Miguel Aizpuru – Tres Poemas (Three Poems)

Primero, Manhattan

Me sentenciaron a veinte años de aburrimiento

Leonard sabe a qué me refiero

Una condena a la irrelevancia

La pena de la existencia

No mísera -tampoco exageremos

Sino rutinaria, que es casi peor

Por la ausencia de la épica

Por el gris omnipresente

Por la mediocridad como norma

Bocetos de una sociedad acomodaticia

Uniforme, universalmente provinciana

Nos habían prometido otra cosa

Íbamos a tomar Manhattan, o Berlín

First, Manhattan

They sentenced me to twenty years of boredom

Leonard knows what I mean

A condemnation of irrelevance

The penalty of existence

Not miserable -let’s not get dramatic

But routine, which is almost worse

By the absence of the epic

By the ever-present grey

Mediocrity as the norm

Sketches of an accommodative society

Uniform, universally provincial

We had been promised something else

We were going to take Manhattan, or Berlin


Un espejismo más

Fuiste el espejismo de otra vida,

Breve, como son los espejismos

Irreal, como son los espejismos

Dejaste entrever trazos de otra existencia

Más sana, más calmada, más feliz

A la que sin embargo no pude acceder

Volví a mi rutina

Mis amigos de siempre, mis bares de cabecera, mi no-familia

Como si nada hubiera pasado

Como si no hubiera otras vidas

No las hay

Another mirage

You were the mirage of another life

Brief, just as mirages are

Unreal, just as mirages are

You gave me traces of another existence

Healthier, calmer, happier

To which, however, I could not access

I went back to my routine

My old friends, my hometown bars, my non-family

As if nothing had happened

As if there were no other lives

There are not


Madrid

El ansia de la hoja en blanco

Un libro abierto

(Que promete incesantes estímulos)

Del que no saldrás igual

Todo lo divino y por ende humano

La incertidumbre llevada al extremo

Las segundas oportunidades

(Y terceras, y cuartas…)

Café solo a primera hora de la mañana

Tabaco de liar

Con el calor ya despuntando

En un infierno de asfalto y hormigón

Y no el cielo

Sino esa luz…

Madrid

The craving for the blank sheet

An open book

(Which promises relentless stimuli)

And will change you forever

All that is divine and therefore human

Uncertainty taken to the extreme

Second chances

(And third, and fourth ones…)

Black coffee first thing in the morning

Snuff rolling

With the heat already breaking

In a hell of asphalt and concrete

And not heaven

But that light…

Miguel Aizpuru (Bilbao, 1992), musician, journalist and writer from the Basque Country. He
has practiced political journalism and has also published in various Basque and Spanish
cultural magazines. He prepares the publication of his first poetry book for this year 2020.

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