Jorge Paolantonio
Gregory Berry
Five years ago, Jorge Paolantonio wrote a gracious appreciation (“La mujer que traduce mis historias’) of my wife’s skill in translating some of his prose into English. I reworked Jorge’s admiring poem from Spanish into English, consulting with him as I went. I pointed out to Jorge the most striking structural element in the poem: He had made his translator into the living text of his poem, an incarnation and creator of the poem’s language.
| The Lady Who Translates My Stories For Nouha Gorani Homad, New York, October 2015 Translated by Gregory BerryThe lady who translates my stories Damascus-born brought Neruda’s loves to another language proved the true faith of her father: he filled her senses with Buenos Aires, with the fragrant cedars of the East or the cliffs of Wales.The tender lady who translates my stories brought children into the world to share new understanding, their lullabies the songs of Lebanon and courtly ballads: she made them mandalas with geraniums and dates.In the living flesh she translates my stories as a pilgrim she has said her prayers in countless languages, as many as the battered women in Detroit in Jalisco in Neuquen and Salta, in Congo, Afghanistan, Somalia, Nigeria, the Sokoto Caliphate, in the blue night of Lapland and Helsinki, the Mirabal sisters – the Dominican – Maria Soledad, in Catamarca.
The barefoot lady who translates my stories In Chile she kisses Gida, She sighs openly, this this lady, – feather steady |
La mujer que traduce mis historias para Nouha Gorani Homad, New York, 2015 Jorge Paolantonio la mujer que traduce mis historias la mujer bella que traduce mis historias la mujer delicada que traduce mis historias la mujer en carne viva que traduce mis historias la mujer de pie descalzo que traduce mis historias la mujer amorosa que traduce historias suspira a cara descubierta la mujer mutable -pluma al viento- |