El balón Shoot Out

El balón

Se traslada al momento en que el recuerdo la catea.
G.N. patada la puerta dice no mata gente inocente, ordena calle.
Helicóptero mosquea en cielos con llanto enmohecidos;
amenaza caminar al centro de la avenida cubierta de casquillos
o no responder de quienes prefieren el alero, “sospechosos”.
Ocho años y todo es grande.
Mira la uñita roja que le quedó al tocar la pared de su casa,
paredón de espías, su cama ensangrentada.
Se aferra a la abuela que temblorosa salta encima
de adoquines emparedados.
¿Dónde están los otros? -se pregunta-,
mientras por vez primera observa llamas altísimas
alumbrando la cantina del centro.
 
Apresuran el paso y se topan con la señora gorda
que nunca salía de su casa,
la pálida Buda sentada sobre la sillona, cargada por cuatro hombres
que la llevan como santo de bulto en alboroto de pólvora.
 
Entonces ella resiste el sudor de la mano y mira hacia atrás:
nunca olvida la primera vez
que vio un dinosaurio que era una tanqueta.
 

Shoot Out

She goes to the moment where memory raids her.
G.N. kick door won’t will innocents, commands street.
Helicopter mosquitoes in skies made mouldy with sobs,
threatens to walk to the middle of the avenue littered with shells
or not answer for those choosing eaves, “the suspects”.
Eight years old and everything’s big.
Looks at the tiny fingernail, red from touching her house wall,
firing line for spies, her bloodied bed.
Clings to abuela who trembling jumps
over barricade blocks.
Where are the others? she wonders,
seeing for the first time towering flames
lighting up the town centre bar.
 
They quicken the pace and bump into the fat lady
who never leaves her house,
the pale Budha on the armchair, above four men
bearing her, a hoy saint’s statue amid gunpowder flurries.
 
Then she resists the sweat of the palm and looks back:
never forgets the first time
she saw a dinosaur
that was a tank.
 

The blast (1)

She flashes to the moment where memory frisks her.
G.N. kick door says doesn't kill innocents, orders shut up (2) .
Helicopter harasses in skies mouldy with sobs,
threat walking to centre of avenue covered in casings
or no response of those choosing eaves, the “suspects".
Eight years and everything's huge.
Looks at the fingernail, red from touching house wall,
firing line for spies, her bloodied bed.
She clings to grandma who trembles and jumps
over barricade cobbles.
¿Where are the others? -she wonders-,
while first time observing towering flames
light up the town centre cantina.
 
They quicken the pace and bump into the fat lady
who never leaves home,
pale buddha sitting on the ample armchair, above four men
carrying her, a holy saint's statue amid flurries of fireworks.
 
Then she resists the sweaty hand and looks back:
never forgets the first time
she saw a dinosaur tank.
 

(1) or volley, barrage, bullet shot, double entendre with football, chose this as has association with having a blast

(2) or could be street

In her poetry, Tania Montenegro explores themes of violence inflicted by various entities (the state, the patriarchy, the police) upon a nation, communities, and individuals, particularly women.

While translating the poem, we aimed to maintain the same rhythm, music, and flow in English as in the original and also retain the sense of dislocation, fragmentation, and disjunction.

During the session, we discussed the original title: “El balón,” which translates to football in Spanish. We proposed a few alternative titles such as “The Blast,” “The Shot,” and “The Boot,” but we ultimately agreed on “Shoot Out” after a suggestion by both the poet and the translator Helen Dixon. We believed that “Shoot Out” has a strong connection with the game of football and also has significant associations with state violence in Nicaragua.

The first verse was filled with vivid metaphors and imagery. The phrase ‘Se traslada al momento en que el recuerdo la catea’ was translated as ‘She transports herself to the moment when memory raids her,’ highlighting the time and spatial movement conveyed by the word ‘trasladar’ and the sense of fear evoked by ‘catear’.

We discussed the meaning of the verb ‘mosque’, which can signify ‘to cause distrust or anger in someone’ or ‘to scare away flies’. During our conversation, we imagined an eight-year-old girl mimicking the sound and movement of mosquitoes while looking at a threatening helicopter. This inspired us to create ‘Helicopter Mosquitoes,’ which explores movement and visual effect concepts.

The poem conveys a sense of disconnection, which is evident in the second line: “G.N. kicks the door, says won’t kill innocent people, commands street.” Despite using an abbreviation for the National Guard (G.N) and the suddenness and brutality of the police’s actions, we chose to retain these to get closer to the original.

In the final section, we broke the lines and created a four-line stanza. This emphasised the idea of remembering violence as a child, along with its visual implications and political undertones: “Then she resists the sweat of the palm and looks back,/never forgets the first time/she saw a dinosaur/that was a tank.”

– Leo Boix, Poet-Facilitator

Original Poem by

Tania Montenegro

Translated by

Helen Dixon with Latinx Creatives Workshop Language

Spanish

Country

Nicaragua