1st - 7th October 2012



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Estíbaliz Espinosa

Estibaliz Espinosa

Estíbaliz Espinosa [A Coruña, 1974] Vivisection

Writer.
Musician.

Poetry books: papel a punto de [2011], Zoommm. Textos biónicos [2007], -orama [2002], Pan (libro de ler e desler) [Esquío Prize 1999], número e [Espiral Maior Prize, 2001]. Some anthologies and collective projects as Mujeres de carne y verso, Libro del voyeur, May the force be with you She has arranged Just paint a bison in the cave, please, talkswith several digital artists and bloggers.

She also writes the galician blog ...mmmm... [www.estibalizes.wordpress.com] and keeps fond of links between science and literature.

As a sociologist and a philologist, she teaches at a Publicity school.


 

/proceso a carne humana/
zombie lyrics

Mima a túa intimidade, humano. Que vimos.
Turbas dispostas a examinar a túa crudité en carne -viva
demasiado viva- a declamar "cerebro!" todos a un tempo
humano
cun candil ata esas túas
catacumbas do teu cranio
a reiniciarte mil e unha veces -pero qué
ti logo qué crías-
coas súas noites todas dos seus días
que vimos moi, moi dispostos.

/Calade un pouco. Estades máis bos
caladiños/

Pero que crías que era isto. Mira onde queiras:
un exército armado de poetas
un universo clonado nun multiverso
do que, francamente, querida, non quero lembrarme.
Redeiras nos peiraos da túa memoria descárganse agora
a túa infancia.
Downloading, a túa infancia.

Ricas. Saborosas as infancias. Ñam. Qué adictos que somos.
Oh, perdoade a carne que nos col
ga
en cabal
ga
da en versos vellísimos. Podres de nós!
Non podemos evitalo: prestádesnos tanto:
así, de perfil e arrepío e canto
así, entre radioactivos e pitagóricos
así, sexys, si, melancólicos, tamén
/tan lendo tan lenda tan lidos
coa vosa cara de póker sobre unha chea de ósos/
Humanos, ai, humanos.

Xa estamos aquí para. Xa viñemos.

Sorbetes de miolos que estremecen de tolemia. Ai, silicios!
Estades fodida
mente
bos.



/ trial to human flesh/
zombie lyrics

Relish your privacy, human. Because we're coming.
Crowds ready to examine your raw flesh - your
too raw flesh - ready all at once to shout "brain!"
human,
with an oil lamp we'll light
the catacombs of your skull
we'll restart you a thousand and one times - what else
did you expect -
exposing your nights and days
we're all too ready, we're coming.

/Shut up a bit. You look better
when you're quiet/

But what did you think this was. Take a look around you:
an army of poets
a universe cloned in a multiverse
whose name, frankly, my dear, I'd rather not remember.
Net-menders at the your memory docks are now downloading
your childhood.
Downloading, your childhood.

Rich. Delicious, childhood. Yum. How addicted we are.
Oh, forgive us this sag
ing flesh en
jam
bed
in such ancient lines. Poor rotten old us!
We can't help it: we like you so much:
like that, in profile and in dread and on edge
like this, between radioactive and pythagorean
like that, sexy, yes, melancholy, that's right
/as if reading as if being read
with your poker face on a pile of bones/
human, there, you human.

We are already here. We've arrived.

Brain sorbets shuddering with madness. Ah, silicons!
You lot, you're completely fucked up.

2011
Pseudo-translated by E...E Río


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