Vida de living The Life of the Living Room

Vida de living

1
 
Cansada
con los ojos cerrados al centro
apunto a un blanco móvil
a esos beatles en el surco
en viejos tiempos
al agujero que acopia acopla
acordes
para el corazón moreno del disco.
En esa cara estabas vos
girando por lo bajo
los ojos lunáticos en banda
desorbitaban la púa
y en tu reverso
mi oreja fruncida
                        escuchando.
Caracol adentro
un sonido metálico de olas
como días agitados
crecía con nosotros
                        los chicos
los del vapor de la carrera
subidos al buque de la música
hacía qué país en qué frontera
esperó el límite de edad
nuestra llegada.
 
2
 
Anochecer de un día agitado:
hasta aquí llegamos.
La sala ahora disemina
su acústica en casa
como una madre maestra del horror
que en el larga duración imprimiera
aquello que termina.
Nos acolcha espeso lo que es nuestro
propiedad privada de la escucha
para dos esposos clavados
mullendo los sillones
                        ESE PAR
que hundido en los resortes del tiempo
soportó el peso de los amigos
muestros viviendo aquí
en el living de esta charla.
Ya no están pero evocarlos
(¿Te acordás lo que decía?)
llena un libro de citas
colma de risa este momento;
contagioso es escribir para ellos
en un trance
de alegría espiritista.
 

The Life of the Living Room

Tired
with my eyes closed
I aim at the centre of a moving target
at those beatles in the grooves
from the old days
at the stylus that stores and couples
the chords
in the dark heart of the record.
You were that face
revolving below
your lunatic eyes at a loss
making the record skip
and on your other side
my harrowed ear
                       listening.
A shell - inside
a rippling tinny sound
like days churned up
that grew with us
                        the kids
from the steamer
aboard the ship of music
towards which country at which checkpoint
the border of age
awaited us.
 
2
 
Dusk on a turbulent day:
we have reached this point.
The room now broadcasts
its acoustic through the house
like a matriarch of horror
who in the long run
marks what has come to an end.
Our own private property of listening
thickly quilts us
the riveted married couple
plumping up the armchairs
                                   that couple
who sunk in the resources of time
bore the weight of friends
lived their performances here
in the living room of this conversation.
They're no longer here but to evoke them
(do you remember what you used to say?)
fills a book with quotations
fills this moment to the brim with laughter;
writing about them is contagious
a trance
of haunted elation.
 

Tamara Kamenszain first published this poem in 1991, at the age of 44, and it is tinged with the nostalgia of those first approaching middle age for the lost excitement of youth.

She’s particularly good at the way she uses music – specifically, the physical details of an LP – to evoke ‘the old days’: those ‘beatles in the grooves’ (we left the spelling at is is) who were of such importance to ‘the kids from the steamer’ (presumably the one that travels from Buenos Aires to Montevideo in Uruguay). This mood is beautifully contrasted with the suffocations of ‘the riveted married couple / plumping up the armchairs’ who’ve lost so many friends. And yet evoking them produces this beautifully subtle poem, and leaves the poet in a ‘trance / of haunted elation.’

The Life of the Living Room

1 
 
Tired
with my eyes closed
I take aim at the centre of a moving target
at those beatles in the grooves
in the old times
at the needle which hoards and couples
the chords
for the dark heart of the record.
In that face was you
orbiting beneath
your lunatic eyes bewildered
sending the stylus awry
and on your other side
my furrowed ear        
                        listening.
An interior snail
a metallic sound of ripples
like days rekindled
grew with us
                        the kids
the ones from the El vapor de la carrera
aboard the ship of music
towards which country at which checkpoint
the border of age
awaited our arrival. 
 
2
 
Nightfall on a rekindled day:
we have come to this point.
The room now broadcasts
its acoustics through the house
like a mother mistress of horror
who in the long term marks
what has come to an end.
Our own private realm of listening
densely cushions us
the married couple riveted
plumping up the armchairs
                                    THAT PAIR
which buried in the resources of time
bore the weight of friends
living their performances here
in the living room of this conversation.
They're not here anymore but to evoke them
(Do you remember what you used to say?)
fills a book with quotations
with laughter it fills this moment to the brim;
to write for them is contagious
in a trance
of spirited joy.  
 

Original Poem by

Tamara Kamenszain

Translated by

Gwen MacKeith with The Poetry Translation Workshop Language

Spanish

Country

Argentina