WE ARE YOU PROJECT
Bio: Alex Lima
Alex Lima (Ecuador) received his M.A. degree in Spanish from St. John’s University and at present is completing his Ph.D. at the CUNY Graduate Center. The author of two books of poetry Inverano (2008) and Bilocaciones (2011), he is the co-founder of Entre Rascacielos, Epsilon Kappa’s journal of creative writing, and serves as editor of Hybrido, a publication open to emerging artists and writers. Alex collaborated as curator of a dossier dedicated to the creative writing and graphic art of Jornaleros-- day laborers from Eastern Long Island (Hybrido 2008). Alex is currently completing his doctoral dissertation on nation building in 18th century colonial poetry of the Americas.
JORNALEROS
Se visten las sombras de amanecer
dan pasos bajo el anonimato de sus viseras
por la vereda de la incertidumbre.
Alguna vez tuvieron carnet de identidad
su patria es ahora un día incierto,
su hogar es un rincón a la intemperie,
hijastros ancestrales del barro y del maíz.
Día a día,
en una esquina del norte
aguardan las sombras a que un dedo,
barita mágica, los contrate: tú, tú y tú
al balde de la camioneta, carroza
imaginaria de un cuento que no es
cuento y del Hado que no es padrino.
Las sombras dejan huellas en el teléfono
del locutorio y sobre el recibo firmado,
testimonio informal de una jornada sin fin.
Sombras doloridas y gastadas se
disipan al atardecer bajo puertas anónimas
con pellejos de sol en sus manos
quemadas, llenas de grasa, polvorientas.
En una esquina del norte, esperan losjornaleros,
a que una mano les convide un poco más de luz, para evitar que se desollen sus sombras.
No es una mano invisible, ni el lomo de Atlas,
lo que sostiene el peso del mundo.
(Inverano, 2008)
Day Laborers
Shadows, all dressed up at daybreak
take some steps under the anonimity of their baseball
caps on the sidewalk of uncertainty.
Once upon a time they carried a national I.D.
now their new homeland is the unexpected,
their new home is a spot under the stars,
bastard sons of clay and corn, heirs to nothingness,
nada.
Each and every day,
on a corner of the northern hemisphere,
these shadows await for a finger
to point at them like a magic wand: tú, tú y tú
get in the truck, magical carriage
out of a fairy tale that is neither fair nor a fairy
that is no godmother.
However, these shadows leave their fingerprints on
public pay phones and on customer receipts,
unspoken testimony of an endless journey.
Sore and vanishing shadows slide under
the doorway of anonymous dwellings
with sunburnt skin and greasy hands
peppered with dust.
On a corner of the northern hemisphere,
await these journeymen
for a hand up full of hope
to lift them out of the shadows.
It is neither the invisible hand nor Atlas
but these men and women
who bear the weight of the world.
Translated by author.
Jorge Gallegos Photo credit