Caracas 1958
Caro figlio, my dear son.
Tutti bene. But this country has gone to the dogs.
Tuo padre went off with a dark slut,
but he’ll be back.
Money is not a problem here
ma the water tastes like petrolio.
Don’t you worry, figlio mio.
Over there, in nostro paese,
you have to grow up,
and study.
Because here there is no future,
and the girls,
well, I won’t say what they’re like
por rispetto
for this one ragazza who is kind enough
to write this letter for me.
My back’s not so bad now, meno dolore,
because now I work alla macchina only til midday.
I’ll send you money with Don Peppino
next month.
Tanti baci
e la Santa Benedizione.
Tua Mamma
Fortunata Strapazzoli
Translated by Colaboratorio Ávila, with the participation of Fiona Mackintosh
Terms of Comparison
While my father
bottles tomato sauce
for the whole year and gets ready to salt
Sicilian
sardines from La Guaira
two for Sara
two for Enzo
one for the Arab lady across the way
another for whoever will come
always begging
I write a book
on women
who don’t salt sardines
but write other books
about books
that will be refuted and vindicated
in the asignificant smoke
of the academy.
Respectfully, every now and then
not to seem indifferent
I nibble his pungent anchovies
red olives
with the obscene intention
of nourishing theories.
And book by book between sardines
and tomatoes
a cloud passes over the primal scene:
attentive master and mistress
his fervor disappears
perhaps resisting a little
in the bent over attitude
of cum grano salis
and now it’s not certain if they measure
with delicate fingers
the balance of every flavor and ingredient.
Scarce remains
like my books
the ephemeral and tenacious
powder
of that lost
winged
experience.
Translated by Peter Kahn
Serpent in Disguise
There is something that slithers
along fine stretch marks,
the legendary memory
of other pulsating species.
What language do you speak?
From what lineage?
Translated by Peter Kahn
