Lorena Curruhinca

In the video for “Close to You,”
Karen Carpenter is sitting
on a giant U
her legs floating and
her head moving.
All her gestures are delicate;
sometimes I wish I could have that image of myself:
a scene easy to recreate,
a tender voice saying things
like a gained revelation.

from “A girl of river”

(Colectivo Semilla, 2012)

X-Men

Nong Youhui has eyes that are blue, blue.
They call him cat-boy, because he sees in the dark
and his eyes shine.
Nong can hunt crickets
without needing a flashlight.
Some doctors locked him in a room without light
gave him cards and one by one he indicated which ones they were.

Will the glow he emits be like the bioluminescence
of fireflies
or like that of abyssal fish? Will it serve as a mating
signal or could he use it as bait?

How are you going to read mutant comic books with a flashlight,
covered with sheets of those same evolved beings
if you’re already one of them?
Do your pupils narrow vertically, Nong?
Will you see insects, pets, relatives with infrared vision?
Will you be able to guide us according to the heat our bodies emit
toward similar ones?
A teacher told us that in thousands of years
our hair will fall out and we won’t have pinky fingers anymore
in an evolutionary leap. Surely he didn’t calculate that someone
would see where no one can, perhaps without fearing.
My children, then, could they develop interdigital membranes
like frogs or ducks? They’ll want to be like Aquaman, or like Nong,
have unusual adaptations, swim at a greater speed,
endure higher water pressure or will they be afraid of being called
by names that reverence their traits and never being able to get away
from having eyes that are blue blue
and from the world not being ready yet to stop fearing the
darkness.

I want a poem that has the intention of touch,
of bringing materials close but that in the writing turns into friction between.
An attempt could be:

what of those wings
what wings in the sky
of the rain
no flow at all
what force hits the wings
observe the fan space
of the birds
an air space
air where there is no water
what of those wings
don’t look
an impassive force rain
oh of those wings making a fan
clear liquid they hit
a little breeze wind they leave us
I love Instagram stories
especially those of girls
exposing their half-naked bodies
just for once for themselves or for a few people
who for twenty-four hours witness that playful desire
a bit staged, sure, but now I see you and I don’t care
so much about the color of your bra’s lace but
all the prep time that so repeated framing
but who doesn’t know we learn to desire by copying
the fun of it is this erotic capital managing itself
let someone else get restrictive
as for me tell me what song was playing
when you tilted your head so a lock of hair covers half your face
and the person you like imagines running with clumsy fingers
to be able to look at you and then kiss you
I love Instagram stories
especially those so careful they reveal little lines little dimples moles
don’t ever let anyone reply to you with a predictive heart
know that here we are watching you not with amorous longing anymore
but seeing what that accumulation of half-naked selfies proposes
what image of the world are those bodies happy for twenty-four hours

Lorena Curruhinca was born in Viedma, Carmen de Patagones. She lives in Bahía Blanca. She works as a high school teacher.
She has contributed to magazines and websites (such as Op. cit and Revista Ardea) and to several literary anthologies including Cavar galerías (Fiú ediciones, 2014), Martes Verde Edición Federal (#poetasporelderechoalabortolegal, 2020), Pasajeras esas nubes, 7 poetas bonaerenses (Ediciones Bonaerenses, 2022; compiled by Roberta Iannamico), and Cuánto dura un temporal (elijo leer and HD ediciones, 2024).
Together with Gerónimo Unibaso, she edited Esto no es una revista literaria, co-directs the publishing house Colectivo Semilla, and organizes the Feria de editoriales autogestionadas de Bahía Blanca.
She has published the books Una chica de río, Nota para un caballo atropellado antes de llegar a Ing. White, En la cuadra de mi casa hay un limonero en la vereda (Colectivo Semilla, 2012, 2023, and 2025), and Leer al sol (Editorial Arveja, 2025). She leads the reading and writing workshop Explorando lo posible.

Yu Jian

When autumn wind rises I want to go to India
buy a bag of ground pepper
and some Varanasi brocade
I’ll carry them home in a single sack
like that Chang’an man who sought scriptures
These things came over mountains by caravan centuries ago
laid out in Kunming’s marketplaces wind rises
everything sold well
Grandmother liked it Uncle liked it
Mother liked it Father liked it too
Xuanzang liked it Judas also liked it
you always shake a spoonful over your beef noodles
I know where they are
that year in Delhi the Moonlight Bazaar across from the Red Fort
(Chandni Chowk three hundred years ago
assembled by Shah Jahan of the Mughal Empire
packed solid day after day the scent of curry shops
made me cough the whole way) wind rises
pepper became black gold
gold became pungent spice
those cross-legged small vendors selling pepper powder
each one looked like an ascetic
mothers selling cloth they’d woven in summer
their fingers aged Gandhi stood in the crowd
like a beggar among them a cow stood in the crowd
like an emperor
I know pepper originated on the Malabar Coast
(I went there for a poetry festival
and ran into a pepper tree after the session)
it’s been on tables for four thousand years
wind rises the world changes by the day
now visas are too hard to get
the clerk adds new clauses
must notarize whether this camel has a criminal record
what its deceased parents did for a living
how much money it has saved
why there’s so much sand in its shoe-cavities
not like before
India trusted every pair of feet
wind rises when wanderers crossed the earth to arrive
they were given a bowl of water
I don’t want to be presumed a thief
(pepper grows in Yunnan too)
the hungry can give up on India
(there are plenty of substitutes)
Ah my little flaw
I always trust the origin
that habit passed down from the Tang monk
half-skeptical of reproduction
wind rises those happy people of old
walked barefoot through the pepper desert
their feet were fragrant

—

A few translation notes:

· “长安人” (Chang’an man) – refers to Xuanzang, the Tang dynasty monk who traveled to India for Buddhist scriptures
· “玄奘” (Xuanzang) – left as pinyin; the famous pilgrim
· “沙贾汗” (Shah Jahan) – Mughal emperor who built the Taj Mahal; he originally laid out Chandni Chowk
· “甘地” (Gandhi) – left as Gandhi
· “牛肉面” (beef noodles) – the original says “吃面” (eating noodles), but in the revised version you gave it’s “吃牛肉面” (eating beef noodles)
· “鞋腔” (shoe-cavities) – an unusual but vivid compound, kept literally