All Whitman Laureates at Círculo de Poesía
The Walt Whitman Award 1986
Today at Círculo de Poesía: Chris Llewellyn. She is a poet graduated from Warren Wilson College. She won in 1986 the Walt Whitman Award. Some of her books are: Valentines Praise, Mirror-Writing (2008), The Avian Muses (1990) and Fragments from the Fire: the Triangle Shirtwaist Company fire of March 25, 1911 (Walt Whitman Award 1986).
Spanish version by Adalberto García López
Presentamos la poesía de Chris Llewellyn. Graduada del Warren Wilson College. Ganadora del premio Walt Whitman de 1986 por su libro: Fragments from the Fire: the Triangle Shirtwaist Company fire of March 25, 1911. Entre sus libros de poesía están: Valentines Praise, Mirror-Writing (2008) y The Avian Muses (1990), entre otros. La versión al español es de Adalberto García López.
Fragments from fire
It was Spring. It was Saturday.
Payday. For some it was Sabbath.
Soon it will be Easter. It was
approaching April, nearing Passover.
It was close to closing time.
The heads of trees budding
in Washington Square Park.
The sun a hot flywheel spinning
the earth’s axle. The days long
enough for leaving in light.
It was Spring.
American’s sweethearts—the ladies—
stroll in shirtwaists of lawn and lace,
mimic Charles Dana Gibson’s Girls.
They pose in finery cut from bolts of
flimsy and stitched by garment girls
on Gibbs, Wilcox, and Singer machines.
It was Saturday.
Up in the Asch Building
in the Triangle Shirtwaist Company
Rosie Glantz is singing “Every Little
Movement Has a Meaning of Its Own.”
Fixing hair, arranging puffs and tendrils,
the other girls in the cloakroom join in:
“Let me call you Sweetheart,
I’m in love with you.”
It was Payday.
Attar-of-roses, lily of the valley,
still they smell of machine oil
that soaks the motors and floors.
The barrel in each stairwell
could fill a thousand lamps.
For some it was Sabbath.
Here at Triangle, Sophie Salemi
and Della Costello sew on Singers.
Neighbors from Cherry Street,
they piecework facing each other,
the oil pan hitting their knees.
Tomorrow sisters will nail flowers
on tenement doors.
Soon it will be Easter.
The machine heads connected by belts
to the flywheel to rotating axle
sing the Tarantella. Faster,
faster vibrate the needles, humming
faster the fashionable dance.
It was approaching April.
Fragmentos del fuego
(fragmento)
Era primavera. Era sábado.
Día de pago. Para algunos era Sabbat.
Pronto será Pascua. Estaba
Acercándose abril, pronto Pésaj.
Estaba cerca la hora de cierre.
Las copas de los árboles en ciernes
En el parque Washington Square.
El sol es un volante caliente girando
En el eje de la tierra. Los días duran
Lo suficiente para dejarlo en la luz.
Era primavera.
Dulces corazones americanos –las señoritas-
Pasean en blusas de césped y de encaje,
Imitando a las chicas de Charles Dana Gibson.
Ellas posan en cortes de gala de piezas de
Ligeras y cosidas prendas de damas
En Gibbs, Wilcox y máquinas Singers.
Era sábado.
En el edificio Asch
En la Triangle Shirtwaist Company,
Rosie Glantz está cantando “Every Little
Movement Has A Meaning Of Its Own”.
Peinándose, colocándose maquillaje y rizos
Las otras chicas en el guardarropa se unen:
“Let me call you Sweetheart,
I’m in love with you”
Era día de pago.
Esencia de rosas, lirio de los valles,
Todavía huelen a aceite de máquina
Que empapa los motores y los suelos.
El barril en cada escalera
Podría llenar mil lámparas.
Para algunos era Sabbat.
Aquí en Triangle, Sophie Salemi
Y Della Costello cosen en Singers.
Vecinos de la calle Cherry
Trabajan a destajo viéndose unos a otros,
El aceite en la bandeja golpea sus rodillas.
Mañana las hermanas clavarán flores
En las puertas del vecindario.
Pronto será Pésaj.
