Le agradezco a León Leiva, amigo escritor hondureño residente en Estados Unidos, este humanísimo gesto de traducir el poema que hice para darle memoria y denuncia al asesinato de Emo por sicarios paramilitares. Una tragedia que encierra símbolos trans-culturales a los que nadie puede ser indiferente, sobretodo en el marco de una represión dentro de Honduras donde intereses imperiales someten a voluntad el sentido de nación que habíamos tenido hasta ahora.
A Brief Telling of
Mahadeo Roopchands Sadloo Sadloo
Suriname had
merely space enough so that people
could always
embrace each other
It was so
beautiful and small
that the rivers
were only one river;
though maps
pictured it furrowed
by blue veins like
the arms of Shiva.
The birds of the
forest
bestowed the name
to its capital;
that is why every
time someone said Paramaribo
the trees would
suddenly surge in flight
carrying the seed
of a child
to all parts of
the world.
It was hard for
the English to defeat the resistance
of the natives.
It was much easier
for the Dutch to overcome the English.
A coup d’état took
place in 1980;
and cattle grew
thin in eight years time.
There simply was
no way to stay,
as Bouterse
ordered us all to be killed,
in a month of
December so green it hurt.
I never thought I
would live another coup,
and much less die
for one.
However,
memory lumps
everything together and turns the lungs into a knot,
and breathing is
no longer possible when you thought
you had finally
found your motherland
and then come the
same ones from the world’s end
and begin to
remind you of death,
shot by shot,
and in the midst
of thunder you hear the thousands of tongues
the birds used to
form the voice Paramaribo
and you hear the
crying and screaming
and suddenly you
see how the arms of Shiva begin the dance
and a splendid
bird takes your soul
to spread it all
over the world, once more,
like the
multifarious seed of a child that is born…
and remembers
absolutely nothing.
(Traducción de ©León Leiva Gallardo)
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