[vc_row row_height_percent=”50″ override_padding=”yes” h_padding=”2″ top_padding=”3″ bottom_padding=”3″ back_image=”56863″ back_position=”center top” overlay_alpha=”0″ gutter_size=”3″ shift_y=”0″][vc_column column_width_percent=”100″ position_vertical=”bottom” style=”dark” overlay_alpha=”50″ gutter_size=”3″ medium_width=”0″ shift_x=”0″ shift_y=”0″ zoom_width=”0″ zoom_height=”0″ width=”1/1″][vc_custom_heading heading_semantic=”h1″ text_size=”fontsize-338686″ text_height=”fontheight-179065″ text_space=”fontspace-111509″ text_font=”font-762333″ text_weight=”700″ text_color=”color-xsdn” sub_reduced=”yes” subheading=”by Luciana Jazmín Coronado + Allison A. deFreese”]2 Poems[/vc_custom_heading][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column width=”1/1″][vc_empty_space empty_h=”2″][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column width=”1/2″][vc_column_text]
Omen
You foresee the birds,
the color
of their freshly-laid breasts.
They whisper in your ear:
here and there
no longer exist.
You take care now
so no handful of earth
ever starves in your hands.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][vc_column width=”1/2″][vc_column_text]
Augurio
Presientes a los pájaros,
el color recién puesto
en sus vientres.
Te susurran que aquí y allá
se deja de existir
y ahora cuidas
que ningún puñado de tierra
se desnutra en tus manos.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column width=”1/1″][vc_empty_space empty_h=”2″][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column width=”1/2″][vc_column_text]
Nowhere To Go
When you run away from something
there’s nowhere to go.
The world is a subtle trait
where nothing new nor old awaits you,
only what surfaces from the deep,
a cleansing rhythm.
We’ve scattered crumbs
for the birds from the last coming.
They recognize ancient colors
we can no longer see.
Like you, each of them is fleeing something.
Their shadows appear
in some corner of the desert,
creased and alive
on the jewels of sand.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][vc_column width=”1/2″][vc_column_text]
No Hay Lugar Adonde Ir
Cuando huyes de algo
no hay lugar adonde ir.
El mundo es un rasgo sutil
y no te espera algo viejo ni nuevo,
sino aquello que sale del fondo,
un ritmo que depura.
Hemos esparcido migajas
para las aves del último retorno.
Ellas saben de colores antiguos
que ya no somos capaces de ver.
Como tú, cada una huye de algo.
En algunos rincones del desierto
asoman sus sombras,
y las pliegan, vivas
sobre joyas de arena.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column column_width_percent=”100″ align_horizontal=”align_center” overlay_alpha=”50″ gutter_size=”3″ medium_width=”0″ mobile_width=”0″ shift_x=”0″ shift_y=”0″ z_index=”0″ width=”1/1″][vc_empty_space][vc_separator sep_color=”color-184322″ el_width=”30%”][vc_empty_space][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column column_width_percent=”100″ align_horizontal=”align_right” overlay_alpha=”50″ gutter_size=”3″ medium_width=”0″ mobile_width=”0″ shift_x=”0″ shift_y=”0″ z_index=”0″ width=”1/3″][vc_single_image media=”60068″ media_width_percent=”100″][vc_single_image media=”60069″ media_width_percent=”100″][/vc_column][vc_column width=”1/3″][vc_column_text]Born in Buenos Aires, Luciana Jazmín Coronado has published highly acclaimed books of poetry including La insolación/The Sunstroke (2014) and Catacumbas/ Catacombs (2016), winner of the Premio Hispanoamericano de Poesía de San Salvador/San Salvador Prize for Hispano-American, and Los hijos Imperfectos/ Imperfect Children (2023).
Based in the Pacific Northwest, Allison A. deFreese leads translation workshops for the Oregon Society of Translators and Interpreters. “Omen” and “Nowhere to Go” are the first translations to be published from Luciana Jazmín Coronado’s latest book Imperfect Children (2023). deFreese’s translations of work from Coronado’s previous books appear in Columbia Journal, Crazyhorse/swamp pink, and Gulf Coast.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][vc_column width=”1/3″][/vc_column][/vc_row]