ACERCA DE ULISES TORRES
Ulises Abraham Torres Díaz, León Gto (1983). Licenciado en derecho por la UNAM, and Gestor Cultural y Coordinador de la Casa de Cultura Efrén Hernández, ha impartido talleres de literatura y creación literaria en CERESO De León y Tutelar de menores. Premio Nacional de Literatura Juegos Florales de San Juan del rio (2019) y Premio Nacional de Poesía José Emilio Pacheco (2020). Fue incluido en el bilingüe Anuario de Poesía de San Diego (2019-2020).
ABOUT ULISES TORRES
Ulises Abraham Torres Diaz, Leon, Guanajuato (1983) is Licensed in Law (UNAM) and Cultural Director and Coordinator of the Efrén Hernández Casa de la Cultura. He has facilitated literature and writing workshops at the CERESO Prison of Leon. Torres Diaz won the 2019 Juegos Florales National Prize of Literature and the 2020 Jose Emilio Pacheco National Poetry Prize. His work was included in the bilingual Anual de poesía de San Diego (2019-2020).
Translated by Corinne Stanley
INCÓGNITAS
Jacqs es un hombre común,
una isla
donde la muerte es una flor desorientada
que florece siempre en otras manos
desde su ventana
el aire es más delgado,
la banqueta parece una tibia caricia
una playa que promete besos y reposo
a lo lejos un perro invisible
persigue una cola invisible
que alguien le cortó.
QUESTIONING
Jacqs is a regular guy
an island
where death is a disoriented flower
the air is thinner
from his window
the sidewalk seems like a lukewarm caress
a beach that promises kisses and rest,
in the distance an invisible dog
chases an invisible tail
that someone chopped off.
HORTICULTURA ORNAMENTAL
Puedes ayudarme si tienes cuidado – decía mi madre – no te vayas a
espinar.
A mis cinco años lagartija
no imaginaba un mundo más allá de los tinacos.
Roban el agua a las plantas y no las dejan crecer – repetía – los tréboles
estorban, son piedras
en la bota de los nardos, como tu padre
que es una piedra muy grande para nosotros.
en ese momento yo no entendía
por qué razón las lombrices seguían vivas
aunque les arrancara la cabeza.
HORTICULTURE TALK
You can help me if you are careful—said my mother-
You aren’t going to get pricked.
Long ago, when I was just five
I couldn’t imagine a world beyond
the water tanks on the terrace
They rob water from plants and don’t let them grow-she repeated-
the clover, they’re in the way,
they are rocks in the nardo pots, like your father
who is a huge rock to us.
at that moment I didn’t understand
why the worms were still alive
after I cut off their heads.
LAIKA
Si un perro ladra en la negrura del universo
y nadie está cerca para oírlo
es inútil preguntar si hubo ladrido
Gira sobre la tierra, lame sus orillas,
orina sus ocho esquinas,
sortea su cola entre la música de Dios
y estrellas muertas.
Un perro en el espacio no es un perro.
Un perro en el espacio es un cuchillo
que flota,
un bisturí cortando la espalda de Dios,
un perro en el espacio no es un perro,
es una herida que ladra.
Una mosca rebota “N” número de veces sobre un foco
lo acecha abiertamente en su terquedad de mosca
Intenta atravesarlo sin saber que nada que valga la pena
produce su propia luz.
LAIKA
If a dog barks in the darkness of the universe
and no one is close by to hear it
it’s useless to ask
if he has barked.
He twirls over the land, licks
its waves,
pees on its eight corners,
wags his tail among
the music of God
and dead stars
A dog in space isn’t a dog
A dog in space
is a floating knife
a scalpel cutting
the back of God
A dog in space isn’t a dog
he’s a barking wound
A fly buzzes the number “N” furiously over a lightbulb
he persistently stalks it
with the stubbornness of flies.
Intent on getting in he doesn’t know
nothing worthwhile
creates its own light.
PRODIGIOS DE LA LUZ
Para llegar aquí hay caminos rectos,
hay caminos que rodean,
hay caminos claros, y caminos
que se oscurecen,
no todos los caminos van al pueblo,
hay unos que van, otros que vienen.
No todos los santos
fueron santos, el cielo puede ser
un trozo de sandía.
Si abres el refrigerador a las tres de la mañana,
se encenderá una lámpara, ni siquiera la luz
conoce lo que alumbra.
PRODIGIES OF THE LIGHT
To get to this place there are no straight paths
There are paths that wind
there are clear paths and
dark ones, too.
Not all paths lead to town,
some come, some go.
Not all saints
were saints, heaven
can be a slice of watermelon.
If you open the fridge at three in the morning,
a light will come on, even if that light
doesn’t know what it’s illuminating.
Translated by Corinne Stanley
Bilingual/Borderless 
Wow! Very powerful! Thank you!
LikeLike
Me encanta la sencillez profunda o la profunda sencillez de los poemas.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I love the poems. My favorite line is “death is a disoriented flower.” I found the poems playful, imaginative, and witty. There are surprising turns that strike with a memorable undercurrent of violence tinged with pain. I could read his poems all day and want more.
LikeLiked by 1 person
All of the poems are so provocative. There is a touch of Zen to them but then it is subverted by that undercurrent of violence that Mario Duarte mentions in his comment. I especially like the imagery of the dog, his tail, his “barking wound.”
LikeLiked by 1 person