Introductory Note from City of Asylum:<\/b><\/p>\n
City of Asylum Pittsburgh is honored to have hosted Cuban writer and journalist Jorge Olivera Castillo as a writer-in-residence since November 2021. Jorge has published six books of poetry and two short story collections and is a well-known dissident, whose work has been banned in Cuba. It has been a great privilege to welcome Jorge to Pittsburgh as part of our residency program and to witness how he and his wife Nancy Alfaya Hernandez, a Cuban human rights and women\u2019s right activist in her own right, have flourished here. Jorge\u2019s newest collection of sonnets, <\/span>En el filo del horizonte<\/span><\/i> (<\/span>On the Edge of the Horizon<\/span><\/i>) was written during his time in residency in Pittsburgh and reflects themes of love, resilience, the despair of political turmoil, and his experience as an artist living in exile. Jorge\u2019s work has been translated into several languages, including Czech, English, Italian, and Polish.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Translator\u2019s Note by Erin Goodman:<\/b><\/p>\n Hard Earth<\/span><\/i> (<\/span>Tierra dura<\/span><\/i>) is a short story collection by Cuban writer Jorge Olivera Castillo made up of fictional accounts of a soldier in Angola based on Olivera Castillo\u2019s own experiences. \u201cIt\u2019s safe to say that this book is the fruit of a miracle,\u201d says Olivera Castillo. \u201cIt\u2019s not easy to emerge relatively unscathed from a civil war that took place in the jungle and that lasted for almost thirty years (1975\u20132002). The few truces that occurred in this period only heightened the conflict. I arrived at that forlorn place at the age of nineteen in the summer of 1981. For twenty-six months I survived in underground shelters, exposed to diseases that almost killed me, sporadic bombardments, insomnia, and hunger. The daytime heat was oppressive, nighttime was cold, and fearsome wild animals made the rounds in the dark early mornings. In short, everything one could imagine from a context where death was as natural as the remarkable duality of lush forests and dusty savannahs: the only landscapes I saw until the day of my much-anticipated return.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n By the time Cuba\u2019s military engagement in Angola ceased in 1991, Cuban casualties numbered around 10,000 dead, wounded, or missing. In total, an estimated one million people were killed and millions more displaced as a result of the conflict. 2025 marks fifty years of independence in Angola, and fifty years since the start of the conflict that would last twenty-seven years. At the same time, the world has been returning to Cold War-era polarization, such that shedding light on another proxy war in Africa could be timely. These stories are told from a personal point of view, with very simplistic language and a matter-of-fact style that focuses on the implications of war on the psyche of young soldiers, rather than pushing any political agenda.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cThe Feast,\u201d from <\/b>Hard Earth<\/i><\/b><\/p>\n The skinless, gutless monkey burned on the bonfire.<\/span><\/p>\n It was small, but that didn\u2019t matter much. It would satisfy our hunger and that was enough. We were on the verge of a sunset characterized by thick reddish clouds that took on various shapes molded by the breeze..<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cThat one looks like a horse,\u201d Arturo pointed his index finger toward the sky through the thin veil of smoke covering his face.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t think it looks like an animal. Hunger has stimulated your imagination,\u201d replied Ren\u00e9, crouching and turning the body of the headless primate on the wooden spit held up by stilts on each end of the campfire.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cIt wasn\u2019t an illusion. The cloud <\/span>was<\/span><\/i> in the shape of a horse. Look! Now it\u2019s a crocodile,\u201d he enthused with his arm extended in the direction of another discovery.<\/span><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span>\u201c<\/span>Compadre<\/span><\/i>, stop looking up there. Come back to earth, where our problems are. I don\u2019t even have the strength to lift my head,\u201d said Bernardo.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI agree. An empty stomach is why you\u2019re seeing a whole zoo in the sky,\u201d said Ren\u00e9.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cNah. It\u2019s just a distraction from the hunger pangs.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWe’ll be eating in twenty minutes,\u201d Ren\u00e9 added.<\/span><\/p>\n The announcement stimulated the salivary glands of two of the three soldiers.<\/span><\/p>\n It would be their first bite in the two days they had been in the jungle. They supposed they were the only survivors who had managed to escape the devastating attack from the enemy troops.<\/span><\/p>\n Since their successful fugue, they had been wandering aimlessly through the dense vegetation that camouflaged hundreds of animals, some less evasive than the monkey on their spit.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Arturo had led the hunt. He hit the target on the third shot. There was just one bullet left in the only magazine. Ren\u00e9 and Bernardo only had their sharp Russian Kizlyar knives. Their firearms were long gone: both weapons rested at the bottom of the Bomkula River, relegated to a memory of how they had overcome that obstacle in a frantic chase that had begun amid a hail of bullets and explosions of mortar shells.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI need a break,\u201d said Ren\u00e9, pausing from spinning the animal\u2019s rapidly diminishing flesh.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cFrom what I can see, there\u2019ll be almost nothing left!\u201d exclaimed Bernardo, getting up to take over the cooking duties.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s normal, the volume decreases as it loses body fat. The point is to eat something, even if we\u2019re not satiated,\u201d said Ren\u00e9. \u201cSo, is this the first time you’ll be eating monkey?\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s my third time,\u201d Bernardo interjected.<\/span><\/p>\n Before answering, Arturo made a face and sighed.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cHonestly, the first time I could hardly eat it,\u201d he said. \u201cThat was about six months ago in Benguela. We hunted four monkeys slightly larger than this one. I only had one bite and I swallowed it practically without chewing. My world was turned upside down. Although I wasn\u2019t as hungry then as I am right now\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cMaybe this time you\u2019ll wish you had more. Look how toasty it\u2019s getting. It couldn\u2019t be better. And who knows what\u2019s ahead in the coming days. We need to replenish our energy. Nobody knows how long we\u2019ll have to hold out. We\u2019re in limbo. It seems like there\u2019s no way out of this jungle, it\u2019s like we\u2019re trapped.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cRen\u00e9, you\u2019re right that when hunger strikes, there\u2019s no room for scruples. How long until dinner?\u201d Arturo joked.<\/span><\/p>\n Bernardo assessed the hunk of smoking meat without interrupting his circular arm movement. The monkey would soon be taken off the rod and divided up equally.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cThe feast begins in ten minutes,\u201d he announced, raising his voice slightly as if it were a special event. He had assumed the stance of a professional announcer with the palm of one hand cocked to the corner of his mouth to broadcast the news.<\/span><\/p>\n The darkness crept in stealthily, breaking the near picture-perfect twilight. The gentle, varied colors yielded to twilight\u2019s menacing shadows.<\/span><\/p>\n The three men were minutes away from a fleeting but vital moment of glory. They would face their second nighttime foray, now with only one bullet left and a pair of knives. At least their hunger would be somewhat sated by the bland flesh of the monkey.<\/span><\/p>\n They would wholeheartedly celebrate the chance to break their fast and the fact that they were alive.<\/span><\/p>\n The sun showed its last flashes. Arturo, leaning against the trunk of an imposing tree, discovered the shape of another animal in one of the clouds blown by the wind.<\/span><\/p>\n It\u2019s an elephant<\/span><\/i>, he thought, without voicing the idea.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI think we can divvy it up now. It doesn\u2019t matter if it\u2019s a little raw inside,\u201d Ren\u00e9 suggested.<\/span><\/p>\n Bernardo agreed, grasping the wooden stick by both ends and bringing it next to the fire near the tree where Arturo sat.<\/span><\/p>\n The chunk of meat was about eight inches long and barely four inches wide.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cAny more time and we would have had to settle for sucking on the bones,\u201d Ren\u00e9 commented.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWell, it\u2019s better than nothing,\u201d said Bernardo. With a couple of deft movements he extracted the spit from inside the ape and unsheathed his knife from the right side of his leather belt.<\/span><\/p>\n Arturo accepted his portion unenthusiastically. Bernardo had carved the meat like a professional butcher.<\/span><\/p>\n The soldiers began to quench their voracious appetites. They were aware of its limits. Their emergency dinner was rationed and bland.<\/span><\/p>\n Ren\u00e9 bit frantically,\u00a0 hardly chewing. Arturo took his time between bites. He didn\u2019t feel as voracious as his companions who were determined to gnaw it down to the marrow.<\/span><\/p>\n Night thickened over the jungle. The curved sliver-moon was dulled by the fog, giving it a melancholy hue.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cIt was delicious, wasn\u2019t it?\u201d Bernardo exclaimed, before taking a sip of water from his canteen.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI have to admit that it wasn\u2019t bad,\u201d responded Arturo, gnashing at the last piece of meat. \u201cI didn\u2019t savor it like you did, but it was worth it. Now we can hold out until we can hunt something else or find our way out of this labyrinth.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cDon’t throw away the bone,\u201d said Ren\u00e9, holding out his hand.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI expect your solidarity, mate,\u201d said Bernardo with a wink to reinforce his message.<\/span><\/p>\n Ren\u00e9 looked at him sideways without answering, concentrating on breaking the bone.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cHere you go,\u201d he said dryly.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cAre you upset?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cNo, not at all. Everything\u2019s fine.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Arturo was the first to lean back against the tree.<\/span><\/p>\n In just over a minute, the flames of the bonfire reignited. Ren\u00e9 had rekindled it with remarkable skill.<\/span><\/p>\n Each soldier took his place around the base of the tree. The bark of the trunk showed thick, perfectly outlined striations, shadowy in the gloomy night yet tinged with fine embers from the fire flickering over the mound of dry branches.<\/span><\/p>\n The evening was intense. Darkness weighed on their exhausted bodies, as they lay blissfully oblivious to the harsh intermittent jungle noises.<\/span><\/p>\n At dawn, the three lay in almost the same positions. The hyena\u2019s first bite was to Ren\u00e9\u2019s abdomen. Not one had tried to defend himself. The herd feasted on their corpses.<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Three Sonnets from <\/b>On the Edge of the Horizon<\/i><\/b><\/p>\n I<\/span><\/p>\n At the edge of the landscape that wind along the vast obverse The days, the seasons go by, of speculating on the conditions <\/p>\n V<\/span><\/p>\n Like a spark of light that goes out, It seemed the radiance of a diamond\u2014 In reality, a confused gesture, uncovering the extent of abuse, <\/p>\n VIII<\/span><\/p>\n The moor, the rope, the precipice Greedy promises notoriously made a euphoria whose aim is the expedited impunity without mitigation, <\/p>\n <\/p>\n \t\tErin Goodman<\/span><\/h5>\n
Translated by Erin Goodman<\/span><\/h5>\n
\n<\/span>goes life with its brightness and
\n<\/span>solid shadows, stuck in old cloths
\n<\/span>that claim to mask the wound,<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>of the soul in its intermittent breath;
\n<\/span>expatriated in an exilic flash
\n<\/span>that ceases suddenly in its reversal.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>in the pupils of the crowd, lost
\n<\/span>in the customary cycles\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>\u2014abstracted, sitting, or squatting\u2014
\n<\/span>of a trip to who knows what village.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>in the slow passage of hours
\n<\/span>that mark the beat of each dawn,
\n<\/span>obsession is bred by certain virtue.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>sprinkled like holy water
\n<\/span>over a sole parishioner who meditates
\n<\/span>prostrate before an extravagant altar.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>embrace rehearsed a thousand times,
\n<\/span>the promise of future growth<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>motivated by reasons unknown,
\n<\/span>betrayal ever present, addictive.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>complete the dowry of vileness;
\n<\/span>they offer us the crude certainty of
\n<\/span>the universality of torture.<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>to serve us up on silver platters,
\n<\/span>omens the prophet unleashes
\n<\/span>with gestures revealing<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>mutation of a spacious, rosy orchard
\n<\/span>in a garden of bitter truths\u2014<\/span><\/p>\n
\n<\/span>the insignificance of forgiving, and
\n<\/span>the insufferable burdens the human back bears.<\/span><\/p>\nTranslated by Jonathan Bennett Bonilla<\/span><\/h5>\n