Athena Farrokhzad, [Mi madre dijo: Voy a recuperar lo que me pertenece]

Fotografía de Shirin Neshat

[MI MADRE DIJO: VOY A RECUPERAR LO QUE ME PERTENECE]

Mi madre dijo: Voy a recuperar lo que me pertenece

Afrontarás la muerte privada de una lengua

Sin habla llegaste, sin habla partirás

Mi padre dijo: Escribía sobre el pan y la justicia

y mientras el hambriento supiese leer

el tipo de letra no me importaba

Mi padre dijo: Las serifas me pinchan los dedos

Mi padre dijo: Cuánta resistencia puede ofrecer la grasa humana

antes de que se permanenten en ella los latigazos

Mi padre dijo: Si olvidaras el alfabeto

lo encontrarías grabado en mi espalda

Mi padre dijo: No es hasta que perdonas a quien te ha delatado que comprendes lo que significa la violencia

Mi padre dijo: Hay a quienes los ejecutaban al alba antes de que levantara el sueño

Mi madre dijo: Hay quienes tuvieron que pagar por las balas

para poder enterrar a sus hijas

Mi madre dijo: En la noche de qué triunfador nos ha arrojado este triunfo

Mi padre dijo: Tu tío nos llegaba entre los crujidos de la línea telefónica

Tu tío refinaba sus parábolas con cada latigazo

Mi hermano dijo: No me entierres aquí

Entiérrame donde los latigazos sean virtuales

Mi tío dijo: Lo olvidarás todo

menos el recuerdo que recordarás para siempre

Recuerdo que antes de la guerra el soldado mascaba con mis dientes

El agitador gritaba con mi garganta

Mi tío dijo: Por mis hombros cargados

por mi sonrisa constante

Por este montón de piedras que una vez fue mi casa

Mi tío dijo: Hay algún charco en donde la guerra no haya lavado sus manos ensangrentadas

Mi tío dijo: Hay quienes eran ejecutados en cada amanecer

Hay quienes se quedaban para presenciar la ejecución de las sentencias

Mi madre dijo: Por qué invocan a Dios desde los tejados

Acaso han olvidado que era Dios quien sostenía el látigo

cuando torturaban a sus madres

Mi madre dijo: Muéstrame a aquel que habita su rostro

y te mostraré a aquel que ningún rostro merece

Mi hermano dijo: Quiero saber quién fue humillado por mi culpa

En qué afinidades he incurrido

y qué represalias me esperan

Mi hermano dijo: Hay carnicerías que se cometerán eternamente por un signo que nadie recuerda

Mi tío dijo: Qué será de nosotros cuando hayamos conquistado nuestra liberación

con los mismos medios que nos han mantenido cautivos

Mi padre dijo: Cuerpos sin claridad, cuerpos sin sombra

Mi hermano dijo: La costumbre de arrodillarse será sustituida por la alegría de mandar

Mi padre dijo: Hay una guerra que transcurre dentro de mis vísceras

Hay un enemigo que se abalanza desde mis manos y mis labios

Mi hermano dijo: Hay una fiebre que sube con cada golpe

Hay una máquina que martillea estando apagada

Mi padre dijo: La violencia es un lenguaje en el que la mano se distingue

Mi padre dijo: Cuando demos según capacidad y recibamos según necesidad

Mi madre dijo: Cuando demos según capacidad y recibamos según necesidad

Mi hermano dijo: Cuando todas las injusticias y la historia misma se acaben

Mi abuela dijo: Cuando seas tan vieja como yo

Entonces se acabarán las injusticias y la historia misma

Mi padre dijo: No me entierres aquí

Entiérrame donde toda propiedad haya sido expropiada

No me pongas una lápida, dedícame tus días felices

Mi madre dijo: Es mejor soñar que estás muerto

Que morir de los tantos sueños que te inventan

Mi abuela dijo: No me entierres aquí

Entiérrame donde crece la menta junto a los arroyos

Prepara un banquete, sirve mi mejor guiso

Mi tío dijo: La guerra nunca ha terminado

Sólo tú terminaste de ser una víctima de la guerra

Mi madre dijo: No me entierres aquí

Entiérrame donde la pátina de la civilización esté desconchada

Escupe mi lengua, devuélveme la leche

Traducción de Caterina Pascual Söderbaum

[MIN MOR SA: JAG SKA ATERTA DET SOM TILLHÖR MIG]

Min mor sa: Jag ska återta det som tillhör mig

Du ska möta döden berövad på språk

Mållös är du kommen, mållös ska du gå

Min far sa: Jag skrev om bröd och rättvisa

och så länge den utsvultne kunde läsa

gjorde mig typsnittet detsamma

Min far sa: Seriferna sticker i mina fingrar

Min far sa: Hur mycket motstånd kan människofettet bära

innan piskrappen permanentas

Min far sa: Om du glömmer bort alfabetet

hittar du det på min ryggtavla

Min far sa: Först när du förlåter den som angett dig vet du vad våld vill säga

Min far sa: Det fanns de som avrättades i gryningen innan sömnen skingrats

Min mor sa: Det fanns de som fick betala för kulorna

för att få begrava sina döttrar

Min mor sa: In i vilken segrares natt slungade denna seger oss

Min far sa: Din morbror fanns med på en knastrande telefonlinje

Din morbror raffinerade sina liknelser med varje piskrapp

Min bror sa: Begrav mig inte här

Begrav mig där piskorna är virtuella

Min morbror sa: Allting kommer du att glömma

utom minnet som du alltid kommer att minnas

Jag minns att innan kriget tuggade soldaten med mina tänder

Agitatorn skrek med min hals

Min morbror sa: För mina sluttande axlars skull

för mitt ständiga leende

För denna stenhögs skull som en gång var mitt hus

Min morbror sa: Finns det någon pöl där kriget inte tvättat sina blodiga händer

Min morbror sa: Det fanns de som avrättades i varje soluppgång

Det fanns de som stannade kvar och såg domsluten verkställas

Min mor sa: Varför åkallar de gud från hustaken

Har de glömt att det var gud som höll i piskan

när deras mödrar torterades

Min mor sa: Visa mig den som bebor sitt ansikte

så ska jag visa dig den som inget ansikte förtjänar

Min bror sa: Jag vill veta vem som förnedrades för min skull

Vilka affiniteter jag gjort mig skyldig till

och vilka repressalier som väntar

Min bror sa: Det finns en slakt som alltid ska pågå för ett tecken ingen kan minnas

Min morbror sa: Vad ska det bli av oss sedan vi utkämpat vår befrielse

med samma medel som hållit oss fångna

Min far sa: Kroppar utan klarhet, kroppar utan skugga

Min bror sa: Vanan att knäböja ska ersättas av glädjen att befalla

Min far sa: Det finns ett krig som utspelar sig i innanmätet

Det finns en fiende som störtar fram ur mina händer och läppar

Min bror sa: Det finns en feber som eskalerar för varje slag

Det finns en maskin som hamrar i avstängt läge

Min far sa: Våldet är ett språk i vilket handen excellerar

Min far sa: När vi ger efter förmåga och får efter behov

Min mor sa: När vi ger efter förmåga och får efter behov

Min bror sa: När alla orättvisor och historien själv tar slut

Min mormor sa: När du är lika gammal som jag

Då ska alla orättvisor och historien själv ta slut

Min far sa: Begrav mig inte här

Begrav mig där all egendom exproprierats

Ge mig ingen gravsten, tillägna mig dina sötebrödsdagar

Min mor sa: Det är bättre att drömma att man är död

än att dö av alla drömmar som uppfinner en

Min mormor sa: Begrav mig inte här

Begrav mig där myntan växer längs med bäckarna

Duka en festmåltid, servera min godaste gryta

Min morbror sa: Kriget har aldrig tagit slut

Du har bara slutat vara krigets offer

Min mor sa: Begrav mig inte här

Begrav mig där civilisationens fernissa flagnat

Spotta ut mitt språk, ge mig mjölken tillbaka

MY MOTHER SAID

My mother said: It seems that it has never occurred to you that it is from your name

civilization descends

My mother said: The darkness in my belly is the only darkness you command

My mother said: You are a dreamer born to turn straight eyes aslant

My mother said: If you could regard the circumstances as extenuating

you would let me off easier

My mother said: Never underestimate the trouble people will take

to formulate truths possible for them to bear

My mother said: You were not fit to live even from the start

My mother said: A woman dug out her mother’s eyes with her fingers

so the mother would be spared the sight of the daughter’s decline

My father said: You have a tendency towards metaphysics

Still I schooled you in the means of production

when your milk teeth were intact

My mother said: Your father lived for the day of judgement

So did your mother, but she was forced to other ambitions

My mother said: In your father’s sleep you are executed together

In your father’s dream you form a genealogy of revolutionaries

My father said: Your mother fed you with imported silver spoons

Your mother was everywhere in your face

frantically combed out the curls

My mother said: For a lifetime I envied your father’s traumas

until I realized that my own were far more remarkable

My mother said: I have spent a fortune on your piano lessons

But at my funeral you will refuse to play

My mother took the dream out of my father’s hand and said:

All this sugar will not make you sweeter

Walk a lap around the house before you take the insulin

My father said: I have lived my life, I have lived my life

I have done my share

Now nothing remains of the halcyon days of youth

My mother said to my brother: Beware of strangers

Remember that you have nothing to return to

should they become dangerous

My brother said: I had such a strange dream

That dawn died in my eyes before sleep had cleared

A humanity of sugar and slaughter

When I bid farewell to the light I knew everything

My mother said: From the division of cells

from a genetic material

from your father’s head

But not from me

My father said: From the clash of civilization

from a fundamental antagonism

from my tired head

But not from her

My father said: If it were possible to compete in martyrdom

your mother would do everything to lose

My mother said: The heart is not like the knee that can be bent at will

My father said: Even the rooster who does not crow gets to see the sun rise

My mother said: But if the hen does not lay an egg she will be served for dinner

My father said: Your brother shaved before his beard started to grow

Your brother saw the terrorist’s face in the mirror

and wanted a flat iron for Christmas

My brother said: Some day I will die in a country

where people can pronounce my name

My brother said: Do not think it is in your power to offer me anything

My father said: Whose father are you rendering

My mother said: Whose mother are you rendering

My brother said: Whose brother is being referred to

My grandmother said: If you don’t finish chopping the vegetables soon

there won’t be any dinner

My father said: To those who have more will be given

and from those who lack even more will be taken

My mother said: Take some more milk before it turns

My mother said: Wouldn’t it be strange to feel

a single night like this one

my language in your mouth

My father said: One spoonful for the executioners

one spoonful for the emancipators

one spoonful for the hungry masses

And one spoonful for me

My mother handed the glass to her mother and said: Now we are even

Here is the milk back

My grandmother said: Your mother descends from the rising sun

She was named after the flower bud since she was born in spring

Your mother named you after a warrior to prepare you for winter

My grandmother said: During spring in Marghacho mint grew along the streams

Does the poem you are writing reveal any of this

My grandmother said: You snot-nosed little mutt

Come here and I’ll take your measurements and knit you a wool sweater

My mother said: If we meet again we will not let on that we knew each other

when you were hungry and it was I who carried the milk

My brother said: Black milk of dawn, we drink you at night

The past is an assault never to be completed

My mother said: Write like this

For my opportunities my mother sacrificed everything

I must be worthy of her

everything I write will be true

My grandmother said: Write like this

Mothers and languages resemble each other

in that they incessantly lie about everything

My mother said: All families have their stories

but for them to emerge requires someone

with a particular will to disfigure

My mother said: You distort the injury with your unfortunate lie

There is a muteness that cannot be translated

My brother said: There is always something imperfect that remains inescapable

There is always something incomplete missing

My mother said: Your family will never recover from the lie that binds

My father said: Your family will never return to the rooftops when it cools down

My brother said: Your family will never be resurrected like roses after a fire

My grandmother said: There is a time for everything under the sun

time to return to the rooftops when it cools down

My grandmother said: Pistachios for the toothless

rosaries for the godless

rugs for the homeless

and a mother for you

My father said: Jobs for the jobless

wages for the wageless

papers for the paperless

and a father for you

My brother said: Cables for the wireless

organs for the bodyless

transfusions for the heartless

and a brother for you

My mother said: Oxygen for the lifeless

vitamins for the listless

prostheses for the limbless

and a language for you

My mother said: I will reclaim what belongs to me

You will meet death robbed of language

Speechless you came, speechless you will return

My father said: I wrote of bread and justice

and as long as the starving could read

the font did not matter to me

My father said: The serif pricks my fingers

My father said: How much resistance can human fat bear

before the lashes of the whip become permanent

My father said: If you forget the alphabet

you will find it on my back

My father said: Only when you forgive the one who has turned you in

will you know the meaning of violence

My father said: There were those who were executed at dawn before sleep had cleared

My mother said: There were those who had to pay for the bullets

to bury their daughters

My mother said: Into what victor’s night did this victory throw us

My father said: Your uncle was there on a crackling phone line

Your uncle refined his metaphors with every lash of the whip

My brother said: Do not bury me here

Bury me where the lashes of the whip are virtual

My uncle said: You will forget everything

except memory, which you will always remember

I remember that before the war the soldier chewed with my teeth

The agitator screamed with my throat

My uncle said: For my sloping shoulders

for my constant smile

For this pile of rocks that was once my house

My uncle said: Is there a puddle where war has not washed its bloody hands

My uncle said: There were those who were executed at every sunrise

There were those who remained and saw the sentences carried out

My mother said: Why do they invoke god from the rooftops

Have they forgotten it was god who held the whip

when their mothers were tortured

Ph Khashayar Naderehvandi

Athena Farrokhzad 

(Teherán, Irán, 1983)

Reside en Estocolmo, Suecia

POETA/TRADUCTORA/CRÍTICA LITERARIA/DRAMATURGA/

DOCENTE DE ESCRITURA CREATIVA

de Vitsvit, Editorial Bonniers, 2013

Lectura recomendada por la poeta Erika Martínez

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