Jaime H. Herrera is currently a Professor of English at Mesa Community College. Jaime is a product of the Juárez/El Paso border, a place he holds dear and which embodies who he is, as much Mexican as American, as much Mexicano (and mexinaco) as he is estadounidense (and gringo). He is bicultural and bilingual (and speaks a good Spanglish too). He knows that the border is a space that cannot be fenced. La frontera es un espacio que no se puede cercar. He loves translation, the back and forth between the two languages. Also. he writes his own poetry in both English and Spanish and has written a novel (as of yet unpublished), tentatively titled This is not Juárez. When he dies, he wants his ashes spread right in the middle of the bridge that connects Juárez and El Paso, his ashes blowing in both directions. This week's four poems were primarily translated by Jaime H. Herrera. *** Edifice of Sadness From your sadness is erected a wall and a chain. And neither do I leave the delight of the world nor board the ship of the day. Your sadness in my external world: the squaring of this slab of irreverent weight above everything that I think. There is a dead bird in all of this. But you say that the salt of your impatience is due to nothing. And I say that the sea has a few tears too many. Response of Things When you are not with me, I fall apart I wander as if without myself through these dark clouds over the irreparable cold that the night announces. Because flags sink and the minute is filled with rust and things don’t understand and are not encouraged to follow or they decide to be wilted and black. But on your return, in your steps, new like the world initial, time is clear and things lost in their abyss respond again, each one, to the names you give them. Preparation of the Trip I want to understand the joyful way through which the year comes. Also the circular flight of the sun opening its corolla. Burns in the cold the same substance of life trodden to the now and pursue the dreams of someone who trusts in the highest species of happiness. Black dots and unread stains are warned of in the map. Crosses, the trains thunderous passing and birds with black entrails. But at the end of the day the destiny and the journey are clear by which we will go. Terrestrial Time We are the arrows of the dates: dart of time. But we advance in the dry night or over the liquid day. No one repeats the day with us: new and fresh in the continuity. Because we roam in the wet slopes of our mutual loves. Because we are stronger than the fires with which terrestrial time has always wanted us and wants and will always want to burn.
1 Comment
5/24/2017 06:11:57
I love reading his poems. They're very heart warming and full of emotions. I applaud his literary skills. He's gained another fan in me. I'm really interested in reading more from him. Hopefully, you can persuade him to upload more of his works on this site.
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Kimberly WilliamsKimberly has been fortunate to travel to half the Spanish-speaking countries in the world by the time she was forty. As a traveler into different cultures, she has learned to listen ask questions, and seek points of connections. This page is meant to offer different points of connections between writers, words, ideas, languages, and imaginations. Thank you for visiting. Archives
October 2020
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