Residente del lupus
José Raúl "Gallego" González Rodriguez
Cuenta el poema
que una noche calurosa de verano,
miles de cangrejos invadieron
un modesto apartamento en Santurce.
En el apartamento vivía
una mujer divorciada y sus dos hijos.
Cuenta el poema
que los cangrejos derribaron la puerta
cerca de las tres de la madrugada,
llegaron como aparecen
las invasiones en la vida:
con ese sonido de mar amargo,
con ese sabor que de entrada sacude y lastima.
Cuenta el poema
que esa noche se escucharon gritos, alaridos,
que la fauna de un misterio
parecido al misterio del amor
se escuchaba como tambores lejanos
de una isla que perdida amenaza con la vida
de una vez y por todas.
Cuenta el poema
que una noche miles de cangrejos invadieron
el apartamento de una mujer divorciada
que trabajaba de enfermera
en un hospital de Hato Rey,
que el calor y la amenaza de una guerra futura
los sorprendió durmiendo.
Los cangrejos no mediaron palabras,
se propagaron como el Virus invisible
de no saber a que atenerse.
Trajeron sal, yodo,
objetos de las costas quel gobierno había olvidado,
huesos de criaturas marinas
que prefirieron no tener nada que ver con
/ los humanos,
restos de una nave, brújulas, algas, fotos.
Se apoderaron de la cocina, del balcón,
corrieron por el pasillo,
inundaron las habitaciones
con el agua viva de una clorofila
parecida al residuo que deja la carne humana,
cantaron la canción del mar
que un día nos trajo a todos del sargazo más
/ ferviente,
ése que masticamos, el mismo que escupimos.
Cuenta el poema
cómo la mujer divorciada, hecha una fiera,
logró llegar desde la habitación de sus hijos
para ponerlos a salvo,
cómo atravesó el mar de cangrejos
como si atravesara todos los veranos
que había vivido,
como si cruzara esa línea invisible
donde el amor es un clima impredecible,
/desajustado.
Cuenta el poema
que los cangrejos se marcharon cuando vieron
que la mujer lloraba lágrimas de sangre
y se aferraba a sus dos hijos con ímpetu de árbol.
Cuenta el poema
que varios vecinos aparecieron tras los gritos,
que la policía llego una hora después,
que había comenzado a caer un aguacero
/ descomunal
y cientos de relámpagos iluminaban el cielo.
Cuenta el poema
de una invasión de cangrejos
en un modesto apartamento de Santurce,
y de cómo una enfermera divorciada
aprendió que el mar es un sabor en los labios,
una imagen de edificios latiendo
al ritmo de su vientre.
Cuenta el poema
que una noche el amor alcanzó la sal de su destino,
que miles de cangrejos se perdieron
y fueron a parar a un sueño,
que las invasiones existen
y que la historia sigue siendo relativa.
Cuenta el poema
que la nave del olvido es fría, calculadora.
Resident of Lupus (trans.)
José Raúl "Gallego" González Rodriguez
So the poem goes
that on a warm summer night,
thousands of crabs invaded
a modest apartment in Santurce.
In the apartment lived
a divorced woman and her two children.
So the poem goes
that the crabs knocked down the door
at around three in the morning,
they arrived the way invasions
come into our lives:
with that sound of bitter sea,
with that taste that jolts and hurts from the start.
So the poem goes
that that night you could hear shouting, yelling,
that the fauna of a mystery
similar to the mystery of love
could be heard like distant drums
from an island so lost that it threatens a life
once and for all.
So the poem goes
that one night thousands of crabs invaded
the apartment of a divorced woman
who worked as a nurse
at a hospital in Hato Rey,
that the heat and the threat of a future war
ambushed them while sleeping.
The crabs didn’t say a word,
they spread like the invisible Virus
of not knowing what to abide by.
They brought salt, iodine,
objects from the coasts the government had forgotten,
bones of sea creatures
that chose to have nothing to do with
/ humans,
remains of a ship, compasses, seaweed, photos.
They took over the kitchen, the balcony,
they ran down the hallway,
they flooded the bedrooms
with the living water of a chlorophyll
that resembled the residue of human flesh,
they sang the song of the sea
that one day brought us all from the fieriest
/ sargasso,
that one we chew, the same one we spit out.
So the poem goes
on about how the divorced woman, like a wild animal,
managed to find her way from her children’s bedroom
and brought them to safety,
how she traversed the sea of crabs
as if she were going through all
the summers of her life,
as if she were crossing that invisible line
where love is an unpredictable climate,
/unsettled.
So the poem goes
that the crabs left when they saw
that the woman was crying tears of blood
and holding her two children with the force of a tree.
So the poem goes
that several neighbors showed up after hearing the screams,
that the police showed up an hour later,
that a colossal downpour had begun
and hundreds of lightning bolts lit up the sky.
So the poem goes
on about how crabs invaded
a modest apartment in Santurce,
and about how a divorced nurse
learned that the sea is a taste on one’s lips,
an image of buildings beating
to the rhythm of her womb.
So the poem goes
that one night love reached the salt of its fate,
that thousands of crabs got lost
and ended up in a dream,
that invasions exist
and that history continues to be relative.
So the poem goes
that the ship of oblivion is cold, calculating.
at a hospital in Hato Rey,
that the heat and the threat of a future war
ambushed them while sleeping.
The crabs didn’t say a word,
they spread like the invisible Virus
of not knowing what to abide by.
They brought salt, iodine,
objects from the coasts the government had forgotten,
bones of sea creatures
that chose to have nothing to do with
/ humans,
remains of a ship, compasses, seaweed, photos.
They took over the kitchen, the balcony,
they ran down the hallway,
they flooded the bedrooms
with the living water of a chlorophyll
that resembled the residue of human flesh,
they sang the song of the sea
that one day brought us all from the fieriest
/ sargasso,
that one we chew, the same one we spit out.
So the poem goes
on about how the divorced woman, like a wild animal,
managed to find her way from her children’s bedroom
and brought them to safety,
how she traversed the sea of crabs
as if she were going through all
the summers of her life,
as if she were crossing that invisible line
where love is an unpredictable climate,
/unsettled.
So the poem goes
that the crabs left when they saw
that the woman was crying tears of blood
and holding her two children with the force of a tree.
So the poem goes
that several neighbors showed up after hearing the screams,
that the police showed up an hour later,
that a colossal downpour had begun
and hundreds of lightning bolts lit up the sky.
So the poem goes
on about how crabs invaded
a modest apartment in Santurce,
and about how a divorced nurse
learned that the sea is a taste on one’s lips,
an image of buildings beating
to the rhythm of her womb.
So the poem goes
that one night love reached the salt of its fate,
that thousands of crabs got lost
and ended up in a dream,
that invasions exist
and that history continues to be relative.
So the poem goes
that the ship of oblivion is cold, calculating.