Born in Almería, in the province of Andalucía in southern Spain, in 1962, Aurora Luque (author) is considered a poet of the “Generation of Democracy,” and one of the most prominent women poets of this generation to have dominated the poetic scene in Spain since the 1980’s. Her poetic production has received consistent literary and critical acclaim in Spain and Europe. Luque’s themes range from the classical to the contemporary and are marked by the intelligent audacity of her Mediterranean, European and universal, postmodern female perspective. Her work is, however, little known in the United States. My purpose in translating her poetry is to make the work of this talented Spanish poet–uniquely relevant and universal to today’s reader, in my views–, available in English and, thus, expand her reading audience. The poem included in this submission “Sola en casa ?” (“Home Alone ?”) comes from the book Camaradas de Ícaro (Icarus’ Pals) (Madrid:Visor Libros, 2003.) The poet has granted me permission to publish my translation of her poems along with her original in Spanish.
Maria Elsy Cardona (translator) is Associate Professor of Spanish in the Department of Languages, Literatures and Cultures at Saint Louis University and holds a secondary appointment with the Program of Women and Gender Studies. Her teaching and research interests are in the fields of Spanish Poetry 1950 to the present, Women Poets of Spain, Gender Stereotypes in Comics and the Graphic Novel, Translation Studies and Teaching of Spanish as a Foreign Language. She has presented and published on Luque’s work at various academic conferences and journals and is currently completing an annotated translation of Luque’s poetry, Aurora Luque’s poetry. Contact information:
All there is of me are fragments, loose pieces of myself,
but it is not my hand that puts me back together.
On the screen, a cracked world,
yells at me,
with a censuring luminosity
with the annoying joy of a refreshment.
I am just my cracks.
The world too is just its own cracks.
Sola en casa
Ya sólo soy fragmentos, piezas sueltas de mí,
pero no soy la mano que me une.
En la pantalla el mundo
me grita cuarteado,
con su necia alegría de refresco.
Sólo soy mis fisuras.
También el mundo es sólo sus fisuras.