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    [ID] => 21883
    [post_author] => 23
    [post_date] => 2021-09-09 12:00:59
    [post_date_gmt] => 2021-09-09 12:00:59
    [post_content] => 

by Irma Pineda, co-translated by Mia Nelson and Wendy Call

The houses have eyes
looking for every infinitesimal grain of sand
as well as the distant sun,
which today is un-brilliant above us
and does not slip light on the houses’ scalps,
their tiled hair braided softly in black and red.

Who dances or breathes or dies under those roofs?
Who looks back at me from these dark houses?

Later, walking towards the mountains,
the lines of blood we call the village streets
fold away into the bodies of the town.
I think this is because the village only opens
its red mouth to the sea,
only has the capacity for one, single
swinging door.

You turn to me and ask,
where does all the blood go?
Does returning home always accompany this most terrible silence?
Where are the dogs or the children
or even the robbers humming in the dark,
their backs laying on warm roof tiles?

Sister, everyone has gone.
Even the birds.

[post_title] => My Sister and I Return to the Imaginary Street of Our Ancestors, Which We Left Long Ago [post_excerpt] => [post_status] => publish [comment_status] => closed [ping_status] => closed [post_password] => [post_name] => my-sister-and-i-return-to-the-imaginary-street-of-our-ancestors-which-we-left-long-ago [to_ping] => [pinged] => [post_modified] => 2021-09-09 12:01:06 [post_modified_gmt] => 2021-09-09 12:01:06 [post_content_filtered] => [post_parent] => 0 [guid] => https://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/?post_type=poems&p=21883 [menu_order] => 0 [post_type] => poems [post_mime_type] => [comment_count] => 0 [filter] => raw [meta_data] => stdClass Object ( [wpcf-published-in] => [wpcf-date-published] => 2021 [wpcf-summary-description] => This translation is commended in the 2021 poetry translation challenge on Young Poets Network (YPN), written by Wendy Call and Clare Pollard, editor of Modern Poetry in Translation. The challenge was to translate Irma Pineda's poem 'Lu Neza VII', working with notes and a bridge translation in English by Pineda's translator Wendy Call. You can read both the original poem and the bridge translation here. [wpcf-rights-information] => [wpcf-poem-award] => Commended, On the Road VII translation challenge [wpcf_pr_belongs] => ) [poet_data] => stdClass Object ( [ID] => 20883 [forename] => [surname] => [title] => Mia Nelson [slug] => mia-nelson [content] => Mia is commended in the 2021 poetry translation challenge with Modern Poetry in Translation, judged by Clare Pollard; the Climate Crisis and You challenge, in partnership with the Freud Museum London; and in the Ode to (Small) Joy challenge on Young Poets Network.  ) )
stdClass Object
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    [ID] => 20883
    [forename] => 
    [surname] => 
    [title] => Mia Nelson
    [slug] => mia-nelson
    [content] => Mia is commended in the 2021 poetry translation challenge with Modern Poetry in Translation, judged by Clare Pollard; the Climate Crisis and You challenge, in partnership with the Freud Museum London; and in the Ode to (Small) Joy challenge on Young Poets Network. 
)

My Sister and I Return to the Imaginary Street of Our Ancestors, Which We Left Long Ago

Mia Nelson

by Irma Pineda, co-translated by Mia Nelson and Wendy Call

The houses have eyes
looking for every infinitesimal grain of sand
as well as the distant sun,
which today is un-brilliant above us
and does not slip light on the houses’ scalps,
their tiled hair braided softly in black and red.

Who dances or breathes or dies under those roofs?
Who looks back at me from these dark houses?

Later, walking towards the mountains,
the lines of blood we call the village streets
fold away into the bodies of the town.
I think this is because the village only opens
its red mouth to the sea,
only has the capacity for one, single
swinging door.

You turn to me and ask,
where does all the blood go?
Does returning home always accompany this most terrible silence?
Where are the dogs or the children
or even the robbers humming in the dark,
their backs laying on warm roof tiles?

Sister, everyone has gone.
Even the birds.