{"id":6166,"date":"2025-08-29T13:37:53","date_gmt":"2025-08-29T16:37:53","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/revistaoropel.cl\/?p=6166"},"modified":"2025-08-29T13:37:53","modified_gmt":"2025-08-29T16:37:53","slug":"poemas-de-margaret-atwood-traduccion-de-emilio-cervantes","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/revistaoropel.cl\/index.php\/2025\/08\/29\/poemas-de-margaret-atwood-traduccion-de-emilio-cervantes\/","title":{"rendered":"Poemas de Margaret Atwood \u2013 Traducci\u00f3n de Emilio Cervantes"},"content":{"rendered":"

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAl llevar comida a casa en invierno\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Camino cuesta arriba a trav\u00e9s de la nieve<\/span><\/p>\n

con dificultad<\/span><\/p>\n

la bolsa de papel caf\u00e9 con la despensa<\/span><\/p>\n

equilibrada al borde de mi est\u00f3mago,<\/span><\/p>\n

pesada, mis brazos se estiran y<\/span><\/p>\n

convierten en puro tend\u00f3n para cargarla.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u00bfNecesitamos esta bolsa de papel,<\/span><\/p>\n

amor m\u00edo, necesitamos este bulto<\/span><\/p>\n

de pieles y corazones, necesitamos<\/span><\/p>\n

estas botellas y ra\u00edces<\/span><\/p>\n

y pedazos de cart\u00f3n<\/span><\/p>\n

para mantenernos a flote<\/span><\/p>\n

como en una balsa<\/span><\/p>\n

sobre la nieve en la que me hundo ahora?<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

La piel crea<\/span><\/p>\n

islas de calor<\/span><\/p>\n

en invierno, en verano,<\/span><\/p>\n

islas de fr\u00edo.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

La boca interpreta<\/span><\/p>\n

un enga\u00f1o similar.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Me digo que transformar\u00e9<\/span><\/p>\n

este huevo en un m\u00fasculo<\/span><\/p>\n

esta botella en un acto de amor<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Se convertir\u00e1 esta cebolla en un gesto<\/span><\/p>\n

esta toronja,<\/span><\/p>\n

en un pensamiento.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cPara arque\u00f3logos\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Abajo, en lo remoto<\/span><\/p>\n

corren los primero caballos<\/span><\/p>\n

sobre piedra \/ b\u00fafalos, ciervos<\/span><\/p>\n

los otros animales (extintos)<\/span><\/p>\n

corren con lanzas en la espalda<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Hechas de sangre, de tierra<\/span><\/p>\n

colorada, de humo, no para<\/span><\/p>\n

ser vistas, sino para permanecer<\/span><\/p>\n

all\u00ed ocultas, fuertes<\/span><\/p>\n

en lo oscuro, el v\u00ednculo entre<\/span><\/p>\n

la voluntad enterrada y el mundo<\/span><\/p>\n

superior del sol y verde que alimenta<\/span><\/p>\n

el acecho y la caza hambrienta<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

esbozado por una mano<\/span><\/p>\n

dif\u00edcil incluso de imaginar<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

pero transmitido<\/span><\/p>\n

a nosotros, parte de nosotros<\/span><\/p>\n

de la estructura de los huesos<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

que existe a\u00fan en nosotros<\/span><\/p>\n

como cr\u00e1neos f\u00f3siles<\/span><\/p>\n

de osos, lanzas, tazones y<\/span><\/p>\n

esqueletos doblados dispuestos<\/span><\/p>\n

en patrones rituales, en espera<\/span><\/p>\n

de que el explorador paciente los encuentre<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

existen en las cuevas de la tierra.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cDiapositiva de un soldado desconocido\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Sobre el muro, un rostro<\/span><\/p>\n

se pronunciaba<\/span><\/p>\n

en luz, apartando<\/span><\/p>\n

la oscuridad del muro;<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A su alrededor, hojas, brillantes,<\/span><\/p>\n

quiz\u00e1s tropicales, sin dejar<\/span><\/p>\n

claro si el rostro<\/span><\/p>\n

emerg\u00eda de ellas, si las llevaba<\/span><\/p>\n

como disfraz, si era coronado<\/span><\/p>\n

por ellas o las enviaba<\/span><\/p>\n

como rayos,<\/span><\/p>\n

un halo resbaloso;<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

La ropa era invisible,<\/span><\/p>\n

los ojos<\/span><\/p>\n

ocultos, la nariz<\/span><\/p>\n

escorzada: un hocico.<\/span><\/p>\n

Vello en el labio superior.<\/span><\/p>\n

Sobre la piel brillaba la luz, h\u00fameda<\/span><\/p>\n

del calor, los dientes<\/span><\/p>\n

de una boca abierta la reflejaban<\/span><\/p>\n

como el todo.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

La boca estaba abierta<\/span><\/p>\n

tan abierta en grito o aullido<\/span><\/p>\n

(no hab\u00eda lengua)<\/span><\/p>\n

de agon\u00eda, el \u00faltimo<\/span><\/p>\n

comando o simple hambruna.<\/span><\/p>\n

Los colmillos se alineaban<\/span><\/p>\n

hacia la garganta y desaparec\u00edan.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

La boca estaba llena de oscuridad.<\/span><\/p>\n

La oscuridad en la boca abierta<\/span><\/p>\n

se pronunciaba, apartando<\/span><\/p>\n

la luz.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cTres objetos de escritorio\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Qu\u00e9 soles tuvieron que salir y ponerse<\/span><\/p>\n

qu\u00e9 ojos tuvieron que apagarse<\/span><\/p>\n

qu\u00e9 manos y dedos<\/span><\/p>\n

tuvieron que soltar su calor<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

antes de que aparecieras en mi escritorio<\/span><\/p>\n

luz negra<\/span><\/p>\n

portable y radiante<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

y t\u00fa, mi maquina de escribir el\u00e9ctrica<\/span><\/p>\n

con tu cable y enchufe hambriento<\/span><\/p>\n

que bebe una transfusi\u00f3n siniestra<\/span><\/p>\n

desde el otro lado del muro<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

qu\u00e9 historias de muerte<\/span><\/p>\n

han dejado estas marcas en tus teclas<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

qu\u00e9 multiples muertes han soltado este reloj<\/span><\/p>\n

las peque\u00f1as ruedas que desgastan<\/span><\/p>\n

sus dientes bajo su cuero met\u00e1lico<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Mis fr\u00edas m\u00e1quinas<\/span><\/p>\n

descansan ah\u00ed tan familiares<\/span><\/p>\n

tan rectas y perfectas<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Me da miedo tocarlas<\/span><\/p>\n

Creo que llorar\u00e1n del dolor<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Creo que estar\u00e1n tibias, cual piel.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cSue\u00f1o: Arrendajo azul o Arque\u00f3pterix\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

de rodillas sobre piedra<\/span><\/p>\n

junto al lago, sol<\/span><\/p>\n

en el cielo y tambi\u00e9n<\/span><\/p>\n

en el agua, aquel otro<\/span><\/p>\n

yo tambi\u00e9n<\/span><\/p>\n

de rodillas sobre piedra<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

en las matas chamuscadas las\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

moras sal\u00edan del fin<\/span><\/p>\n

de los tallos a pesar de<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

que las agujas rojas cruj\u00edan<\/span><\/p>\n

en el suelo, la arena, entre<\/span><\/p>\n

las ra\u00edces, secas por el fuego<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

mis cuatro manos reun\u00edan<\/span><\/p>\n

en cualquier mundo, las moras<\/span><\/p>\n

en el plato brillaban brasas<\/span><\/p>\n

azules<\/span><\/p>\n

un ave<\/span><\/p>\n

posada en ambas ramas<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

su pico partido \/ su agudo<\/span><\/p>\n

grito se part\u00eda en el aire<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

como advertencia, sobre mi<\/span><\/p>\n

contra el sol vi<\/span><\/p>\n

su ojo de lagarto<\/span><\/p>\n

mir\u00f3<\/span><\/p>\n

abajo. <\/span> perdido<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

en el agua<\/span><\/p>\n

bajo mi sombra<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

hab\u00eda un perfil, un hombre<\/span><\/p>\n

saliendo, su cuerpo envuelto<\/span><\/p>\n

en plumas, sus dientes<\/span><\/p>\n

brillantes cual clavos, fiero dios<\/span><\/p>\n

cabeza coronada con flama azul<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Poems by Margaret Atwood. Poetry Magazine, April 1969<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Carrying Food Home in Winter<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I walk uphill through the snow<\/span><\/p>\n

hard going<\/span><\/p>\n

brown paper bag of groceries<\/span><\/p>\n

balanced low on my stomach,<\/span><\/p>\n

heavy, my arms stretching<\/span><\/p>\n

to hold it turn all tendon.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Do we need this paper bag<\/span><\/p>\n

my love, do we need this bulk<\/span><\/p>\n

of peels and cores, do we need<\/span><\/p>\n

these bottles, these roots<\/span><\/p>\n

and bits of cardboard<\/span><\/p>\n

to keep us floating<\/span><\/p>\n

as on a raft<\/span><\/p>\n

above the snow I sink through?<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The skin creates<\/span><\/p>\n

islands of warmth<\/span><\/p>\n

in winter, in summer<\/span><\/p>\n

islands of coolness.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The mouth performs<\/span><\/p>\n

a similar deception.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I say I will transform<\/span><\/p>\n

this egg into a muscle<\/span><\/p>\n

this bottle into an act of love<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

This onion will become a motion<\/span><\/p>\n

this grapefruit<\/span><\/p>\n

will become a thought.<\/span><\/p>\n

For Archeologists<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Deep under, far back<\/span><\/p>\n

the early horses run<\/span><\/p>\n

on rock \/ the buffalo, the deer<\/span><\/p>\n

the other animals (extinct)<\/span><\/p>\n

run with spears in their backs<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Made with blood, with coloured<\/span><\/p>\n

dirt, with smoke, not meant<\/span><\/p>\n

to be seen but to remain<\/span><\/p>\n

there hidden, potent<\/span><\/p>\n

in the dark, the link between<\/span><\/p>\n

the buried will and the upper<\/span><\/p>\n

world of sun and green feeding,<\/span><\/p>\n

chase and the hungry kill<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

drawn by a hand hard<\/span><\/p>\n

even to imagine<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

but passed on<\/span><\/p>\n

in us, part of us now<\/span><\/p>\n

part of the structure of the bones<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

existing still in us<\/span><\/p>\n

as fossil skulls<\/span><\/p>\n

of the bear, spearheads, bowls and<\/span><\/p>\n

folded skeletons arranged<\/span><\/p>\n

in ritual patterns, waiting<\/span><\/p>\n

for the patient searcher to find them<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

exist in caves of the earth.<\/span><\/p>\n

Project Slide of an Unknown Soldier<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Upon the wall a face<\/span><\/p>\n

uttered itself<\/span><\/p>\n

in light, pushing<\/span><\/p>\n

aside the wall’s darkness;<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Around it leaves, glossy,<\/span><\/p>\n

perhaps tropical, not making<\/span><\/p>\n

explicit whether the face was<\/span><\/p>\n

breaking through them, wore them<\/span><\/p>\n

as disguise, was crowned<\/span><\/p>\n

with them or sent them<\/span><\/p>\n

forth as rays,<\/span><\/p>\n

a slippery halo;<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The clothes were invisible,<\/span><\/p>\n

the eyes<\/span><\/p>\n

hidden; the nose<\/span><\/p>\n

foreshortened: a muzzle.<\/span><\/p>\n

Hair on the upper lip.<\/span><\/p>\n

On the skin the light shone, wet<\/span><\/p>\n

with heat; the teeth<\/span><\/p>\n

of the open mouth reflected it<\/span><\/p>\n

as absolute.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The mouth was open<\/span><\/p>\n

stretched wide in a call or howl<\/span><\/p>\n

(there was no tongue)<\/span><\/p>\n

of agony, ultimate<\/span><\/p>\n

command or simple famine.<\/span><\/p>\n

The canine teeth ranged back<\/span><\/p>\n

into the throat and vanished.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The mouth was filled with darkness.<\/span><\/p>\n

The darkness in the open mouth<\/span><\/p>\n

uttered itself, pushing<\/span><\/p>\n

aside the light.<\/span><\/p>\n

Three Desk Objects<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

What suns had to rise and set<\/span><\/p>\n

what eyes had to blink out<\/span><\/p>\n

what hands and fingers<\/span><\/p>\n

had to let go of their heat<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

before you appeared on my desk<\/span><\/p>\n

black light<\/span><\/p>\n

portable and radiant<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

and you, my electric typewriter<\/span><\/p>\n

with your cord and hungry plug<\/span><\/p>\n

drinking a sinister transfusion<\/span><\/p>\n

from the other side of the wall<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

what histories of slaughter<\/span><\/p>\n

have left these scars on your keys<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

What multiple deaths have set loose this clock<\/span><\/p>\n

the small wheels that grind<\/span><\/p>\n

their teeth under the metal scalp<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My cool machines<\/span><\/p>\n

resting there so familiar<\/span><\/p>\n

so hard and perfect<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I am afraid to touch you<\/span><\/p>\n

I think you will cry out in pain<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I think you will be warm, like skin.<\/span><\/p>\n

Dream: Bluejay or Archeopteryx<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

kneeling on rock<\/span><\/p>\n

by lakeside, sun<\/span><\/p>\n

in the sky and also in<\/span><\/p>\n

the water, that other<\/span><\/p>\n

self of mine also<\/span><\/p>\n

kneeling on rock<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

on the seared bushes the hard<\/span><\/p>\n

berries squeezed out from<\/span><\/p>\n

stem ends in spite of<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

the red needles crackling<\/span><\/p>\n

on the ground, the sand, among<\/span><\/p>\n

the roots, firedry<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

my four hands gathering<\/span><\/p>\n

in either world, the berries<\/span><\/p>\n

in the dish glowed blue<\/span><\/p>\n

embers<\/span><\/p>\n

a bird<\/span><\/p>\n

lit on both branches<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

his beak split \/ his tin<\/span><\/p>\n

scream forked in the air<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

warning, above me<\/span><\/p>\n

against the sun I saw<\/span><\/p>\n

his lizard eye<\/span><\/p>\n

looked<\/span><\/p>\n

down.<\/span> gone<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

in the water<\/span><\/p>\n

under my shadow<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

there was an outline, man<\/span><\/p>\n

surfacing, his body sheathed<\/span><\/p>\n

in feathers, his teeth<\/span><\/p>\n

glinting like nails, fierce god<\/span><\/p>\n

head crested with blue flame<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Por\u00a0Margaret Atwood<\/strong><\/p>\n

Traducci\u00f3n de Emilio Cervantes<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

  \u201cAl llevar comida a casa en invierno\u201d   Camino cuesta arriba a trav\u00e9s de la nieve con dificultad la bolsa de papel caf\u00e9 con la despensa equilibrada al borde de mi est\u00f3mago, pesada, mis brazos se estiran y convierten en puro tend\u00f3n para cargarla.   \u00bfNecesitamos esta bolsa de papel, amor m\u00edo, necesitamos este […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":5,"featured_media":6167,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-6166","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poesia"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/revistaoropel.cl\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6166","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/revistaoropel.cl\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/revistaoropel.cl\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/revistaoropel.cl\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/5"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/revistaoropel.cl\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=6166"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/revistaoropel.cl\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6166\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6182,"href":"https:\/\/revistaoropel.cl\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6166\/revisions\/6182"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/revistaoropel.cl\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/6167"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/revistaoropel.cl\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=6166"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/revistaoropel.cl\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=6166"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/revistaoropel.cl\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=6166"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}