By Olga Orozco, Mary Crow
This can be my scan.
Although Olga Orozco has received nearly each significant literary award from her local Argentina and her paintings has been translated into 15 languages, no unmarried quantity of her poetry exists in English—until now. Award-winning translator/Colorado Poet Laureate Mary Crow has selected the best of Orozco’s poems for this long-awaited Spanish-English bilingual assortment, Engravings Torn from Insomnia.
Olga Orozco is the writer of 20 books of poetry. Her paintings uses surrealist thoughts in addition to the vatic voice of primitive poetry. She died in 1999.
Mary Crow has released numerous award-winning translations. She teaches at Colorado kingdom collage and is the Poet Laureate of Colorado. Crow is the writer of Borders and i've Tasted the Apple.
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Additional resources for Engravings Torn from Insomnia
Harsh shadowy plumage, the grass spread it one morning. Sudden splits in the walls confirmed it day after day, charcoal traces on stone, transparent spiders, winds. And suddenly when night spilled over, it dangerously overflowed the closed showcases, tight knots, hands that could hardly hold the stormy pressure. A great black bird fell onto your plate. Like wrapping around some fire--dark, taciturn, breathlessit came from far away, piercing as it passed the pure skin of every day. Now you notice how this chilling harvest smokes.
Don't let her pass. Cut off her path with a wildfire from the tree split by lightning. Cast her reflection where the waters run so she can never return. Bury her shadow's length under your house so earth can reclaim her through its mouth. Name her with the name of the deserted. Name her. Name her with cold and burning, with wax melted like dirty snow where her life's form falls, 37 con las tijeras y el puiial, con el rastro de la alimafia herida sabre la piedra negra, con el humo del ascua, con la fosa del imposible amor abierta al rojo vivo en su costado, con la palabra de poder n6mbrala y matala.
Oh, you, the inclement angels of time, who still live in the distancethat oblivion which is too rebelliousyou, who carry my abandoned and angry heart off to the darkness, to its withered idols, still eternal: you cannot take from me this little life between two dreams, this body of vines and leaves that is falling tenderly, dying inside, the way the grass dies. 51 LES JEUX SONT FAITS jTanto esplendor en este dfa! jTanto esplendor inutil, vado, traicionado! zY quien te dijo acaso que vendrfan por ti dfas dorados en afios venideros?