there were two little boys
tr. David McLoghlin

that was how the jokes my brother invented began
he didn’t tell jokes he invented them and i interrupted him
this is so lame something was always happening to the little boys
for example one of them fell and i told him why it was lame
when i was in a good mood i conceded the lack of humor

and we had an uncle king arthur alias julín serra because
julín serra was the apron king and creator
of uniforms for cleaning ladies and they called my uncle
julín serra king of aprons not for being an entrepreneur
but because he loved all the maids and princesses of this
neighborhood and the other until the night of his death

i only remember him on the afternoon he planted the hawthorne
or whitethorn but he said hawthorne and it stayed as hawhor
for my mother for me and in the haw juice with a lot of ice
that moistened my thin uncle’s beard without a steady gig
listening to my brother’s lame jokes and laughing
enthusiastically

he closed an eye as if telling me that he got
the joke it was lame as he closed an eye to my brother
in the only memory he has of the same uncle coming
late to the church
                          closing an eye until he would close both but
before laughing enthusiastically at my brother’s jokes
as no one had ever done before
                                               and inventing other
signs of exclamation open mouths milk teeth
there were two little boys and one anything else uncle said
was as funny as shit his jokes were filthy
and my mother played the role of censor and that
made us laugh even more

at seventeen years of my uncle’s death julín serra died
and as happens with all owners it rained obituaries
i wrote a poem to my uncle that was worse than my brother’s
jokes because i didn’t think of my brother and now it’s        
twenty-three years later and only one memory of my uncle
trying out his jokes
                             there were two little boys
i learnt too late i was the other one

habían dos niñitos

así comenzaban los chistes que inventaba mi hermano
no contaba chistes los inventaba y yo lo interrumpía
por fome a uno de los niñitos siempre le pasaba algo
se caía por ejemplo y yo le explicaba por qué era fome
cuando andaba de ánimo le cedía la ausencia de gracia

y teníamos un tío el rey arturo alias julín serra porque
julín serra era el rey de los delantales un fabricante
de uniformes para asesoras del hogar y a mi tío le decían
julín serra el rey de los delantales no por empresario
sino porque amó a todas las nanas y princesas de este
barrio y del otro hasta la noche de su muerte

yo lo recuerdo solo una tarde en que sembró el crataegus
o espino pero él dijo crataegus y quedó como cratehue
para mi madre para mí y dentro del jugo con mucho hielo
que le mojaba la barba al tío flaco sin pega estable
escuchando los chistes fomes de mi hermano y riéndose
de buena gana

me cerraba un ojo como diciéndome que lo cachaba
el chiste era fome como le cerró un ojo a mi hermano
en el único recuerdo que él tiene del mismo tío viniendo
tarde a la iglesia
                         cerrar un ojo hasta cerrar los dos pero
antes reírse de buena gana con los chistes de mi hermano
como nunca nadie lo había hecho
                                                     e inventar otros
signos de exclamación bocas abiertas dientes de leche
había dos niñitos y uno cualquier cosa decía el tío
era más chistoso que la cresta eran cochinos los chistes
y mi madre jugaba el rol de censurarlo haciendo que nos
riéramos más

a los diecisiete años de muerto mi tío murió julín serra
y como sucede con todos los dueños llovieron obituarios
le escribí un poema a mi tío peor que los chistes de mi
hermano porque no pensé en mi hermano y ahora son
veintitrés los años y uno solo el recuerdo con mi tío
versionando sus chistes
                                     había dos niñitos
demasiado tarde aprendí que yo era el otro


mercadería

No tuve un amigo imaginario.
No me subí con él a una casa en el árbol ni a los árboles.
No formé una pandilla ni hice pactos de sangre con los vecinos.
No jugué con ellos en la calle,
no me manché con barro porque ellos lo hiciesen
ni me entré por comida casera.
No usé la jardinera igual a mi hermano.
No me gustó la más linda del curso, no formé un club de nada.
No fui punk ni metalero. No actué en una compañía.
No me asocié a un club deportivo ni a una liga de fútbol,
menos a una tribu urbana.
No participé en ninguna junta de vecinos.
No milité en un partido político.
Casi ni fui a los cumpleaños familiares. No conocí a los sobrinos menores.
No conviví con una pareja ni me proyecté más allá de sus caderas.
No llamé ni me llamaron diariamente.
Nadie me fue y a nadie le fui incondicional. Ni lo pedí.
No tuve un colectivo ni un grupo cerrado de amigos.
No hubo una cofradía a la que pedirle pega,
no recurrí a influencias protectoras ni las hubo.
No trabajé con compañeros de estudio.
No confabulé con grupo alguno para instalar a alguien.
No me esperó nadie en las ciudades a que me mudé ni tuve domicilio fijo.
No me sentí inseguro para pedir el mismo cigarrillo o el mismo trago
de la tele. No tuve tele ni sus temas.
No tuve cargas familiares en la isapre ni tuve isapre.
Tampoco ropa de marca ni la necesité.
No me inscribí en messenger, blogs, fotologs ni facebook.
No tuve deudas ni aparenté lo que no tuve.
Mi tiempo pasado jamás me pareció mejor.
No cambié mi vida por la de nadie ni lo haría.
No los cargué con mis problemas por parecerme menos graves
y los del resto me fastidiaron un poco.
Soy absolutamente libre (y me arrepiento).

 

wares
tr. Mary Ellen Stitt

I didn’t have an imaginary friend.
I didn’t climb trees or into a tree house with him
I didn’t form a gang or make blood pacts with the neighbors.
I didn’t play out in the streets with them,
I didn’t dirty myself with mud because they did
or go inside for home-cooked food. 
I didn’t wear overalls like my brother.
I didn’t like the prettiest girl in my class, I didn’t start any clubs.
I wasn’t a punk or a metalhead. I didn’t act in a theater group.
I didn’t join a sports club or a soccer league
much less an urban tribe.
I wasn’t a member of the neighborhood association.
I didn’t campaign for a political party.
I seldom went to family birthday parties. I didn’t know my younger relatives.
I didn’t move in with my girlfriend or project myself beyond her hips.
I didn’t call and no one called me every day.
No one gave themselves entirely to me and I to no one. I didn’t ask it.
I didn’t have a group or a close circle of friends.
There was no guild to ask for work,
I didn’t turn to influential protectors, nor did I have any.
I didn’t study with my classmates.
I didn’t plot with a group to get anyone into office.
No one came to meet me when I moved to new cities and I had no permanent address.
I didn’t out of insecurity buy the same cigarettes or alcohol
that I saw on TV. I didn’t have a TV or anything it advertised.
I had no dependents on my health insurance policy, nor did I have health insurance.
Or name brand clothing, nor did I need it.
I didn’t sign up for instant messaging, blogs, photologs, or facebook.
I didn’t have debts or pretend to own more than I did.
My past has never seemed better to me.
I didn’t trade my life for anyone else’s and I wouldn’t.
I didn’t burden anyone with my problems because they seemed less serious
and everyone else’s annoyed me a little.
I am absolutely free (and I regret it).

Enrique Winter (Santiago, Chile, 1982) is author of Atar las naves (winner of the Víctor Jara Arts Festival), Rascacielos (available in English as Skyscrapers), Guía de despacho (National Young Poet prize), Lengua de señas (Pablo de Rokha poetry prize; available in English as Sign Tongue, which was awarded the Goodmorning Menagerie Chapbook-in-Translation prize) and co-author of the LP Agua en polvo, collected in several languages including German and Polish. He is also author of the novel Las bolsas de basura and translator of books by Emily Dickinson, G. K. Chesterton, Philip Larkin, Susan Howe and Charles Bernstein. Winter holds an MFA in Creative Writing from NYU and directs the Creative Writing diploma at PUCV. He used to be an editor and an attorney.