My street
This folk poet is full of a dazzling blast of love, and yearning for the homeland, people, their lives, traditions, experiences, the streets, homes, streams, landscapes, and sunsets with the scents and flavors from the region.
00:00:00 - Good evening, tonight I will recite a translated poem taken from the original Mi Calle written by Pedro José Vuelva Sierra, and translated by Tania Castro. From the original book,
00:00:31 - Antología, Poetas de San Juan Nepo Muceno, Reunidos a la Sombra de un Tamarindo.
00:00:40 - My street. I long for the awakening sunrise to open my grandfather's old house gate.
00:00:51 - I ran toward you Ancestral Street, moistened by the morning dew, whole re-street of Guarama, carousel of my childhood, where I ran after a meadow-rim, and share rainstorms with you, that granted me to merge you into my memories.
00:01:19 - I grew up along your walkways, looking at all houses, full of legacies.
00:01:28 - Were you real in colonial times?
00:01:32 - Your trail, as moisturized and scented vain?
00:01:37 - You are kindled as a firepot, surrounded by reflections of memories and hazes, where I lived my dreams.
00:01:49 - You're dyed in cobblestone that hampers us from spinning the weirdly gig.
00:01:58 - Guarumal Street. Marquesa, the dressmaker, is no longer on your venues, nor the Cernestina, the steam corn dog maker, or Eloisa the baker. Neither is Matilde the shopkeeper.
00:02:18 - Only Ramon, as a watchtower guard, looks after you.
