Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
Mariela Cordero. Valencia, Venezuela (1985) is a lawyer, poet, writer, translator and visual artist. Her poetry has been published in several international anthologies.She has received some distinctions among them:Third Prize of Poetry Alejandra Pizarnik Argentina (2014). First Prize in the II Iberoamerican Poetry Contest Euler Granda, Ecuador (2015). Second Prize of Poetry Concorso Letterario Internazionale Bilingüe Tracceperlameta Edizioni, Italy (2015) Award Micropoems in Spanish of the III contest TRANSPalabr@RTE 2015.First Place in International Poetry Contest #AniversarioPoetasHispanos mention literary quality, Spain (2016). Finalist Aco Karamanow International Poetry Prize, Macedonia (2022) Rahim Karim World Literary Prize (2022). She has published the collections of poems: El cuerpo de la duda Editorial Publicarte, Caracas,Venezuela(2013) and Transfigurar es un país que amas (Editorial Dos Islas, Miami,United States (2020). She has participated in several international literary meetings and festivals, among them: The Princeton Festival, International Poetry Festival Parque Chas, International Festival Bitola Literary Remembrance, International Poetry Festival Xochimilco, X Iberoamerican Festival of Fusagusagá Colombia. Her poems have been translated into Hindi, Czech, Estonian, Serbian, Shona, Uzbek, Romanian, Macedonian, Korean, Hebrew, Bengali, English, Arabic, Chinese, Russian, Polish. She currently coordinates the sections #PoesíaVenezolana and #PoetasdelMundo in the Revista Abierta de Poesía Poémame (Spain).
The first
I am the first
I’m at the beginning
Of time
In the middle of the gloom
In the particle
Of this sunset
And to the edge
Of the collapse.
I am all
And none.
Name
There is a name that I drink
Half solar alcohol, half secret water
There’s a name that I scream
Mixed in the bustle of the others
There is a name that I caress
Piece of forest
Warm and persistent
There is a name
River, sweet arrow and sweat.
A name
that devours
my name.
Sometimes I am water,
sometimes I am thirst.
Sometimes I am
water,
sometimes I am
thirst.
Everything revolves, although
there are moments
where the skin feels like a burden
and tired eyes are closed
the days seem echoes
but
everything is moving impassively
and the time we exchanged
transforms us
in water
transforms us
in thirst.
Fragile as the absolute
fragile as
the absolute
in this way
emerges
the caress
(Micropoems Prize in Spanish of the III contest TRANSPalabr @RTE 2015, Spain).
Your body or a distant country
The maps as a fragile truce,
are made of scattered atoms.
To reach your boundaries and touch your skin
I must discover
The burning zones and the shortcuts of the random.
The lubricious compass will expel me
to the center
of the anointed war of love.
I will arrive to lose myself between
the sacredness and the whirlwind.
The ancient spiral of desire
still devouring pulsations.
The heart is an arrow and a target.
Your body is a distant country
The sky over Berlin
The foreign look flies over
the rotating decay and the ripped fever.
you ignore the clamor of the world
the playful cruelty of the unsuccessful search.
the ancient voices demand that you bite love,
like the fugitive and terrible apple that you must consume
before thirty,
eat it before it rots.
We vibrate a fragile attempt to touch the infinite
despite everything you abandon your neat position.
you get dirty at pleasure in that liquid look
who begs and drags you
you surrender to the labyrinth. you prefer to burn.
not even an angel knows it. love is a trap and also a miracle.
The white tremor
Today we can tremble
we can whisper
all the pain of waiting
and narrate how we drank the ocean
To find us
Before living in this white room
Were we just a number on this sleep-walking land?
Now we are a city that vibrates with laughter
with the heart in the hands
and our breaths very close.
We can not believe
that today we can tremble
one
inside
of the other.
Transfiguring is a country you love
Dying is a country you loved. Yves Bonnefoy
You deal with the names,
the pacts and the shadows
you sew and unpick the fragile
anatomy
you make up the voice and the accent,
you incarnate the calm and the gust,
you wash the fated desolation
and you dress it with joy
that wanders through the night,
you diminish sleep to wakefulness,
you unite the mist and the light
in the communion of a leaden sky,
you moisten the skin
to mask the symptoms of drought, you freeze and boil the heart
according to the climate you wish to possess.
You pervert the rough
to the wound
tender
that opens your hand.
Transfiguring
is a country you Yves Bonnefoy
