

to a small refuge

where our senses wandered

and we were lost there for a long time.

It was the end of autumn, the days already cold,

and our bodies looking for human warmth.


You couldn’t see much inside.

Still, suddenly, something:

your bright eyes,

your shining skin,

the slickness of your lips,

all of you

lit up that night and the following

nights together.

Fleeting moments, to be sure,

but we savored

our company to save it,

not to fight in vane against Time.


It’s true that later you disappeared;

there were no other dates, you never called again,

not even an excuse or apology.

I was left with my heart beating hopefully.


But that night and that street

now belong only to the two of us.


Translation by Don Cellini © 2011.



Polvo Enamorado


Sin pretenderlo,

el más equívoco roce de tu piel

extrañamente energizada

con la mía, me estremece

(los vellos se erizan,

venzo los nervios mordiendo mis labios,

cruzo los dedos de las manos,

contengo el deseo de los ojos…)

hasta caer deshecho en polvo.


Entonces, si no me querías,

llega el viento a levantarme,

y me respiras.



By Sergio Téllez-Pon from the book of poetry No recuerdo el amor sino el deseo (October, 2008) and used by permission of the publisher, Quimera ediciones (Mexico City).





Beloved Dust


Without trying,

the slightest brush of your skin

strangely energized

against mine, makes me tremble

(the hair on my neck stands up,

I bite my lips to calm my nerves,

cross my fingers,

control the desire of my eyes…)

until I turn to dust.


Then, if you don’t love me,

the wind will lift me up

and you will breathe me.



Translation by Don Cellini © 2011.




Suponiendo en quien nacen los placeres prohibidos


a Luis Cernuda, a su centenario


The gentleness of heaven is on the sea

—Wordsworth



El marinero rubio

Lleva el color del mar en los ojos

Y la ondulación de las olas en sus cabellos.


Los marineros, que según el poeta

Tienen nombres divinamente sencillos

—Se llaman Dick o John o Marvin o Louis–,

Traen en sus besos el agua del mar.


Acaso en ellos podéis hallar respuesta para el amor

(Un amor que nace entre torres de espanto.)


Acaso porque sobre el mar huyen del sol

Y no les broncea la piel.


Acaso, también, porque

La libertad es un deseo de estar preso

En el deseo del marinero rubio.



By Sergio Téllez-Pon from the book of poetry No recuerdo el amor sino el deseo (October, 2008) and used by permission of the publisher, Quimera ediciones (Mexico City).




Wondering who inherits the forbidden pleasures



to Luis Cernuda, on the 100th anniversary of his birth


The gentleness of heaven in on the sea

—Wordsworth


The blond sailor

wears the color of the sea in his eyes

and the swirl of the waves in his hair.


Sailors, according to the poet,

have divinely simple names

—They’re called Dick or John or Marvin or Louis–

and carry sea water in their kisses.


You can barely find the answer to love in them

(a love born between towers of fear).


Perhaps because they flee across the sea from the sun

so it doesn’t tan their skin.


Perhaps, too, because

freedom is a desire to be prisoner

in the desire of the blond sailor.



Translation by Don Cellini © 2011.




From the book of poetry No recuerdo el amor sino el deseo (October, 2008) and used by permission of the publisher, Quimera ediciones (Mexico City).


Visit: Quimera



Biography:

Sergio Téllez-Pon is a poet, essayist, literary critic, and editor. These three poems are from his book No recuerdo el amor sino el deseo (2008) from Quimera Publishers. He edited the anthology Poesía Homoerótica (Alforja, 2006) and is co-author of Ensayos sobre Efrén Hernández y Francisco Tario and México se escribe con jota. Historia de la cultura gay mexicana. He lives in Mexico City where he works as a literary editor at Quimera Publishers.



Biography:

Don Cellini is a member of the faculty of the Department of Modern Languages and Cultures at Adrian (Michigan, USA) College. He has published two books of bilingual poetry: Approximations / Aproximaciones (2005); Inkblots (2008); and a book of prose poems Translate into English (2010). His translations include Elías Nandino: Selected Poems in English and Spanish (2010); the e-chapbook Como esta tierra ciega / Like this Blind Dust; and the manuscript Imágenes para una anunciación / Images for an annunciation by Roxana Elvridge-Thomas. He is currently completing a translation of the work of Mexican poet Sergio Téllez-Pon, No recuerdo el amor sino el deseo / Desire I Remember but Love, No.






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