Three Poems - Sergio Gorostiaga
    translated from the Spanish by Nolan Perla-Ward


Sergio Gorostiaga is an Argentine journalist, writer, educator, and organizer. He fled Argentina as a teenager in 1978 after the military dictatorship kidnapped his brother, Pablo. Living in exile, he worked as a street vendor in Spain for many years before working as a journalist. These three poems were published in his 2001 full length La Demora published by the historic Argentine press “Libros de Tierra Firme.” To read in the original spanish, click here. 




there are days i dont know what to expect

it seems strange but there are days that i feel myself

and i think to myself and i don’t know what im waiting for

it doesnt happen often but i admit there are days

that i go out on the street and look at my feet

to confirm that i carry a head         

i search for a sign even in things i know by memory

like our father i do not pray

almost every night im taken by the illusion 

of a word i look after like a promise of love

but i confess there are days in which i open

the door to my house and everything is

so apparent that i don’t know



                                                         

to pablo


the forecast said partially humid and cloudy

moderate light winds from the southwest

a high of twelve degrees and a low of eight

and the horoscope read verbatim

likely proposal of a short trip, think about it

the thirty first of july, one thousand nine hundred seventy six

it was 20 years ago that according to tango

some of these things are nothing

they were destined to you each day, we don’t forget

nor forgive, you are always remembered by your mother

sergio and claudia






to gabriel celaya


that i left various pages in blank

and loved the idea of living

many dreams stayed

hung on this pillow and this grey hanger

i turned off lights that should have stayed lit

i arrived early where i should have arrived late

and one day in july it got lost with me

that some pasts will never return

i deserted battles that weren’t lost

i busied myself with the earth below my feet 

and felt in my eyes the absence of things



Nolan Perla-Ward is a painter and writer based in New York City. He is the co-editor of the online journal of Amygdala Books.