Gillian Sze (she/her) is a Canadian writer. She is the author of multiple poetry books and picture books, including Quiet Night Think, which received the 2023 Pat Lowther Memorial Award.
Paula Galindez (she/her) is an Argentinian writer, teacher and translator. She has won several national and international prizes, grants and scholarships for both her writing and her translations.
Jon Herring (he/him) is a British writer of experimental autofiction and translator from Spanish and Portuguese (poetry and queer narratives). He studies at the University of East Anglia, UK.
“This series of poems emerges from a meeting in Buenos Aires between Canadian poet Gillian Sze and Argentinian poet Paula Galindez. We discovered that the premise of our first poetry collections were the same: poetic responses to visual art. Moved by this artistic commonality, we took advantage of our time together to collaborate on ekphrastic poetry.
“These ekphrastic poems are not only multi- / interlingual, multi- / intercultural, and multi- / interdisciplinary, but also archival as we (A) return to the poems of our past and (B) engage and revisit the artifacts exhibited in museums and curatorial spaces. The artworks continue to haunt the poems, this time in another language, at a later time, and with another poet.
“The first series of poems respond to Reposo (1889) by Argentinian painter Eduardo Schiaffino. Paula’s poem by the same name was published in her first book, Fábricas (Salta el Pez, 2019). The translation of her poem into English is new, as is Gillian’s response to Schiaffino’s painting, ‘Asking in Spanish.’ The second set of poems respond to I Want to Dig a Hole (1990) by Quebec artist Naomi London. Gillian’s poem, ‘I Still Think So,’ was published in her first book, Fish Bones (DC Books, 2009). This poem is followed by Paula’s response to London, ‘Hundir las manos en la tierra,’ which has also been translated into English (‘To plunge my hands into the earth’) by Jon Herring.”
Las telas se arrebatan
bajo un cuerpo azul.
El mundo es apenas
un pliegue
de sus omóplatos.
The sheets writhe
under a blue body.
The world is
but a crease
in her shoulder blades.
1.
Blue of rest
shoulder blades dent the air. A shrug.
The bare backside a question mark.
How did velvet hang with such purpose?
What hides beneath the chaise lounge?
What does the body dream while it is watched?
2.
I envy your language,
how the reader knows from the start
that the writer is searching.
Look no further.
The question begins even before the word.
The back is seen before the face.
Both make themselves known
by equal breath.
3.
Someone has just turned away
and even though you cannot see
you know the eyes are open
staring at the wall
expecting a reply.
I was nine
when I discovered
that I looked prettier
in photographs
when they were turned
upside down.
De chica hurgaba
a escondidas de mi abuela
en el tarro de café.
Cuando me dejaba
sola con el tarro
yo enterraba el índice
con la boca fría de los dedos
sondaba la frescura del polvo
a ciegas
la tierra liviana
me trabajaba
la suavidad de la piel.
Años después,
cuando ya creía que mis manos
eran cosa del olvido
volvió la caricia del café
mientras yo esparcía un tarro
de cenizas por el campo
como si el marrón de la tierra
me sostuviera las manos,
acompañara la labor
de soltar.
Abajo
en los poros del suelo
el polvo de hueso fue pintando
capas finas y blancas
de arcilla.
As a girl I’d poke around,
behind my grandmother’s back,
inside the coffee jar.
When she left me
alone with the jar
I’d bury my index finger
with the cold mouth of my fingertips
I’d sound out the coolness of the powder
blindly
the light earth
would work on
the softness of my skin.
Years later,
when I was sure my hands
were already oblivious
the brush of the coffee came back
as I was scattering a jar
of ashes out in the country
as though the brownness of the earth
were holding up my hands,
tempering the toil
of letting go.
Below
in the ground’s pores
powdered bones painted and painted
fine white layers
of clay.
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