mOthertongue Volume 2 Spring Article 12 Spring 1995 Poesia de la Luz (Poetry of the Light) Batya Weinbaum University of Massachusetts Amherst Follow this and additional works at: http://scholarworks.umass.edu/mot Part of the Fiction Commons, Illustration Commons, Photography Commons, and the Poetry Commons Recommended Citation Weinbaum, Batya (1995) "Poesia de la Luz (Poetry of the Light)," mOthertongue: Vol. 2, Article 12. Available at: http://scholarworks.umass.edu/mot/vol2/iss1/12 This Multilingual Poetry is brought to you for free and open access by ScholarWorks@UMass Amherst. It has been accepted for inclusion in mOthertongue by an authorized administrator of ScholarWorks@UMass Amherst. For more information, please contact [email protected]. Poetry of the Light How happy I am to wake in an empty room A woman and a bed in in Mexico. child on the mountain in their cabin went up to the circus in Tepotzlan. Alone, I breathe in calmness. Nothing, only the crickets sing. You don't have to be an ascetic she told am. but I All day underneath the beams of wood the morning light left the walls pink, me reminding that the nights The round windows opened mountains and cliffs, were mine. to the to the gardens of luxury, and still I dreamt of another time, after meditation. Of Jerusalem, the German and an enormous bread. The Mexicans think that we are strange. They stare deeply. And here I feel calm with nothing but And I me crickets. suddenly, a strange dream comes. spoke of a theory of squared stars, like a cloak of patches. Poesia de Que alegria acostarme la Luz en cama en un cuarto vacio en Mexico. una mujer y una nina en su cabana en la montana fueron al circo en Tepoztlan. Sola respiro con calma nada, sola los grillos suenan. No tienes que ser un asceta me dijo pero lo soy. Todo las el dfa debajo de orquetas de paredes rosadas, deje porque me recordaba la maderas luz prendida noches que eran mfas. las Las ventanas redondas y abiertas a las montanas y acantilados, a los exuberantes jardines y sueno una y otra vez aun despues de meditaciones de Jerusalem, el aleman y un pan enorme, como los mexicanos piensan que somos extranjeros y nos miran Y aquf me somo siento en calma con nada mas que Y de mirones. repente, grillos. un sueno extrano donde hablo sobre una cuadrado de teoria las estrellas como un manto de parches 31 And between are gods. a the colors, of a theory little and I I baby cries and simply played then of stars daddy to the stars Someone taught us round theory where the where the my the class all music. lose myself in a scaffold go upstairs over ashes of gospel hymns. I arrive at the top of the room. After a train passes in the dark, a blond, barefoot who In calls to life, I I turn around and see woman me and directs my was caught and trapped Negev of our life in the of of cooking, the meal and kiosks For one month my life Here cat at bed with a of light shone from the sun. had been no in canyon talking a different meditation, I lie in the —on the edge an embroidery life, on the way. footing fetid dreams. my feet scribbling notes in the night, missing my The companions of the desert in crickets sing. my heart. My young spirit crawls toward Ein Kerem in Jerusalem chased by the cry of the cat. Batya 32 Weinbaum y entre colores una teorfa donde las estrellas son dioses y algun otro que nos ensena una teoria circular de estrellas donde al la bebita Uora papa y todo una clase mi musica toca sencillamente me y entonces pierdo en un andamio y subo una escalera de ceniza de himnos negros a lo alto del cuarto, despues en la religiosos el tren oscuridad volteandome para ver una rubia y descalza que me llama y gufa. a En la vida, estaba atrapada en de la la vida en canon Negev de un brocado de la cocina, la —a bordo luz, platica comida y las puestas de sol por un mes mi vida habfa sido una medicacion diferente, Aqui me recuesto en la garrapateando notas en no suenos fetidos. cama con un gato la a mis pies noche, anorando a mis companeros del desierto en mi corazon. Grillan los grillos. Mi joven espfritu gatea hasta Ein Kerem en Jerusalem ante el gemido del gato. Batya Weinbaum