Minitopografia De Santa Isabel Minitopography of Santa Isabel

Minitopografia De Santa Isabel

PLAZA DE ESPAÑA
 
Cae la tarde cansada 
sobre un ritmo de palmera 
calzado de primavera 
humana en voz desbandada. 
Arriba, la luna ronda 
su plata y, enamorada, 
gira su gracia redonda
-entre el cortejo de arneses 
guiñando luz estrellada- 
por los góticos cipreses 
que alzan una campanada.
 
MERCADO
 
Ríos de gozo pleno de lo exacto 
por este estradivario de almas solo: 
trampolín que nos lanza desde el polo 
del artificio al prístino contacto
 
con el trasmundo virgen y compacto 
del África desnuda... Protocolo 
de cestos y mesillas, clotes, dolo,
yuca y fraternidad solemne en acto
de vaciarse y llenarse... entre las risas 
dibujando monedas sin divisas. 
Lluvia de sol anclada a las espaldas. 
 
Hay que asomarse, por la piel del día, 
a esta costumbre abierta en mercancía: 
una vida corriendo entre las faldas.
 
PUNTA CRISTINA Y PUNTA FERNANDA
 
Álbum de palomas 
que viene a arrullar 
la hermana pareja 
que duerme en el mar. 
El aire en los árboles 
se pone a jugar 
a ser mimo y peine, 
beso y madrigal. 
Luz. Calma. Silencio.
Olas nada más.
... Y las dos hermanas,
esposas del mar.
 
(Noviembre 1967)
 
ELEGÍA EN PIEDRA
 
Os digo mi destino cuando muera, 
una tarde, junto a la fuente virgen, 
a la vera
del último recuerdo...
Aspiro a que digáis:
«Su vida era a la piedra
como el canto a la alondra. Exactamente.
La dejabas al mimo de la ajena
y saltaba la chispa-pedernal- 
de una sonrisa hueca,
marchita desde el centro de sí misma.
Te ofrecía su vida firme en la bandeja
de su amistad, llena de sí hasta los bordes. .
Tenías que decirle: "Esto pesa",
y tus manos cedían, bajo el bulto,
a la atracción de la tierra.»
«Toma mi vida -te decía- bajo la carne de mi sonrisa fácil.» 
Era entonces su vida hoja seca 
en los brazos del viento...
 
Diréis también: «En sus hombros las cabezas 
amigas tropezaban con aristas 
de fiera...»
 
Luego me arrojaréis 
-como una piedra- 
al centro del olvido.
Y yo me quedaré cumpliendo la condena:
me moriré de pie como los árboles.
Dejaré plantado en la tierra
este dolmen opaco que soy.
 
Y quedaré de pie,
                        insensible
                                     solo,
                                           como una piedra.
 

Minitopography of Santa Isabel

PLAZA DE ESPAÑA
 
The tired afternoon falls
on a rhythm of palm trees
clad in spring
human, a scattered voice.
Above, the moon rounds
its silver & enamoured
spins its gratitude
- starry light swerves
between the coupling of harnesses -
through gothic cypresses
that toll the bells.
 
MARKET
 
Rivers of joy full of the very thing
played only by this Stradivarius of beings
trampoline that launches us from the pole
of artifice to pristine contact
 
with the virgin, packed bustle
of naked Africa... Protocol
of baskets & tables, bloodclots, deceit,
yucca & the solemn fraternity in the act
of being emptied and filled in between laughter
drawing coins without currency,
rain of ancient sun on their backs.
 
Lean out - by the skin of the day -
into that open custom of exchange,
a life running among skirts.
 
POINT CRISTINA & POINT FERNANDA
 
Album of doves
that comes to coo
the sister couple
who sleep in the sea.
The air in the trees
starts to play
at being mime & comb
kiss & madrigal.
Light. Calm. Silence.
Waves, nothing more.
... & the two sisters,
wives of the sea.
                             (1967)
 
ELEGY IN STONE
 
I speak to you of my destiny when I die,
one afternoon, beside the virgin fountain,
at the edge
of my final memory.
I hope you will say:
'His life was to a stone
as a song is to a lark. Exactly.
You left it to the alien mime
& the spark jumped - flint -
of a hollow smile
withering at its core.
He offered you his life, firm on the platter
of his friendship, full of itself, yes, to the very brim.
You had to tell him: "This is heavy"
& your hands gave out under the bulk
to the tug of the earth.'
'Take my life' - he said to you - 'beneath the flesh of my easy smile'.
Then his life was a dry leaf
in the arms of the wind...
 
You will also say: 'On his shoulders the heads
of friends stumbled over the edge
of fierceness...'
 
Later you'll fling me
- like a stone -
to the heart of oblivion.
& I will live out the sentence
I will die standing like the trees
I will leave this opaque dolmen that I am
planted in the earth.
 
& I will stay standing
                            numb
                                   alone
                                          like a stone.
 

Santa Isabel is the former name of Malabo, the capital of Equatorial Guinea.

Santa Isabel is the former name of the capital of Equatorial Guinea, Malabo. The Wikipedia entry for Malabo says, ‘During his “reign of terror”, [President] Macías Nguema led a near-genocide of the country’s Bubi minority, which formed the majority on Bioko Island, and brought many of his own tribespeople, the Fang, to Malabo. In the final years of his rule, when Equatorial Guinea was sometimes known as the “Auschwitz of Africa”, much of the city’s population fled as, indeed, did about one-third of the country’s population. Malabo has yet to recover from the scars of that period.’

We can assume from the date given to ‘Point Cristina and Point Fernanda’ (1967) that Marcelo wrote this poem when he was living in Spain training to be a priest, the year before Equatorial Guinea’s independence from Spain.

The first three sections of the poem are an affectionate and delicate celebration of Santa Isabel. ‘Market’ appears to be written from the perspective of a child ‘running among skirts’. But following the lyrical and very beautiful section about the two points of the bay enclosing the city, the final part, ‘Elegy in Stone’, is much darker, perhaps articulating the poet’s fears for his country and its imminent descent into political chaos.

Parts of the poem were difficult to translate, especially where it becomes very abstract. ‘Elegy in Stone’ was hard to master because of the ambiguity in the original Spanish of who was being addressed.

It’s interesting comparing this poem with the work of Corsino Fortes from Cape Verde, some of whose poems, like ‘Minitopography’, were written in exile just before his small country gained independence from Portugal.

Minitopography of Santa Isabel

PLAZA DE ESPAÑA
 
The tired afternoon fell
upon a rhythm of palm
dressed in spring
human in dispersed voice. 
Up(wards), the moon round (in)
its silver &, in love, 
spins its round thanks
-between the courtship of harnesses
yawing starry light- 
by the gothic cypresses
that raise a peal.
 
MARKET
 
Rivers of joy full of the exact
by this Stradivarius of only souls:
trampoline that launches us from the pole
of artifice to pristine contact
with the virgin & compact [persuasive argument or physical movement, like trasladar]
of naked Africa... Protocol 
of baskets & tiny tables [mesillas], [clots/lumps/blood], deceit,
yucca & solemn fraternity in the act
of emptying and filling [oneself]... between the laughter
drawing coins without currency. 
Rain of aged sun on the backs.
 
You must [hay que] lean out, by the skin of the day, 
onto that open custom/habit in merchandise:
a life running through the skirts.
 
PUNTA CRISTINA & PUNTA FERNANDA
 
Album of doves
that comes to coo
the sister couple
that sleeps in/of the sea. 
The air in the trees
starts to play
at being mime & comb,
kiss & madrigal.
Light. Calm. Silence.
Waves nothing more.
... & the two sisters,
wives of the sea.
 
(November 1967)
 
ELEGY IN STONE
 
You say my destiny when I die, 
one afternoon, beside the virgin fountain, 
to the edge
of the last memory...
I aspire that you say:
«Your life was a stone
like the song to the lark. Exactly.
You left it the same as the strange [ajena]
& the spark jumped-flint- 
of a hollow smile,
withering/marcid from the core of yourself.
It offered you firm life on a platter
of your friendship, full, yes, to the borders.
You had to tell it: "This is heavy",
& your hands gave out, beneath the bulk,
to the attraction of the earth.»
«Take my life -it said to you- beneath the meat of my easy smile.» 
So/then it was your life a dry leaf
in the arms of the wind...
 
You will also say: «On your shoulders the friendly heads tripped with ribs/edge/awn/chaff
of fierceness...»
 
Later you'll fling me
-like a stone- 
to the center of oblivion/forgetfulness.
& I will stay fulfilling the sentence/condemnation:
I will die standing like the trees.
I will leave planted in the earth
this  opaque that I am.
 
& i will stay standing,
                        numb
                                     alone,
                                           like a stone.
 

Original Poem by

Marcelo Ensema Nsang

Translated by

Shook with The Poetry Translation Workshop Language

Spanish

Country

Equatorial Guinea