Ales Stenar by Ángela García

I dreamt of sea water
roaring under the gorge.

Up there on the esplanade,
the same flock of stones
lulls century after century,
its windy entrails
in a consonantless language.

I knew I was in the place lodging
the endless succession
of those who come to assemble
and always depart again.

Stones or bones driven into the ground
survey the night inside.
Constantly alert
aligned in oval shapes like attentive eyes,
they survey the night above.

They breathe remotely,
The springtime moss
has softened the brown hardness.
However, the sun at dusk
gives them a silex sharpness.

Legend wants them funereal
but they are the fruit of durable things.
They do their dervish dance
on the obstinacy of grass.
What seems meek in them
is really a savage war against the ephemeral.


Date: 2005 (original); 2008 (translation)

By: Ángela García (1957- )

Translated by: Nicolás Suescún (1937- )

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