The Man Who Loves Me by Gioconda Belli

[moldybetamax.livejournal.com]

The Man Who Loves Me by Gioconda Belli

The man who loves me should know how to part curtains
of flesh
Fathom my eye’s depths
And know that in me nestles
A tender, transparent swallow.

The man who loves me
Will not covet me like a commodity
Nor exhibit me like a sportsman’s trophy
He will stand by me
Loving me just as I love and stand by him.

The man who loves me
Will be strong as the ceibo trees
Solid and sheltering as they are,
Clear as a December morning.

The man who loves me
Will not distrust my smile
Nor fear my hair’s profusion.
He will respect sorrow, silence.
And with caresses, he will play upon my stomach,
As on a guitar, making pleasure issue from
my body’s recesses.

The man who loves me
Will discover I can be
A hammock on which to rest his burdens and cares.
A friend with whom to share intimate secrets.
A lake on which to float,
Without fear that the anchor of his commitment
Will prevent flight
Should it occur to him to be a bird.

The man who loves me
Will make poetry of his life
Structuring each day
With his gaze set on the future

But above all else
The man who loves me must love people
Not as some abstract category
Mentioned carelessly
But as something real, concrete
To whom one show devotion through actions
Giving up one’s life if required.

The man who loves me
Will recognize my face in the midst of a battle
And with knee bent to the earth,
he will love me
As the two of us fire together at the enemy.

My man in love
Will not fear giving himself
Nor fear finding himself magically smitten.
In a plaza filled with great crowds,
He will be able to shout “I Love You”
Or make extravagant announcements on top of buildings
Proclaiming his right to feel
The most beautiful and human emotion.

My man in love
Will not flee kitchens
Nor the diapers of our child
His love will be like a refreshing breeze
Carrying away among mists of dream and the past
Weakness that, for centuries kept us divided,
As beings of different worth.

My man in love
Will not want to stereotype and standardize me
He will give me air, space
Nourishment to grow and improve
Like a REVOLUTION
Which makes each new day
The beginning of a NEW VICTORY.

***

Reglas de juego para los hombres que quieran amar a mujeres mujeres

I
El hombre que me ame
deberá saber descorrer las cortinas de la piel,
encontrar la profundidad de mis ojos
y conocer lo que anida en mí,
la golondrina transparente de la ternura.

II
El hombre que me ame
no querrá poseerme como una mercancía,
ni exhibirme como un trofeo de caza,
sabrá estar a mi lado
con el mismo amor
conque yo estaré al lado suyo.

III
El amor del hombre que me ame
será fuerte como los árboles de ceibo,
protector y seguro como ellos,
limpio como una mañana de diciembre.

IV
El hombre que me ame
no dudará de mi sonrisa
ni temerá la abundancia de mi pelo,
respetará la tristeza, el silencio
y con caricias tocará mi vientre como guitarra
para que brote música y alegría
desde el fondo de mi cuerpo.

V
El hombre que me ame
podrá encontrar en mí
la hamaca donde descansar
el pesado fardo de sus preocupaciones,
la amiga con quien compartir sus íntimos secretos,
el lago donde flotar
sin miedo de que el ancla del compromiso
le impida volar cuando se le ocurra ser pájaro.

VI
El hombre que me ame
hará poesía con su vida,
construyendo cada día
con la mirada puesta en el futuro.

VII
Por sobre todas las cosas,
el hombre que me ame
deberá amar al pueblo
no como una abstracta palabra
sacada de la manga,
sino como algo real, concreto,
ante quien rendir homenaje con acciones
y dar la vida si es necesario.

VIII
El hombre que me ame
reconocerá mi rostro en la trinchera
rodilla en tierra me amará
mientras los dos disparamos juntos
contra el enemigo.

IX
El amor de mi hombre
no conocerá el miedo a la entrega,
ni temerá descubrirse ante la magia del enamoramiento
en una plaza llena de multitudes.
Podrá gritar -te quiero-
o hacer rótulos en lo alto de los edificios
proclamando su derecho a sentir
el más hermoso y humano de los sentimientos.

X
El amor de mi hombre
no le huirá a las cocinas,
ni a los pañales del hijo,
será como un viento fresco
llevándose entre nubes de sueño y de pasado,
las debilidades que, por siglos, nos mantuvieron separados
como seres de distinta estatura.

XI
El amor de mi hombre
no querrá rotularme y etiquetarme,
me dará aire, espacio,
alimento para crecer y ser mejor,
como una Revolución
que hace de cada día
el comienzo de una nueva victoria.

Comments

this is a rather wonderful share

[mirmusing.livejournal.com]

Thank you for taking the time. M

[browngirl.livejournal.com]

Oh, this is gorgeous!

[scribbled-mess.livejournal.com]

"...the anchor of his commitment..." Lordy, this poem is clunky in places! I see it's a translation so I shouldn't be too harsh. ty for posting.

[moldybetamax.livejournal.com]

I actually agree. I read a part of this poem translated in another language; but since majority of this community use English to communicate, I simply looked for the English translation. I was hoping someone would translate this poem better. :)

[scribbled-mess.livejournal.com]

yeah, the translation doesn't quite do it justice, does it? Hopefully, there's a better version knocking around somewhere. It's got the bare bones of a good poem though and I appreciate you posting it in its original language.