Juana M. Ramos

Two Poems translated from Spanish by Diana Conchado
June 25, 2024 Ramos Juana M.

Juana M. Ramos translated from Spanish by Diana Conchado

 

A Cold Afternoon

 

I have always liked bell towers
and women in hats
men that divulge
their mother’s recipe in the kitchen
autumn in its fullness and its leaves
the cafeteria stuffed to its gills
by two multinational franchises.
It is very cold this afternoon
and a shrill voice sings bachata.
I clench my teeth without realizing,
the pain in my tense jaw lets me know.
One day, I will heal, I think to myself,
while I remember that the streets of my childhood
again overflow.
In this room time agonizes
and I clean out my drawers
(deep within them
an image of the Calzada de los Muertos)
I peel my walls
in minimalist rapture:
I want only a table and chair.
Today the birds cry because of so much city,
as they search for the hundred-year-old tree.
I have always liked bell towers,
I repeat.

 

 

 

Una tarde de frío

 

Siempre me gustaron los campanarios
y las mujeres con sombrero
los hombres que confiesan
una receta de su madre en la cocina
el otoño en pleno y sus hojas
la cafetería a punto de la asfixia
entre dos franquicias multinacionales.
Hace mucho frío esta tarde
y suena una voz aguda en bachata.
Aprieto los dientes sin saberlo
me lo anuncia la mandíbula tensa y dolorida.
Algún día sanaré, pienso,
mientras recuerdo que las calles de mi infancia
han vuelto a inundarse.
En esta habitación agoniza el tiempo
y limpio las gavetas
(en el fondo una imagen
de la Calzada de los Muertos)
desuello las paredes
en un arrebato minimalista:
solo quiero una mesa y una silla.
De tanta ciudad hoy lloran los pájaros
buscan el árbol centenario.
Los campanarios siempre me gustaron,
insisto.

 

 

The Waiting

 

They say that on that day
you awoke very early
with memories of your little girl on your mind.
You asked for your new dress,
make-up,
sitting in the living room
you cradled the waiting
in your arms.
“She promised she would come,
she called early this morning,”
you told them.
But your little girl travels
along other paths
she intimates with other tongues,
takes buses,
subways,
planes
that distance her from your waiting.
Office hours consume her,
she dies with each sunrise,
every day an alarm clock
orders her
“Rise up and walk.”
On some days she buries her head,
on others, as she is ravaged by storms,
her colors fade.
Bit by bit she is overtaken
by the city,
even her name has been mutilated.
She has lost her way
and cannot find it.

 

 

La espera

Dicen que ese día
despertaste muy temprano
con la niña en tus recuerdos. 
Pediste tu vestido nuevo,
               maquillaje,
sentada en la sala
calmaste la espera
entre tus brazos. 
“La niña prometió
               que vendría,
llamó temprano esta mañana”,
               les dijiste.
Pero tu niña recorre
otros caminos,
estrecha otros acentos,
               toma aviones,
               metros, buses
que la alejan de tu espera,
la consumen horas de oficina,
muere cada madrugada,
un despertador le dice
               diariamente
“levántate y anda”,
hay días en que entierra la cabeza,
otros en que la inundan
               temporales,
               se destiñe,
se va quedando de a pedazos
               en la urbe, le han mutilado hasta el nombre,
               se ha extraviado,
no encuentra el camino.

Juana M. Ramos was born in Santa Ana, El Salvador, and currently lives in New York City where she is a professor of Spanish and literature at York College, CUNY. She has participated in international poetry festivals and recitals in Latin America, the U.S., England, and Spain. She has published many books, including Multiplicada en mí, Palabras al borde de mis labios, Sobre luciérnagas, Sin ambages / To the Point, Clementina, El agudo blandir al pronunciarte, Aquí no hay gatos. Her poems and narratives have been published in several anthologies and literary magazines, both in print and digital format.