Fantasía para Elvira Shatayev
(líder de un grupo de mujeres alpinistas, las cuales murieron en una tormenta en el Pico Lenin, en Agosto de 1974. Después, el marido de Shatayev encontró y enterró los cuerpos.)
El frío se sintió frío hasta que nuestra sangre
se enfrió luego el viento
se fue quietando y nos dormimos
Si en este sueño yo hablo
es con una voz que no es más personal
(quiero decir con unas voces)
Cuando el viento arrancó por fin nuestra respiración
no necesitábamos palabras
Por meses por años cada una de nosotras
había sentido su propio sí creciendo en ella
formándose lentamente mientras estaba frente a las ventanas esperaba
los trenes enmendaba sus mochilas se peinaba
Lo que íbamos a aprender fue sencillamente lo que tuvimos
acá arriba mientras que de todas las palabras ese sí reunía
sus fuerzas fusionándose y sólo justo a tiempo
para encontrar un No sin graduaciones
el oscuro agujero aspirando el mundo
Te siento trepando hacia mí
las marcas de tus botas dejando su geométrica mordida
colosalmente tallada en microscópicos cristales
como cuando te rastreé en el Cáucaso
Ahora estoy mucho más
adelante de lo que vos y yo soñamos cualquiera lo estaría
me he convertido
en la blanca nieve acumulada como el asfalto por el viento
en las mujeres que amo ligeramente arrojada contra la montaña
en ese cielo azul
nuestros congelados ojos despejados en la tormenta
podríamos haber cosido todo junto ese azul como una colcha
Vos venís (yo lo sé) con tu amor tu pérdida
atadas con correas a tu cuerpo con tu grabadora tu cámara
la pica para el hielo contra todo consejo
para darnos un entierro en la nieve y en tu mente
Mientras mi cuerpo yace acá afuera
fulgurando como un prisma dentro de tus ojos
cómo podrías dormir Escalaste acá por vos mismo
nosotras escalamos por nosotras mismas
Cuando nos hayas enterrado contado tu historia
la nuestra no termina seguimos fluyendo
hacia lo interminable lo no comenzado
lo posible
Cada núcleo de las células de calor pulsado afuera nuestro
hacia el fino aire del universo
la armadura de roca debajo de estas nieves
esta montaña que ha tomado la impresión de nuestras mentes
a través de cambios elementales y diminutos
como esos que sobrellevamos
para traer a cada una hasta acá
eligiéndonos a cada una y a esta vida
de la cual cada aliento y mano agarrada y lugar donde pisemos
está en algún lado todavía establecido y continuando
En el diario escribí: Ahora estamos preparadas
y cada una de nosotras lo sabe Nunca amé
de esta manera Nunca he visto
mis propias fuerzas tan levantadas y compartidas
y devueltas
Después del largo entrenamiento los primeros asedios
nos estamos moviendo casi sin esfuerzo en nuestro amor
En el diario mientas el viento empezaba a arrancar
las carpas encima nuestro escribí:
Ahora sabemos que siempre estuvimos en peligro
allá abajo por separado
y ahora acá arriba juntas pero hasta ahora
no habíamos tocado nuestra fuerza
En el diario arrancado de mis dedos había escrito:
Qué significa el amor
qué quiere decir “sobrevivir”
Un cable de fuego azul sujeta nuestros cuerpos
ardiendo juntos en la nieve No vamos a vivir
para arreglarnos por menos Hemos soñado con esto
toda nuestra vida
1974
Phantasia for Elvira Shatayev
(Leader of a woman's climbing team, all of whom died in a storm onLenin Peak , August 1974. Later, Shatayev's husband found and buried the bodies.)
The cold felt cold until our blood
grew colder then the wind
died down and we slept
If in this sleep I speak
it's with a voice no longer personal
(I want to say with voices)
When the wind tore our breath from us at last
we had no need of words
For months for years each one of us
had felt her own yes growing in her
slowly forming as she stood at windows waited
for trains mended her rucksack combed her hair
What we were to learn was simply what we had
up here as out of all words that yes gathered
its forces fused itself and only just in time
to meet a No of no degrees
the black hole sucking the world in
I feel you climbing toward me
your cleated bootsoles leaving their geometric bite
colossally embossed on microscopic crystals
as when I trailed you in the Caucasus
Now I am further
ahead than either of us dreamed anyone would be
I have become
the white snow packed like asphalt by the wind
the women I love lightly flung against the mountain
that blue sky
our frozen eyes unribboned through the storm
we could have stitched that blueness together like a quilt
You come (I know this) with your love your loss
strapped to your body with your tape-recorder camera
ice-pick against advisement
to give us burial in the snow and in your mind
While my body lies out here
flashing like a prism into your eyes
how could you sleep You climbed here for yourself
we climbed for ourselves
When you have buried us told your story
Ours does not end we stream
into the unfinished the unbegun
the possible
Every cell's core of heat pulsed out of us
into the thin air of the universe
the armature of rock beneath these snows
this mountain which has taken the imprint of our minds
through changes elemental and minute
as those we underwent
to bring each other here
choosing ourselves each other and this life
whose every breath and grasp and further foothold
is somewhere still enacted and continuing
In the diary I wrote: Now we are ready
and each of us knows it I have never loved
like this I have never seen
my own forces so taken up and shared
and given back
After the long training the early sieges
we are moving almost effortlessly in our love
In the diary as the wind began to tear
at the tents over us I wrote:
We know now we have always been in danger
down in our separateness
and now up here together but till now
we had not touched our strength
In the diary torn from my fingers I had written:
What does love mean
what does it mean "to survive"
A cable of blue fire ropes our bodies
burning together in the snow We will not live
to settle for less We have dreamed of this
all of our lives
(Leader of a woman's climbing team, all of whom died in a storm on
The cold felt cold until our blood
grew colder then the wind
died down and we slept
If in this sleep I speak
it's with a voice no longer personal
(I want to say with voices)
When the wind tore our breath from us at last
we had no need of words
For months for years each one of us
had felt her own yes growing in her
slowly forming as she stood at windows waited
for trains mended her rucksack combed her hair
What we were to learn was simply what we had
up here as out of all words that yes gathered
its forces fused itself and only just in time
to meet a No of no degrees
the black hole sucking the world in
I feel you climbing toward me
your cleated bootsoles leaving their geometric bite
colossally embossed on microscopic crystals
as when I trailed you in the Caucasus
Now I am further
ahead than either of us dreamed anyone would be
I have become
the white snow packed like asphalt by the wind
the women I love lightly flung against the mountain
that blue sky
our frozen eyes unribboned through the storm
we could have stitched that blueness together like a quilt
You come (I know this) with your love your loss
strapped to your body with your tape-recorder camera
ice-pick against advisement
to give us burial in the snow and in your mind
While my body lies out here
flashing like a prism into your eyes
how could you sleep You climbed here for yourself
we climbed for ourselves
When you have buried us told your story
Ours does not end we stream
into the unfinished the unbegun
the possible
Every cell's core of heat pulsed out of us
into the thin air of the universe
the armature of rock beneath these snows
this mountain which has taken the imprint of our minds
through changes elemental and minute
as those we underwent
to bring each other here
choosing ourselves each other and this life
whose every breath and grasp and further foothold
is somewhere still enacted and continuing
In the diary I wrote: Now we are ready
and each of us knows it I have never loved
like this I have never seen
my own forces so taken up and shared
and given back
After the long training the early sieges
we are moving almost effortlessly in our love
In the diary as the wind began to tear
at the tents over us I wrote:
We know now we have always been in danger
down in our separateness
and now up here together but till now
we had not touched our strength
In the diary torn from my fingers I had written:
What does love mean
what does it mean "to survive"
A cable of blue fire ropes our bodies
burning together in the snow We will not live
to settle for less We have dreamed of this
all of our lives
1974
de The dream of a common language, W.W. Norton & Company, New York, 1993.
