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Charles Olsen
New Zealand/ Spain

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Since 2003 I have lived in the Spanish capital, Madrid.  For the past two years I have been writing in Spanish and have been invited to recite my poetry at among other places the University of Alcalá de Henares and the ‘Complutense’ University of Madrid, and in the prison in ‘Barrio del Bosque’ and the theatre Amira de la Rosa, with ‘Poetas Bajo Palabra’, both in Barranquilla, Colombia.  I publish selected poems and photographs in

http://pensamientoslentos.blogspot.com

and my work as an artist is at

http://charlesolsen.es

My poetic short film "The dance of the brushes" has just been awarded second prize in the Festival of Flamenco Short Films (fflac) in Madrid, September 2010! 

More info in http://ladanzadelospinceles.blogspot.com

The following poems were all written in Spanish and are accompanied by my later translations.

Kitchen - Charles Olsen
The poem “Al loro” is accompanied by my photograph of the particular friend who inspired it.


Al loro

Con el ojo como punto final
me ignoras fijamente.

Alas derramadas
aunque así cortadas
casi te come
el vecino que ladra.

Feliz en tu jaula alocado
al alcance de la tormenta
se despierta en ti un parloteo
en tu cuerpo empapado.

Conoces la esencia escénica
con sustos y risas. 
Tienes presencia: ‘Lorrrito rrreal,
me visto de verde y soy liberal’.

Párpado blanco cerrado contento
y plumas en punta como piel de gallina.





Al loro

With an eye like a full-stop
you ignore me fixedly.

Wings spread out
although cut like that
the neighbour who barks
almost ate you.

Happy in your cage placed
within reach of the downpour
there awakes in you a babbling
in your soaked body.

You understand theatrical essence
with scares and chuckles.
You have presence: ‘Lorrrito rrreal,
me visto de verde y soy liberal’.

Closed white eyelid, contented,
and feathers on end like goose pimples.






certeza

“sólo al final, fustrando el gris”, Mesa pobre
“todo un curso fugaz de geometría”, Cohetes
(Perito en Lunas, Miguel Hernández)

fue en su mundo gris matizado
de creencias negras y blancas,
donde iba cerrando puertas veladas.

certidumbre que nos delimita.

ella y él,
dos personas de cien civilizaciones.
él y ella se hallaban en un trazo
incidental de colores salvajes.

colores que no encajaban… estallaban.





certainty (translation of certeza)

in her grey world blended
from black and white beliefs,
she went closing veiled doors.

certainties that delimit us.

him and her,
two people from a hundred civilisations.
she and he met in an incidental splash
of savage colours.

colours that didn’t fit together…
they detonated.






“paisaje urbano” was the first poem I wrote in Spanish and I have only recently translated it into English.  I didn’t know any Spanish before coming here to live.  People sometimes question how I can write poetry in a foreign language and I reply that finding words is like finding a beautiful shell on the beach; I turn it over on my tongue and savor its sounds and colour and find other words to add to it to build my pictures.


paisaje urbano

abro la puerta de la calle con cerradura rota y salgo.
las sombras oscuras del verano han vuelto,
la gente las busca para no sudar.
vivo los días en sueños que no terminan.
un té en La Yoli, de esos con menta y piñones;
cosa para interrumpir el tiempo,
cosa para devolverme a mi mismo.
¿cuantas pinceladas de cuantos colores
para pintar un paisaje urbano?

lo empecé cuando cerró la puerta.
hay mas maneras de entrar en una casa.
fotos, pinturas, cuentos, recuerdos.
pequeña palabra para despertar: agua.
los pies mojados mientras apagas el grifo de la manguera.
una sopa fría de lechuga con sal y vinagre
y dos cucharas para compartir.
el paisaje que pinto es de un momento pasado
que ya no existe igual.
de eso haré algo nuevo.






urban landscape (translation of paisaje urbano)

I open the door to the street with broken lock and leave.
the dark shadows of summer have returned,
the people seek them out so as not to sweat.
I live the days in dreams that never end.
A tea in La Yoli: one with mint and pine nuts;
something to interrupt time,
something to return me to myself.
how many brushstrokes of how many colours
to paint an urban landscape?

I started it when she closed the door.
There are other ways to enter a house.
photos, paintings, stories, memories.
a little word to awaken you: water.
wet feet while you turn off the tap of the hose.
a bowl of cold lettuce soup with salt and vinegar
and two spoons for sharing.
The landscape I paint is from a past
that no longer exists the same.
of this I’ll make something new.






La Poeta

En la clínica de San José
una poeta estornuda versos metafóricos
…frases como vino con cuerpo de algas infinitas.






The Poet (translation of La Poeta)

In the San Jose Clinic
a poet sneezes metaphoric verses
…phrases like wine with a body of infinite seaweed.





Kimono Rojo

Y ella puso una aguada
pálida, translúcida,
sobre las figuras,
como una capa de tiempo,
mientras detrás, a través de
la puerta abierta, de pie la observaba.

¿Cómo los ojos japoneses podrían
transformar el instante irrecuperable,
cuando el papel blanco y la línea
se vuelven celebración de una montaña,
un pájaro, las nubes, una rama en flor,
polillas alrededor de un farol solitario?

Gira hacía la luz y con
sus manos delicadas que bailan
me invita a ver la pintura, pero
hace mucho tiempo que me fui.
Quizá mañana vuelva a estos
momentos que duran para siempre.





Red Kimono (translation of Kimono Rojo)

And she laid a pale wash,
translucent,
over the figures,
like a layer of time,
as behind her through the open
door I stood and watched.

How Japanese eyes could
transform the irretrievable instant
when white paper and line
become celebration of a mountain,
a bird, clouds, a branch of blossom,
moths about a solitary lantern.

Turning to the light and with
gentle dancing hands she
invites me in to see the painting
but I have long since gone.  Maybe
tomorrow I’ll return to
these moments that last forever.