The Tailor
With an eye for measurement he calculated a man’s size. He cut where cutting was needed. They weren’t just slits in the fabric, but rather a vision expressed through tailoring. One piece of cloth shows him to be an apprentice in Lithuania. Others he tied around his feet to keep death off-balance during the march. Harsh footsteps in the winter. He finished learning to cut in Rome. Italian in the scissors facing the cloth. He opened Italian Tailor Shop an ocean away. In Montevideo, he invented “Sono io, Eglini” in response to “Chi è l’italiano?” A custom-made man. Tape measure over his shoulder, glasses pushed down his nose; he managed to sew himself an afterward. Knowing how to cut a disaster into words. Making. The seams can’t be seen, but they’re there like cars on a railway line.
El sastre
Con un ojo para las medidas le calculó al hombre el tamaño. Cortó donde hay que cortar. No eran sólo tajos en la tela sino la visión plasmada en confección. Una tela lo muestra aprendiz en Lituania. Su carrera en costuras. Otras telas se amarró a los pies para desbalancear la muerte en marcha. Las huellas crudas en el invierno. Terminó de aprender a cortar en Roma. El italiano en la tijera con sus caras a la tela. Armar la Sastrería italiana un océano de por medio. En Montevideo, se confeccionó un “Sono io, Eglini” para el “Chi è l’italiano?” Un hombre a su medida. El centímetro en el hombro, los lentes sobre la nariz; pudo coserse un después. Saber cortar un desastre en palabras. Hacer. Las costuras no se ven, pero están como carriles de una vía férrea.
Never Forget
I know how to refute forgetting:
hands on waist, chin
raised, legs apart, I beget
memory in those little braids of hers
like the ones I used to have, my granddaughter
with her left hand, the paper and her playing
she cuts out paper dolls, conceives a lineage
in her image; she is mine
my voice in hers draws her close to other
days and with them nightmares
other times
severed members
but the color of her eyes does not forget
her way of walking
confronts the wind with teeth bared
rips shirts with a scream that doesn’t bury
forgetting, she learns to pick it out
from among the details, she keeps repeating with changes
No olvidar
Yo sé cómo refutar al olvido:
las manos en la cintura, la pera
alzada, las piernas abiertas, engendro
memoria en esas trencitas suyas
como las que yo tenía, mi nieta
con su mano izquierda el papel y su juego
recorta muñequitas, concibe un linaje
a su forma; ella es la mía
mi voz en la suya la acercan a otros
días que arrastran pesadillas
otros tiempos
miembros cortados
pero su tono de ojos no se olvida
su forma de caminar
enfrenta al viento con todos los dientes
rasga camisas con un grito que no se entierra
al olvido, aprende a elegirlo en detalles
lo echa de otros, sigue repitiendo en alteraciones
Laura Cesarco Eglin is the author of Llamar al agua por su nombre (Mouthfeel Press, 2010), Sastrería (Yaugurú, 2011), Los brazos del saguaro (Yaugurú, 2015), Tailor Shop: Threads (Finishing Line Press, 2013) co-translated with Teresa Williams, and Occasions to Call Miracles Appropriate (Lunamopolis, 2015). Cesarco Eglin has translated works of Colombian, Mexican, Uruguayan, and Brazilian authors into English. She is a co-founding editor of Veliz Books.
Scott Spanbauer worked for many years as a technology writer and editor, and taught Spanish at the University of Colorado, Boulder. His translation of Uruguayan poet Laura Cesarco Eglin’s collection Calling Water by Its Name was published by Mouthfeel Press in 2016. His translations of Cesarco Eglin’s poems have been published in Pilgrimage, Coconut Magazine, Hiedra Magazine, LuNaMoPoLiS, Malpaís Review, and Blue Lyra Review. His translation of Adolfo Pardo’s The Grill is forthcoming from Veliz Books in 2017.