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Poet and anthropologist, born on November 2nd, 1945 in a hardware store of Boedo, a district of Buenos Aires-Argentina, the city where his parents, Russian immigrants in these lands, had put down roots. His childhood took place among barrels of plaster and drums of fuel, among migrants waves of diverse latitudes which looked for a place of peace to live. Thirty years later, with the arrival of the military dictatorship, he emigrated in his turn. He lives in France since 1976, got a doctorate in anthropology in the École des hautes études en sciences sociales of Paris. He specialized in the study of local food cultures, going through diverse country of Africa and Latin America. He published numerous books of poetry, novels, anthropological works. Founding member of the Franco-Argentinean group “Traversées poétiques”, of the Collectif effraction, and of the “Crue Poétique” (International movement of artists and poets for a world without walls or barbarism). Organizer of numerous poetic manifestations in Paris and musical poetic shows associating tango and poetry.
QUESTIONS AT SUNSET
My God!Why do they run?
why do they jostle each other?
why do they kill each other?
To go first?
which way will they go?
which door?
which tunnel?
what illusion?
My God!
Why do they press
their fingers to their foreheads?
Why do they rip
the air with their eyes?
Why do they disembowel each other
with truths?
Why do they grind themselves
with progress?
Brothers!
Where are you off to?
…
Can’t you see
beyond your noses?
Do you know the skies
behind this fog?
Or the taste of blood
in the moss of the stones?
Brothers
You have already invented
the latest model
you’ve already explored
the rings of Saturn
and the secret of heredity
in tiny chromosomes
So
….
why keep running?
why keep pushing?
why continue killing?
I know that our species
has never known peace
and I know I don’t have
much to offer you
…
except the edge of this rock
to summon calm
…
to follow the sun
in its eternal farewell
…
to gather the light
that remains between the waves
…
drink in the sky
the last cups of the day
…
breathe the promises
the sweetest promises of the night
Brothers
I know
I don’t have much to offer you
but perhaps
the sunset
…
the edge of this rock
…
and this dry leaf
…
will help us understand
…
that there’s no need to run
there’s nothing to rush into
there’s no reason to kill each other
This dry leaf
…
that falls
lives
casts off its moorings
and surrenders to the waves
…
not knowing if it will arrive
…
until dawn
…
turns to violet
…
or to turquoise
…
before sinking
into the memory of the sea.
José Muchnik
from “Poetic Calendar Extraction 2000”, translation from Spanish (Argentina) Gerry Loose
from “Poetic Calendar Extraction 2000”, translation from Spanish (Argentina) Gerry Loose
CEISTEANNA AM LUÍ NA GRÉINE
A Dhia na bhFeart!Cén fáth a bhfuilid ag rith?
cén fáth a bhfuilid ag guailleáil a chéile?
cén fáth a bhfuilid ag marú a chéile?
Le bheith chun tosaigh?
cén treo a raghaidh siad?
cén doras?
cén tollán?
cén seachmall?
A Dhia na bhFeart!
Cén fáth a mbrúnn siad
a méara lena gcláir éadain?
Cén fáth an t-aer
a stróiceadh lena súile?
Cén fáth na hinní
a bhaint as a chéile le fírinní?
Cén fáth a bhfuilid á meilt
ag an dul chun cinn?
A bhráithre!
Cá bhfuil bhur dtriall?
…
An bhfuil sibh dall
ar a bhfuil ag tarlú?
An eol daoibh na spéartha
lastall den cheo seo?
Nó blas na fola
ar chaonach na gcloch?
A bhráithre
Tá an gléas is déanaí
ceaptha agaibh cheana
Tá fáinní Shatairn
ar eolas agaibh cheana
agus rún na hoidhreachtúlachta
sna crómasóim is lú
Mar sin
….
cén fáth rith de shíor?
cén fáth brú de shíor?
cén fáth marú de shíor?
Tuigim nach bhfuil taithí ag an speiceas seo againne
ar an tsíocháin
agus tá a fhios agam nach bhfuil mórán agamsa
le tairiscint daoibh
…
Seachas imeall na carraige seo
chun suaimhneas a ghairm
…
an ghrian a leanúint
sa scarúint shíoraí aici
…
an solas a fhanann idir na tonnta
a bhailiú
…
an spéir a shú isteach
cupáin dheireanacha an lae a ól
…
na gealltanais a análú
gealltanais mhilse na hoíche
A bhráithre
Tuigim
gur beag atá le tairiscint agam daoibh
ach cá bhfios ná go gcabhródh
luí na gréine linn
…
imeall na carraige seo
…
agus an duilleog sheasc seo
…
chun go dtuigfimis
…
nach gá rith
nach gá deabhadh a bheith orainn
nach gá a bheith ag marú a chéile
An duilleog sheasc seo
…
a thiteann
a mhaireann
atá gan cheangal anois
agus í ag géilleadh do na tonnta
…
gan fhios aici cad atá i ndán di
…
go n-iompóidh an chamhaoir
corcairghorm
…
nó turcaidghorm
…
sula luíonn sí síos
i gcuimhne na mara
[Irish: Gabriel Rosenstock]
