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Literature, PoetryJuly 28, 2013

Impresiones

Impresiones

La memoria está en la yema de los dedos

Los colores están en los ojos

La infancia está contenida en la columna vertebral

Los mundos nacen en cascarones rotos

Siempre habrá un signo en todo objeto

Una señal desdibujada en el horizonte

Un presagio de infinito en la noche

Un destello suspendido en la frente

Un viejo olor bajo los guijarros

Un sol rojo detrás de las colinas

Amaneceres en los parpados

Globos flotando en el cielo

Aldeas insospechadas en la planta de los pies

Anémonas gigantes en las nubes

Seres que caminan de cabeza

Soles como pupilas

Buzos ahogados en un vaso de agua

Náufragos de la desesperación

Locomotoras exhalando un enjambre de moscas

Árboles que entienden lo que decimos

Un reloj con brazos y piernas

Una torre sumergida en un charco

Ojos llorando aves

Sueños que conducen sus autos en la noche

Balsas que atraviesan las arterias dejando una estela de estrellas

Canciones buscando la luz

Cielos tensos como codos y brazos

Ciudades edificadas en mi mano izquierda

Soles entre los dedos

Mareas de oídos sordos

Pedazos de playas en la retina

Insectos acuáticos

Mapas de lugares remotos como las galaxias

Discusiones sobre asuntos que pronto olvidaremos

Islas que son sonidos nidos

Impresiones de todo lo soñado

visto

olido

escuchado

presentido

sentido

de gustado

olvidado… 

Impressions

Memory is in the fingertips

Colors are in the eyes

Infancy is contained in the backbone

Worlds are born in broken shells

There will always be a sign in every object

made vague in the horizon

An infinite omen in the night

A sparkle suspended on the forehead

An old smell beneath the pebbles

A red sun behind the hills

Sunrises on the eyelids

Balloons floating in the sky

Villages unsuspected in the soles of feet

Giant anemones in the clouds

Beings that walk on their heads

Suns like pupils

Divers drowned in a glass of water

Shipwrecks of desperation

Locomotives exhaling a swarm of flies

Trees that understand what we say

A clock with arms and legs

A tower submerged in a puddle

 

Eyes crying birds

Dreams that drive their cars in the night

Rafts that navigate the arteries leaving a trail of stars

Songs searching for the light

Skies tense like elbows and arms

Cities built in my left hand

Suns between fingers

Tides of deaf ears

Pieces of beaches in the retina

Aquatic insects

Maps of remote places like galaxies

Discussions over matters that we will soon forget

Islands that are nests of sounds

Impressions of everything dreamed

seen

smelled

heard

sensed

felt

liked

forgotten…

 

Rafael Ayala Páez was born in Zaraza, Guárico, Venezuela in 1988. He studied at the Universidad Nacional Experimental Simón Rodríguez (UNESR), and was a founding member of the Municipal Writers Network of Zaraza.

His collections include Bocados de silencio and The lightness of matter (both 2012), and his work was featured in The Blue Hour Anthology – A collection of poetry, prose and art (2013).

 His poems have been translated into English, German, French, and Hebrew.

Roger Hickin (b. 1951) is a New Zealand poet, visual artist, book designer, and publisher. 

Although he has written poetry since the 1960s, his main preoccupation was with sculpture and painting until the early 2000s when poetry began to demand more serious attention. His artworks have often incorporated poetry and his involvement with the visual arts has given rise to a number of poems about art and artists. His Waiting for the Transport (Kilmog Press, Dunedin) and The Situation & other poems (the initial Cold Hub Press chapbook) both appeared in 2009.

Roger is the director of Cold Hub Press which publishes poetry in several languages, including bilingual chapbooks of poems by two Chilean poets: Juan Cameron (with translations by the celebrated US translator Cola Franzen) and Sergio Badilla Castillo (with translations by Roger Hickin and the author).

You can read an interview between Rafael Ayala Páez and Roger Hickin, in English and Spanish, here.

Featured artwork: La visión de Daniel, by Gabriela Nuñez

Tags

poetryPoetry World CupRafael Ayala PáezSpanishtranslationsVenezuela

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One last love letter...

April 24, 2021

It has taken us some time and patience to come to this decision. TMS would not have seen the success that it did without our readers and the tireless team that ran the magazine for the better part of eight years.

But… all good things must come to an end, especially when we look at the ever-expanding art and literary landscape in Pakistan, the country of the magazine’s birth.

We are amazed and proud of what the next generation of creators are working with, the themes they are featuring, and their inclusivity in the diversity of voices they are publishing. When TMS began, this was the world we envisioned…

Though the magazine has closed and our submissions shuttered, this website will remain open for the foreseeable future as an archive of the great work we published and the astounding collection of diverse voices we were privileged to feature.

If, however, someone is interested in picking up the baton, please email Maryam Piracha, the editor, at [email protected].

Farewell, fam! It’s been quite a ride.

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