Día de Festín
asustada y quebrantada
niña que pretende ser yo.
Le digo a la Virgen de Guadalupe, mientras
brilla en mi rostro, enorme, dorada,
sí, como en las imágenes. Esas lenguas amarillas
de fuego un aura que la rodea -una mujer
atrevida como el sol. Sí, ella brilla
en mi en el oscuro sueño, y me dice...
están desnudos como la nieve sobre la tierra.
Una luz despolvando la salvia.
Está pegada a la Montaña El Salto,
está ahí grande como ese domo,
redonda y segura. La miro, temblando,
ya que este no es un sueño ordinario.
La miro y le preguntó qué hacer.
Ella dice...
dando lengüetazos a la noche que la rodea.
La profunda oscuridad.
El silencio de esa noche sin luna.
Quiero simplemente mirar fijamente y mirar más.
Quiero sostener la visión en mi abrazo.
Hay campos entre nosotras.
Una distancia tan madura como el mundo.
Una distancia infinita y ordinaria.
(¿Por qué no puedo recordar lo que me dijo?)
Me atrae hacia ella.
Yo no lo sé.
Cuando miro mis pies,
zumbando sobre la salvia
sobre las rocas
sobre la polvorienta
nieve de las 3 de la mañana
Estoy moviéndome tan rápido
que la tierra se ve borrosa,
no hay sensación de movimiento
solo esa enorme Virgen
cada vez más cerca,
más grande
su vientre infinito,
que ha brillado por siglos.
sus brazos abiertos
extendidos.
Estoy aterrorizada.
Pienso: Esto debiera encantarme.
En vez, me postro,
lista para caer
boca abajo
en la tierra.
la escucho, esta vez
recuerdo.
Ella dice: Mírame.
No
mires el suelo. Sostén
tu cabeza hacia arriba. Mantén
tus ojos sobre mi. El resto
se resolverá por si solo.
maravilla, la manera en que así me dijo,
el
secreto de la vida.
Magdalene Smith
Versión al español: Pilar Rodríguez Aranda
ORIGINAL EN INGLÉS:
Feast Day
I want to say: I am not that girl,
frightened broken down girl; pretends she is me.
I tell the Virgin of Guadalupe, as she
shines in my face, enormous, golden,
yes, like the pictures. Those yellow tongues
of fire an aura around her – a woman
bold as the sun. Yes, she shines
at me in the dark sleep, and tells me….
I look down at my feet,
they are bare as the snow on the ground.
A light dusting over the sage.
She is pasted to El Salto Mountain,
she is there big as that dome,
round and sure. I watch her, trembling,
for this is no ordinary dream.
I watch her and ask what to do.
She says…
Her mouth does not move, only those tongues
lapping at the night all around her.
The profound dark.
The silence of that moonless night.
I am moving toward her, though I don’t want to.
I want simply to stare and stare more.
I want to hold the vision in my embrace.
There are fields between us.
A distance as ripe as the world.
A distance both infinite and ordinary.
She tells me…
(Why can’t I remember what she told me?)
She draws me to her.
I don’t know it.
I think I am standing still.
When I look at my feet,
they are
flying
whizzing over sage
over rocks
over the dusty
3am snow.
I worry I will stumble,
I am moving so fast
the ground is a blur,
no sense of movement
only that huge Virgin
growing closer,
bigger
A vision that might swallow me.
I head toward her womb,
her infinite womb
that has shined for centuries.
She waits for me,
her arms open
reaching out.
I am terrified.
Think: I shouhd love this.
Instead, I grovel,
ready to fall
face down
in the dirt.
She says, and this time
I hear it, this time
I remember.
She says: Look at me.
Don’t
lokk at the ground. Hold
your head up. Keep
your eyes on me. The rest
will take care of itself.
It is a prayer, I thought, some kind of
wonder, the way she told me just so,
the
secret to life.
----------------------------------------
Magdalene Smith lived in Europe for fifteen years. She owned a bar in Spain, was a pop star in France, and worked as personal assistant for a duke in Italy. Her oldest daughter is an Italian princess. “Though it sounds like fiction, these are the facts of my life. I believe deeply in the wonderment of life and resilience of the human heart, a theme inherent in all my work.”Smith received her MFA in Writing from Vermont College. Her memoir, Flirty Fishing, was the college’s official selection for the Creative Nonfiction category of the AWP Intro Journal Awards. She is the recipient of University of New Mexico’s Resident Writer’s Award, two Wurlitzer Foundation fellowships, a Ludwig Vogelstein Foundation grant, a Martin Foundation for the Creative Arts grant, and a Visions poetry prize. Her work has appeared in publications and anthologies in Argentina, France, Spain, and the U.S.
www.magdalenesmith.com
