Chasing cars, by Asad Yahya. Image courtesy of the artist
Estos oros amables de la tarde
vencida, y allá lejos
los broces del llovido eucaliptal.
Voy por la carretera de la costa
para cumplir mi cita más oscura
-y no tengo esa cita concertada.
No debe sorprenderme
la noche en el camino.
Las voces en la radio se interfieren,
sus palabras partidas en pedazos.
-Y allá dentro de mà la voz que tiembla.
Estos oros tan falsos de la tarde…
Y la noche que viene tan aprisa.
La noche que no debe sorprenderme.
La noche que se instala en la conciencia
con el afán de un ave funeraria.
-La noche alrededor como un cadáver.
Parpadea el neón de un club de alterne
como una joya maga.
Como una joya amarga.
Cien kilómetros más.
El aterrado resplandor de las gasolineras.
Las ciudades que, vistas desde lejos,
parecen decorados, parecen espejismos,
parecen las ciudades absurdas de los sueños.
Siempre es largo el trayecto del que huye.
Todo lugar es siempre demasiado
cercano para ser definitivo.
Por eso intento huir
como huir suele el tiempo de nosotros.
-Lento en su soledad, veloz si perseguido,
huidizo al codiciarlo
y al despreciarlo eterno.
Como un lobo aterrado.
Aquà viene la noche,
profunda majestad, reino en la nada.
Mientras sigo al volante.
Mientras brillan las luces a lo lejos
de una ciudad extraña
que tampoco será
la ciudad de la cita a la que acudo.
~Felipe BenÃtez Reyes
These friendly golds of vanquished
evening, and off in the distance
the bronzes of eucalyptal rainfall.
I travel down this coastal highway
to honor my darkest date
—it isn’t one I planned.
Night must not catch me
on the road.
The radio voices turn to static
their words shattered to shards.
—And inside me a trembling voice.
These deceptive golds of evening…
And the night that falls too fast.
Night that must not catch me.
Night that settles over the mind
with the zeal of an funereal bird.
—The encircling night like a corpse.
A strip club’s neon sign blinks
like a magician’s gem.
Like a bitter gem.
A hundred miles to go.
The fearful glow of gas stations.
The cities which, seen from afar,
look like sets, look like mirages,
look like the absurd cities of dream.
The fugitive’s road is always long.
Every place is always too
close to be the end.
That’s why I try to flee
the way that time usually flees us.
—Slow in its solitude, quick when pursued,
evasive when coveted
and eternal when spurned.
Like a fearful wolf.
Here comes the night,
profound grace, realm of nothingness.
While I press on at the wheel.
While in the distance shine the lights
of a strange city
which will not be
the city of the date I must keep.
~Trans. from Spanish by Anna Rosenwong
Felipe BenÃtez Reyes is a prominent Spanish poet, best known for his association with the contemporary movement, “The Poetry of Experience.” His many books of poetry and fiction have garnered numerous awards, including Spain’s 1996 National Book Award, the Luis Cernuda Prize, and the National Critics Award.Â
Anna Rosenwong is a translator, editor, poet, educator, and winner of the 2015 Best Translated Book Award. She is the translation editor of Drunken Boat. Her literary and scholarly work has been featured in World Literature Today, The Kenyon Review, Translation Studies, The St Petersburg Review, Pool, and elsewhere.
