The Worshipping God
I’m a god in my town and my valley
It’s not because they worship me But because I do
Because I bow down before anyone who offers up
some passion fruits or a smile from their own garden
Or because I head down to the bad side of town
to beg for money or a shirt and I get it
Because I keep a close watch on the sky with my sparrow hawk eyes
and then talk about it in my poems Because I’m lonesome
Because I slept seven months in a rocking chair
and another five on some city sidewalk
Because I give wealth the side eye
but I’m not vicious about it Because I love anybody who loves
Because I know how to grow orange trees and vegetables
even in the dog days of summer Because I have a compadre
whose children I baptized and whose marriage I blessed
Because I’m not good in a way people can get
Because when I was a lawyer I didn’t defend capital
Because I love birds and rain and its wide-open
washing my soul Because I was born in May
Because I know how to sucker punch my sticky-fingered friend
Because my mother left me right when
I needed her most Because if I’m sick
I go to the free clinic Because basically
I only respect those who respect me The ones who work
every day for their bread bitter and lonely and wrangled
like these poems of mine that I steal from death
Navel Moon
I sketch your outline from the lighthouse down to the city walls
Your iron eyes are glow hallucinated
Sea skips over stones and my soul’s got it wrong
Sun sinks into water and water is pure fire
You’re almost like a dream Almost a stone in time’s swaying
A tender archetype solid in these dim days
your way of soothing my tears
Letting loose your body against mine Mad
like a foal in prairie fire
Spilling your words on my knowledge
like a poison to heal absence
Recalling things used and forgotten
with a bright wondrous flight
It’s getting late my love Sea brings storms
A pale moon recalls your naval
And a few clouds light and slow like your hands
drink thirstily Like when I die up against your mouth
El Dios que adora
Soy un dios en mi pueblo y mi valle
No porque me adoren Sino porque yo lo hago
Porque me inclino ante quien me regala
unas granadillas o una sonrisa de su heredad
O porque voy donde sus habitantes recios
a mendigar una moneda o una camisa y me la dan
Porque vigilo el cielo con ojos de gavilán
y lo nombro en mis versos Porque soy solo
Porque dormí siete meses en una mecedora
y cinco en las aceras de una ciudad
Porque a la riqueza miro de perfil
mas no con odio Porque amo a quien ama
Porque sé cultivar naranjos y vegetales
aún en la canícula Porque tengo un compadre
a quien le bauticé todos los hijos y el matrimonio
Porque no soy bueno de una manera conocida
Porque no defendí al capital siendo abogado
Porque amo los pájaros y la lluvia y su intemperie
que me lava el alma Porque nací en mayo
Porque sé dar una trompada al amigo ladrón
Porque mi madre me abandonó cuando precisamente
más la necesitaba Porque cuando estoy enfermo
voy al hospital de caridad Porque sobre todo
respeto sólo al que lo hace conmigo Al que trabaja
cada día un pan amargo y solitario y disputado
como estos versos míos que le robo a la muerte
Ombligo de luna
Dibujo tu perfil del faro a las murallas
Luz de alucinación son tus ojos de hierro
El mar salta en las piedras y mi alma se equivoca
El sol se hunde en el agua y el agua es puro fuego
Eres casi de sueño Eres casi de piedra en el vaivén del tiempo
Arquetipo amoroso firme en la turbia edad
esa manera tuya de calmarme las lágrimas
De desbocar tu cuerpo contra el mío Enloquecido
como un potro en una llanura incendiada
De verter tus palabras en mi entendimiento
cual veneno que cura la ausencia
De recordar cosas usadas y olvidadas
con un vuelo que ilumina y asombra
Es tarde amor El mar trae tormenta
Hay una luna pálida que recuerda tu ombligo
Y unas nubes livianas y pesadas como tus manos
beben sedientas Así cuando yo sobre tu boca muero
Raúl Gómez Jattin (Cartagena, 1945-1997) was one of Colombia’s most outstanding poets and the author of seven books of poetry. He spent most of his adult life between psychiatric hospitals and the streets, though he never stopped writing poetry. He led writing workshops at the University of Cartagena and the Modern Art Museum and his famous public readings drew hundreds of listeners. As a queer man of Syrian descent writing in a way that broke with his country’s tradition, his rightful place at the forefront of Colombian poetry has long been denied. In 1997, he was tragically killed by a bus.
Katherine M. Hedeen is a specialist in Latin American poetry and has both written extensively on and translated contemporary authors from the region. Her latest translations include In the Drying Shed of Souls: Poetry from Cuba’s Generation Zero (The Operating System) and Prepoems in PostSpanish (Eulalia Books), a chapbook by Ecuadorian neo-avant-garde poet Jorgenrique Adoum. She is an Associate Editor for Action Books, the Poetry in Translation Editor for the Kenyon Review and a two-time recipient of a NEA Translation Project Grant. She resides in Ohio where she is Professor of Spanish and Literary Translation at Kenyon College.
Olivia Lott’s translations of Latin American poetry have most recently appeared in or are forthcoming from ANMLY, Brooklyn Rail In Translation, The Kenyon Review, MAKE Magazine, Spoon River Poetry Review, Waxwing, and World Literature Today. Sheis the co-translator of Soleida Ríos’s The Dirty Text (Kenning Editions, 2018) and the translator of Lucía Estrada’s Katabasis (Eulalia Books, 2020). She is a Ph.D. Student and Olin Fellow in Hispanic Studies and Translation Studies at Washington University in St. Louis, where she is writing a dissertation on translation, revolution, and Latin American neo-avant-gardes.
The photograph is from Swedish artist Leif Holmstrand’s series “Asami Kannon / Whore” (2017, performed at Uppsala Art Museum). Photo: Grzegorz Fitał.
BURNING HOUSE PRESS 