Maria Isern: Flesh dripping and everything igniting

“What I have always been swept along by: the crisis of words and of all fiction that seeks to stabilise our bodies (sexed however they may be). To understand where the boundaries of each thing learned come from. And to see in everything, arrangements: body against body, body in body, which is a way of describing the loss of control and the tensions of a person alone. And that we need. To politicise vulnerability. Through writing too, that saboteur, because no one ever expects it and it makes us burst with the desire to talk. With our mothers and grandmothers. Especially”.

Now the woman, errant bird,
uterine snake,
touched your ceiling of flesh.

Floor down. Sprouting against
the forgiveness of the inside circles
of trunks. Your body grows up drilling

like branches do
captured by the mammal ivy.
And at the bottom of the warm breach of the underground

you won't know how to knot the organs
that made you vertical. You'll let
eat away your skin until taking

the hunchbacked shape of a root
hot and dispersed as the liquids
that made out the egg. 


Translation by the author

ZOBEIDE

The night is glancing more than ever
with all that neons poking you
the braids. From the highest
altar, you make laugh of the streets
obstinated in chasing you
your/ the sponge steps
and long hair. You comb yourself
in their image and likeness
believing that with all that
you've chosen the tenderness
of your hairless
existence.


Translation by the author 

FIRE

So many fingers drunk of cinetism
So many fingers confused squeezing
opening their pores
with others bursting
uncountable.

So many fingers copulating with breasts
arms and trees
without having touched them ever.

Flesh dripping and everything igniting
with the noises
of the brush. And you magmatic
never watching your body down.


Translation by the author