Pass by, pass by
the other side of the mirror
is wide enough
and let me,
let me sing
these marvelous things
this writing the daughter
of the games of those parents
who thought nobody would see
them playing doctor all night,
of striptease and transparent panties,
the deliciously scratchy nylon,
caustic god hatred,
magazine covers
heaped with melons and apples
shouting from the kiosk like sluts,
like wild mushroom witches,
that sex isn’t a sin or a demon,
that pleasure is good for us,
and feels good,
and that to feel it all we need
is to know what we have
between our legs.
Many years have passed
and even more porn flicks
to soothe fires and battles
before our thirsty eyes
now we want everything
but, please, explain one thing
what will happen now
if I write big tits,
golden rain,
cunt, stiff morning dick,
pussy, cock, flagellation,
would you look at me as though you should
scrub my tongue
with rude girl soap?
Nena maleducada (‘Morbo’, Roser Amills, Cossetània, 2012)
Passeu, passeu que l’altra banda del mirall
és prou ampla
i deixeu, deixeu que canti meravelles
aquesta escriptura filla dels jocs dels pares
que pensaven
que ningú els veia jugar a metges a la nit,
del destape, de les calces transparents
de nylon que raspa esplendorós
sa càustica irreligiositat
i de les revistes amb portades
plenes de pomes i melons
que cridaven des del quiosc com verdulaires
fascinadores de bolets
que el sexe ja no és pecat ni cuca-fera,
que el plaer ens fa bé,
ens fa molt bé
i per sentir-ho només cal saber
allò que tenim entre les cames.
Han passat molts anys i moltes pel·lícules porno
per apaivagar ardors i batalles
davant dels nostres ulls assedegats d’ençà
i ja ho sabem tot, ho volem tot,
però que algú m’expliqui, si us plau,
què us passa ara que si escric mugró,
pluja daurada,
cony, trempera, parrús, cigala, pelar-se-la
em mireu com si m’hagués de rentar la llengua
amb el sabó de les nenes mal educades?
Rude Girl
Pass by, pass by
the other side of the mirror
is wide enough
and let me,
let me sing
these marvelous things
this writing the daughter
of the games of those parents
who thought nobody would see
them playing doctor all night,
of striptease and transparent panties,
the deliciously scratchy nylon,
caustic god hatred,
magazine covers
heaped with melons and apples
shouting from the kiosk like sluts,
like wild mushroom witches,
that sex isn’t a sin or a demon,
that pleasure is good for us,
and feels good,
and that to feel it all we need
is to know what we have
between our legs.
Many years have passed
and even more porn flicks
to soothe fires and battles
before our thirsty eyes
and now we know everything,
now we want everything
but, please, explain one thing
what will happen now
if I write big tits,
golden rain,
cunt, stiff morning dick,
pussy, cock, flagellation,
would you look at me as though you should
scrub my tongue
with rude girl soap?
by Roser Amills (from Morbo)
translated by Edward Smallfield
Woman
And I consider my usual obsessions
in front of the laptop and say
it’s a fact that I’m woman skin,
that my foot slips as it finds
the end of my leg,
a hole that rigorously complies
with unnecessary phases: angst,
the need to drown myself in chocolate,
to empty myself of blood and tears.
I have mammary glands,
a clitoris, a vagina and two ovaries,
that inspire the wish to give birth
that’s supposed to drive everything
between us. Everything.
I also have traces of man,
as I’m often told,
I’m sloppy, rude,
greedy and selfish
to reach the height
of my orgasm
fall asleep right away,
that my fat ass is getting
spongy,
that I’m impulsive.
That I laughed
at a terrible movie,
that my thighs
could strangle you,
that I pant like a puppy
calm under your armpit
and that in spite of
everything you tell me
I don’t scare you.
Not yet.
by Roser Amills (from Morbo)
translated by Edward Smallfield
Don’t Hurry
Settle in and don’t be afraid
of wearing out
between my legs
don’t hurry
you don’t want to come yet
in that drop of horizontal meat
pause at the door
wait for the spasms
angry and rocking
each gesture
whips bushy hair
bite the apple
taste me
while the earth spins
at a velocity that warps
my body
prints moans
in tiny letters
on each tit
lift me
like a glass of champagne
like a balloon full of hydrogen
and now a look or maybe
a smile would be enough
to shatter me.
by Roser Amills (from Morbo)
translated by Edward Smallfield
Bad Business
I went out at dusk
to be a cheap whore, a trashy slut,
and I sat suggestively at the bar
but I didn’t do any business
or make a nickel:
those who came close
could take it all
for free.
by Roser Amills (from Morbo)
translated by Edward Smallfield
Blink
With my eyes closed, I please myself
With my eyes open,
you appreciate every orifice.
That’s why I blink:
to have everything.
by Roser Amills (from Morbo)
translated by Edward Smallfield
