I Donít Write Because Others Wrote Before Me by Ana Minga Translated by Alexis Levitin

 

No!

I write because strange moments have touched me

when I have a presentiment of death

of fear

that business of growing invisible

and killing oneself in front of everyone.

Moments when you know that you were born for Lucifer

and that just like him you have to stagger through the world

after a meeting with alcohol.

 

I donít write because others have written before me.

I write because I came to see that I was alive

and so I went to the park to watch the people going by like pigeons.

 

I write for me

for all the others.

I write denunciations

a complaint

some questions:

where is your back?

where are we?

 

I write even if itís just street corner existentialism.

 

I write something

because one is also the seventh John without Heaven *

a common place

because they have also tortured one.

I dial for God 

one who had to be crucified as well

a witchóa perfect apple- on the bonfire.

 

I write of my plumage

of the moons that fall upon the house

of the meadow where for the first and last time I knelt down

of the deepest darkest night.

Of the wind that heralded the dance of the vultures

of the flower that long ago died

of the music that lies at the foot of my bed

of my father who was once a child

of the gun powder that pushed me to smoke at one in the morning

of the cry that you not leave me

of the blood that clogs my veins

of the hands that howl like dogs without masters

of the clown who cries before the mirror

of the sheet of paper that in bright  dawn only gives back truths

of the photo where one still pretended innocence

of all that lets me lift this cup in the darkness.

 

 

I write

not because others have written before me

excuse my arrogance

but whatís for sure

I write drunkenly

sometimes crying for joy

sometimes moaning ashes.

 

I donít write from humility

even less to free myself of  my dead

that is to say of my only companions.

No!

I write because I detest oblivion

because I canít find anything else to do in my agenda:

that trunk full of noise.

 

* John Without Heaven (Juan sin Cielo) is an unfortunate character who suffers injustices in a poem by Ecuadorís best known poet, Jorge Carrera Andrade.

 

Read the Poem in Spanish

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Ana Minga

Alexis Levitin

Poetry

I Donít Write Because Others Wrote Before Me by Ana Minga Translated by Alexis Levitin