In Translation: Two Poems by Ximena Gómez

Ximena Gómez is a Colombian-born author now based in the US. Two of her poems appear here in publication for the first time in their original Spanish, “Después de la Tormenta” and “Té de Jengibre” along with their English translations, respectively, “After the Storm” and “Ginger Tea.”

In a joint collaboration, Ximena Gómez and George Franklin translated the originals to English. For each of the poems below, the original Spanish follows the English translation.

After the Storm

Yesterday, a piece of the bedroom
Ceiling collapsed.
You could see wooden beams
And wet insulation.
Now, a cold November wind blows,
Dragging dust, leaves, dried petals,
Shreds of other Novembers.

It’s going to rain again,
And more cracks will open in the ceiling.
An avalanche of plasterboard will fall.
The bed, the carpet, the desk,
The shoes, and clothes left
Outside the closet
Will be covered with white dust.
The ceiling fan will hang
Dangling from the beam.
In the painting on the wall,
The two monks in cassocks
Will continue to smile.
The one with the razor
Will shave his friend,
Seated, unperturbed,
But the dog will whine in the corridor,
Frightened by the noise.
With some luck,
No one will be in the room.

For the moment, though, it’s calm.
Candles flicker on the night table.
B.B. King sings on the radio,
And I feel your breath

Warm on my breast.
A draft sighs at the window’s ear.

Después de la Tormenta

Ayer se cayó un trozo
Del cielorraso del cuarto
Y se ven las vigas de madera
El material aislante humedecido.
Ahora sopla un viento frío de noviembre,
Que arrastra polvo, hojas, pétalos marchitos,
Jirones de otros noviembres…

Va a llover otra vez.
Se abrirán más grietas en el cielorraso.
Un alud de la placa de yeso caerá.
La cama, la alfombra, el escritorio,
Los zapatos y ropa
Que quedaron fuera del closet
Se cubrirán de polvo blanco.
El ventilador del techo
Oscilará suspendido de la viga.
En el cuadro colgado en la pared,
Los dos monjes con sotana
Seguirán sonriendo:
El de la navaja de afeitar
Rasurará a su amigo,
Sentado imperturbable.
Pero el perro gemirá en el corridor
Asustado por el derrumbe.
Tal vez con suerte,
No habrá nadie en el cuarto.

Pero ahora todo está en calma.
Las veladoras titilan en la mesa de noche,
BB King canta en la radio,
Y yo siento tu respiración cálida en mi pecho.

El viento susurra al oído de la ventana.

~

Ginger Tea

You offer me half a biscotti,
But instead, I ask if you have ginger for tea.
You rummage in the fridge, moving yogurt, jars,
To find where the shrunken, yellowish root is hidden.
Under the fluorescent light you smile at me.

You are a lucky woman,

You tell me.
You crush the root, boil water,
And bring tea, steaming,
In a red ceramic mug.
I kiss your hand and
Smell the sweet tang of ginger
Still on your fingers.

Outside, the temperature has dropped.
But in the house, there’s warmth.
The air conditioning
Hibernates, silence.

The diminished light
Has an autumnal shine.
I see you shuffling through the pantry,
Finding something sweet for both of us.

I really am a lucky woman.

Té de Jengibre

Tú me ofreces un trozo de biscotti
Y yo te pido a cambio jengibre para un té.
Hurgas en la nevera, mueves yogures y frascos,
Encuentras escondida la raíz enjuta, amarillenta.
Bajo la luz fluorescente me sonríes.

—Eres una mujer con suerte,

Me dices.
Trituras la raíz, hierves el agua.
Traes el té humeando,
En el pocillo rojo de cerámica.
Yo te beso la mano,
Huelo el picante dulce del jengibre,
Que aún queda en tus dedos.

Afuera ha descendido la temperatura.
En la casa se siente una tibieza.
El aire acondicionado
En silencio hiberna

Y la luz que declina
Tiene un brillo otoñal.
Yo te veo revolver la despensa
Y sacas algo dulce para nosotros dos.

Soy de verdad una mujer con suerte.

About the Author

Ximena Gómez is a Colombian poet, psychologist, and translator, who now lives in Miami. Her poems have appeared in several Spanish magazines and bilingually in Sheila-Na-Gig, Nashville Review, Cigar City, The Laurel Review, Gulf Stream, The Wild Word and and also here in CAGIBI. She was finalist for the Best of the Net award for 2018 with her poem “Last Day” and the runner-up for Gulfstream Contest 2019. A collection of her poems, Habitación con moscas, was published by Editorial Torremozas (Madrid 2016), and a bilingual collection of her poetry Último día / Last Day, was published by Katacama Editores (2019). She is the translator of George Franklin’s bilingual collection of poems, Among the Ruins / Entre las ruinas (Katakana Editores 2018). She is a contributor-translator to 32 Poems / 32 Poemas of Hyam Plutzik, the first collection of Plutzik’s work translated into Spanish, edited by Edward Moran (Suburbano Ediciones in Miami 2021). She also translated into Spanish Brown Girl Dreaming, by Jacqueline Woodson (Penguin Random House), still in process for publication.

About the Co-Translator

George Franklin is the author of Noise of the World (Sheila-Na-Gig Editions), Travels of the Angel of Sorrow (Blue Cedar Press), Traveling for No Good Reason (Sheila-Na-Gig Editions), a bilingual collection, Among the Ruins / Entre las ruinas (Katakana Editores) and is the co-translator, along with the author, of Ximena Gómez’s Último día / Last Day (Katakana Editores). Pre-Covid, he taught poetry classes in Florida state prisons, and he looks forward to when he can get back to work.

Appears In

Issue 12

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