two poems from Prosas Sacras

a droplet of ink with which to sculpt the world.

translated from the Spanish by Joaquín Gavilano

Elegy of the Hydra

a droplet of ink with which to sculpt the world. a droplet
of ink. a tiny fragment of Lerna’s ancient marshes.
a droplet to hover, to plummet into the void.
a droplet with seven heads, and seven more, and seven again.
a droplet pregnant with droplets, birthing further droplets, birthing still.
a burst of lightning.
                                         a spatter of lifeblood.
                                                                                          a nameless orb.


Sègre

In the snow the river stains the pages of noon without an inkwell.
The pines draw minimal, icy arabesques. Jaded, the silence passes away into mud. The wind
branches its bones in space. Somnambulist birds collide on the rocks. Dread that drags nocturnal
links on the road. Waters that drag the last breath from the rocks. Ghost trees with a scream nailed
to the roof of their mouths. Swarms of flies splitting the hours. Leaves tearing away from emptiness.
Footsteps. Footprints. Farewells. Droplets.
I don’t know what dead weight stakes words in the never-ending snow.


Elogio de la Hidra

Una gota de tinta con la cual empezar el mundo. Una gota

De tinta. Una ínfima porción del pantano de Lerna.

Una gota que suspender, despeñar en el vacío.

Una gota de siete cabezas y siete cabezas y siete cabezas.

Una gota preñada de gotas preñadas de gotas preñadas.

Un racimo de relámpagos.

                                        Un abanico de sangres.

                                                                            Una esfera sin nombre.

Sègre

            En la nieve el río mancha sin tintero las páginas del mediodía. 

       Los pinos dibujan arabescos mínimos, helados. Jadeante, el silencio muere hecho barro. El viento ramifica sus huesos en el espacio. Pájaros sonámbulos se golpean en las rocas. Terror que arrastra eslabones de noche en el camino. Aguas que arrastran el último aliento de las rocas. Árboles fantasmas con el grito clavado en el paladar. Jaurías de moscas repartiéndose las horas. Hojas desgajándose de vacío. Pasos. Huellas. Adioses. Gotas.

           No sé qué peso muerto estaca a las palabras en la nieve sin fin.

About the authors

Guillermo Ruiz Plaza was born in La Paz, Bolivia, in 1982. He is an accomplished author and a graduate of the University of Toulouse, where he earned a degree in Hispanic Philology and a Master’s degree in Hispanic American Literature. He has authored several collections of short stories and has twice been awarded the Premio Nacional de Literatura Santa Cruz de la Sierra. In 2016, he received the Premio Nacional de Cuento Adela Zamudio. He’s published two novels, Dias Detenidos (2019, winner of the Premio Nacional de la Novela in Bolivia) and El Hombre Tocado de Viento (2022).

Joaquín Gavilano is a Bolivian translator, poet, and writer. He is currently an MFA candidate in Creative Writing and Translation at the University of Arkansas, where he also serves as a translation editor for The Arkansas International. His accolades include a 2023 PEN/Heim Translation Fund Grant, and the Carolyn F. Walton Cole First-Year Fellowship in translation. His work has appeared in Latin American Literature Today, Copihue Poetry, and Hooligan Magazine, and is forthcoming at Two Lines Press in 2024.