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Nat Lipstadt Jun 2023
Leave if You Can II


I live in the house of poetry.
I ascend her stairs slowly
and leap back down.
I sit in the chair of poetry,
sleep in her bed, eat from her plate.
Poetry has windows
through which mornings and afternoons
fall, and how well she suspends a teardrop
how well she blows until I tumble / With this
I mean to say that
one basket brings
both wounds and bandages.  
I love poetry so much that sometimes I think
I don’t love her / She looks at me,
inclines her head and keeps knitting
poetry.
As always, I’ll be the bigger person.
But how to say it / How to tell her
I want to leave / honestly I want to
fry my asparagus…
I see her coming near
with her bottle of oil
and crazed skillet.
I see her,
her little bundle of asparagus
slipping out her sleeve.
Ah her freshness / her chaotic glint
and the way she approaches with relentless meter.  
I surrender / I surrender always because I live
in the house of poetry / because I ascend
the stairs of poetry
and also because
I come back down.

    — Translated by Lisa Allen Ortiz & Sara Daniele Rivera
Rossella Di Paolo

Rossella Di Paolo was born in Lima, Peru in 1960. She studied literature at the Pontifical Catholic University of Peru. She made her first publications in the student literary magazine Calandria, and worked as a journalist for several years for the alternative current affairs magazine La Tortuga. Her books include Prueba de Galera (1985 and 2017), Continuidad de Los Cuadros (1988 and 2018), Raised skin (1993 and 2019), Tablets of San Lázaro (2001 and 2020), and The chair in the sea (2016), which received the Lights of the Readers Award for the El Comercio Best Book of Poetry of 2016. In 2020, she won the Casa de la Literatura Peruana Prize and was distinguished as a Personalidad Meritoria de la Cultura (Admirable Cultural Personality) by the Peruvian Ministry of Culture.

She is a university professor and directs poetry workshops. Her poems have appeared in anthologies of Peruvian and Latin American poetry. She takes part in exhibitions of poetry, painting, and photography, and edits multidisciplinary editions of poetry.
sa mata ng ordinaryong nilalang:
sa kalangitan madalas kayong naghahabulan
nagtataguan, ng mga liwanag at ng mga nararamdaman.
sa malawak na daigdaig, kayo ang nagbibigay liwanag;
kayo ang hinahanap, kayo ang kailangan.
ang mga bituin
                                                          ­                ay kumikislap
    patay sindi,                   'di makapirmi
ang mga bituin ay
  madami, 'di nag-iisa,                                    
                                 kun'di nagkalat na 'isa',
                                                                ­          'di isang buo
                                                             ­                     kun'di isang
                                                                ­                          sansinukob ng:
naghalong emosyon,
'di mapiling pagkakakilanlan,
daan daang kasinungalingan
makapagtago lamang;
sa liwanag niya,                                                            ­            
                                              dahil mas importante siya
dahil siya ang iyong tinitingala,
isang malaking bolang mainit,
nag-aalab,
nakakabulag.

isa kang masokista,
pinili mo ang mapanakit niyang init.
isa kang arsonista,
pinili **** makipaglaro sa apoy.
'di ka naman nag-iisa
ngunit martyr ako,
at ikaw ang pinili ko.


siya si sol, ikaw si luna,
ako ang mga bituin,





kayo ang naghahabulan,
ako ang kumikislap/
kumukutikutitap/
kumukurap,
ako ang nagbubugulan.
                                                   ­       

                                                        ­               bituing matagal nang patay
ito na ang tuldok
he's the perfect, kind of-
an equation with different variables
(which -coincidentally- matches with mine)
that made (sneaking) finding moments
         between (our)        rigid                   bodies
easy; but
we both know, all moments sum up to zero,

is there really
n o t h i n g ?
do i even, mathematically, make sense?

— The End —