Eugenio Montejo (1938-2008) was a well-known Venezuelan poet. One of his poems “La Tierra Giró para Acercarnos” (The Earth Turned to Bring Us Closer) was quoted in the Oscar-nominated film 21 Grams. In our essay in Spanish about Gustavo Núñez-Testa, we used his poem Ítaca (Para un homenaje a C. Cavafy) –Ithaca (by Way of Homage to C. Cavafy).
For the English version of the essay, we looked for a translation into English of this Montejo’s poem. We found that it had been already translated by the Australian poet Peter Boyle. His poem Íthaca appeared in English in the Australian literary magazine HEAT, no. 7 1998; (p. 112-113) and, later, in the book, The Trees: Selected Poems 1967-2004 (Broché), Eugenio Montejo, 2004.
Ítaca, para un homenaje a C. Cavafy de
Eugenio Montero, Poemas selectos, bid &co, 2008
Por esta calle se va a Ítaca
y en su rumor de voces, pasos, sombras,
cualquier hombre es Ulises.
Grabado entre sus piedras se halla el mapa
de esa tierra añorada. Síguelo.
El pájaro que escuchas está cantando en griego;
no lo traduzcas, no va a ahorrarte camino.
Aquellas nubes vienen en su mar, contémplalas;
son más puros los cielos en las islas.
Por esta calle, en cualquier auto,
hacia el norte o el sur se viaja a Ítaca.
Aun sin moverte, como estos árboles,
hoy o mañana llegarás a Ítaca.
Está escrita en la palma de tu mano
como una raya que se ahonda
día tras día.
Aunque te duermas despertarás en Ítaca;
la lluvia de este valle todo lo arrastra
despacio hasta sus puertas.
No tiene otro declive.
Ya puedes anunciarnos tu llegada, buscar hotel,
darle al olvido tu destierro.
Por esta calle no ha cruzado un hombre
que al fin no alcance su paisaje.
Prepara el corazón para el arribo.
Una vez en su reino, muestra tu magia,
será el reto supremo del exilio.
A ese mar no se miente. La furia de sus olas
todo lo hace naufragio. Pero no te amilanes,
Demuéstranos que siempre fuiste Ulises.
TRANSLATION BY PETER BOYLE
ITHACA
by way of homage to C. Cavafy
On this street you go to Ithaca
and in its medley of voices, footsteps, shadows,
every man is Ulysses.
Engraved on its stones you will find
the map of this longed for land.
Follow it.
The bird you hear is singing in Greek;
don’t translate it; it’s not going to shorten your journey.
Those clouds come from its sea; contemplate them—
they are purer than the skies of islands.
On this road, in whatever car,
travelling north or south, you are travelling to Ithaca.
In the eyes of passers by burns its fire.
The speed of their steps betrays exile.
Even without moving, like these trees,
today or tomorrow you will arrive at Ithaca.
It is written in the palm of your hand
like a line that deepens
day after day.
Even though you fall asleep you will awake in Ithaca;
the rain of this valley will slowly strip away
everything right up to the gates of Ithaca.
There is no other slope to the land.
Now you can announce your arrival,
find a hotel, give to oblivion your time of exile.
No man has crossed this street
who has not finally achieved his own landscape.
Make your heart ready for the moment of arrival.
Once in its kingdom, reveal your magic,
it will be the supreme challenge of exile.
On this sea there are no lies. The fury of its waves
overturns all boats. But don’t be scared.
Show to us that you were always Ulysses.
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