Excerpt from Six Basque Poets

Photo: Txomin Saez / 141

Kirmen Uribe was born in Ondarroa in 1970 and
belongs to the first generation of writers whose whole
schooling, from kindergarten to university, was con-
ducted entirely in Basque. He holds a degree in Basque
philology and has done postgraduate courses on Literary
Theory and Comparative Literature at the University of
Trento, in Italy. He has translated poems by authors such
as Raymond Carver, Sylvia Plath and Mahmud Darwish
into Basque.

He is more widely known as a poet, but has also writ-
ten books for children. His poems have been translated
into several languages and published in international
magazines such as the American New Yorker, Circumfer-
ence and Open City and the Berlin-based poetry portal
Lyrikline. He has taken part in many international events
in Europe and North America, and has given talks at
universities in New York, Barcelona and Madrid.

He has taken part in many multimedia projects and
made video poems too. In 2003, together with three
Basque musicians and an artist he set in motion the
project Zaharregia, txikiegia agian. Una manera de
mirar. (Too old, too small, maybe) bringing out a CD
and performing in New York, San Francisco, Munich,
Berlin, Barcelona and Ireland.

Uribe has worked in the cinema, and is writing his
first novel.

142 / Six Basque Poets

IBAIA

Garai batean ibaia zen hemen
baldosak eta bankuak dauden tokian.
Dozena bat ibai baino gehiago daude hiriaren azpian,
zaharrenei kasu eginez gero.
Orain langile auzo bateko plaza besterik ez da.
Eta hiru makal dira ibaiak hor
azpian jarraitzen duen seinale bakar.

Denok dugu barruan uhola dakarren ibai estali bat.
Ez badira beldurrak, damuak dira.
Ez badira zalantzak, ezinak.

Mendebaleko haizeak astintzen ditu makalak.
Nekez egiten du oinez jendeak.
Laugarren pisuan emakume nagusi bat
leihotik arropak botatzen ari da:
alkandora beltza bota du eta gona kuadroduna
eta zetazko zapi horia eta galtzerdiak
eta herritik iritsi zen neguko egun hartan
soinean zeramatzan txarolezko zapata zuribeltzak.
Hegabera izoztuak ematen zuten bere oinek elurretan.

Haurrak arropen atzetik joan dira arineketan.
Ezkontzako soinekoa atera du azkenik,
makal batean pausatu da baldar,
txori pisuegi bat balitz bezala.

Zarata handi bat entzun da. Izutu egin dira oinezkoak.
Haizeak errotik atera du makaletako bat.
Zuhaitzaren erroek emakume nagusi baten eskua dirudite,
beste esku batek noiz laztanduko zain.

Kirmen Uribe / 143

THE RIVER

There was a river here once
where the paving stones and the benches are.
More than a dozen rivers flow under the city
they say.
This is now a square in a working class area.
Three poplars the only sign
of the river’s presence underneath.

We all carry a hidden river ready to rise.
With fear or regret.
With doubt or anger.

The westerly wind lashes at the poplars.
People can hardly walk.
On the fourth floor an old woman
throws clothes out of the window:
a black shirt and a chequered skirt,
a yellow silk scarf and a pair of tights
and the two-tone patent leather shoes
she wore the day she arrived in town.
They look like two frozen lapwings on the snow.

Children chase after the floating clothes.
Her wedding dress flies out last
and pauses gracelessly on a poplar branch,
like a bird grown too fat.
A big crash. People shout and run.
The wind has torn a poplar from the ground.
Its roots an upturned hand
that wants to be touched.