Selection of poems from Penumbra hembra / Female Shadow and Animal marcado / Marked Animal by Shirley Villalba


A person with long hair wearing a necklace and earrings

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Shirley Villalba (Coronel Oviedo, Paraguay, 1974) is the author of three collections of poems Penumbra hembra (2005), Transparencias (2008), and Animal Marcado (2015). She has poems in numerous anthologies throughout Latin America and co-directs the poetry festival Ombligo lírico Paraguay. Her poetry has been translated into Italian, English, and Turkish.

Identity

I am the night’s blood and the night
the poison
that his gaze bleeds out in me.

Identidad

Soy la sangre de la noche y la noche
el veneno
que en mí desangra su mirada.

Bread With No Table

once the infinite thought has been thought
—without any thought at all—the table no longer exists
the house no longer exists nothing exists anymore

no one, nobody

then nothingness kneads me into its bread and it eats me in silence

Pan sin mesa

una vez hecho el infinito pensamiento
—sin pensamiento alguno—la mesa no existe
la casa no existe ya nada existe 

ninguno, nadie

entonces la nada me hace su pan y me come en silencio

Encounter 

lip my face in your mouth and let your tongue see me
and cloud my skin with your kisses and find yourself with me
in my shadow

Encuentro

enlábiame tu rostro en la boca y deja que tu lengua me vea
y núblame la piel con tus besos y encuéntrate conmigo
en mi sombra

Ashes and Flowers

In Honor of Rainer María Rilke 

It’s motherless, this feeling of slow emptiness
and my chest is a starving child latched at the breast.
It’s fatherless, this heart of lonely thunder
and my forehead is a child of happiness grown old.
It’s ageless, this passage of time without time
and old longings have run my body down.
And I am barely a book of ashes and flowers
scribbling in a face over my name.

Cenizas y flores

En memoria de Rainer María Rilke

No tiene madre, este sentimiento de lento vacío
y es mi pecho un hijo de pezón hambriento.
No tiene padre, este corazón de solitario estruendo
y es mi frente un niño de envejecida alegría.
No tiene edad, este transcurrir sin tiempo
y está trasnochado de nostalgias mi cuerpo.
Y apenas soy un libro de cenizas y flores
escribiendo un rostro sobre mí nombre.