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successor of the poetry magazine on kbin.social > this magazine is dedicated to poetry from all over the world: contributions from languages other than english are welcome! there is more to poetry than english only ...

this magazine could occasionally include essays on poetics, poetry films, links to poetry podcasts, or articles on real-life impacts of poetry

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100 Refutations: Day 50 | InTranslation (intranslation.brooklynrail.org)

submitted 1 week ago by [email protected] to c/[email protected]

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María Adela Bonavita (1900–1934) was born in San José, Uruguay and died before her 34th birthday. She published just one collection of poetry in her lifetime, The Conscience of the Suffering Song. One more collection was published after her death. She was plagued by “a nervous illness.” At four years of age, she began attending the odd class in the cultural center “mostly for entertainment,” wrote her brother in the introduction to her second poetry collection, which she'd dictated to him from her deathbed. She worked as a teacher for most of her adult life, setting up a small school in her home where she was beloved by her students. She was also known to create portraits of family members in her spare time, though she’d never received any education on the subject.

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[–] [email protected] 1 points 1 week ago

from the article:

The Magnets of the Abyss

I could fall!…I could fall!…

On the shores of this star I could take such a step that I don’t touch the ground…

I could fall!…I could fall!…

When, in the mystic dance I throw roses to the sea… almost never, almost never can the painful tide shelter my roses.

…The anguished waves flee unable to take me with them.

I slip on roses toward the sky…

I fall into the abyss. I long for it.

Ah, yes!…I can fall now.

I slip on roses…they magnetize me the peaceful stars that wish to shelter me. ………………………………… But I tear off my petals… unable to stop myself.

I know: my pained stem is left tangled in waves of oblivion’s waters.

That’s why, the intangible star awaits me still, and I slip like a cascade of roses by its ineffable lights.

But suffering earth feels the vanquished shore beneath my divine step…

I could fall!…I could fall!…

Ah, yes! The grief-stricken earth not even with its tragic wound can hold me.

I slip on roses…on roses…