Bidaia barea – Viaje silente
Miren Agur Meabe

 

Still Lifes
We are not lacking bread, wine, nor fruits.
When birds whisper:
“Behind the window there are boys like snowmen”
The ear has the right word.

Castilian Towns
The brush’s hair tears
Tiles, wall, arcades, bell towers.
Towns at midday, skin and bone
Dust from the trip on the feet

Trickles
Sand fatigue:
The back answers the nails.
We ask the water and wait
Until a paper boat rescues us.

Scratches
These scratches speak of your nature,
We decipher the message of rusty fabrics
The relationship that bonds its mineral rivers,
Our grayish plasma is recognized.

 

 

Snowy Mountain Peaks
The vague pain of the ridges
In these limestone teeth like petals,
Horror at the edge,
A business card for the ice of the world.

Mountains
At the end of the path threatened
By shadows,
The new territory.
Winter pinches the rocks.
Those who walk support the air with their shoulders.

 

 

Coast
If the sea inspires
If the day like an eye’s emphasis
If the night like a lip’s accent
If the sea is part of the work.

Skies
Cloud horns, sky posters.
Everything is not nothing. Nothing is everything.
Steam eyelids, saliva of lights.
Navels seek far away blues.

 

 

Forests of Colors
Branches drink fog
The sun’s dribble takes us outside.
The landscape wakes up, widening.
Nests are born in yawns

Snow Covered Forest
Snow time comes
The angel of hours sends us a wink
A key slides down the chest:
The roots cry.

Waves
The wise concept of the wave:
Without identity, without code, without signature.
The letter of the arms, water torches
between storm and calm, wax steps.

Horizon
Entering with the trembling of the eyelid.
Breathing the seed of the days.
Watching the wrinkles:
What is far away contains the marrow of the loved place.

 

Exhibition Catalogue. Gonzalo Chillida, Sala Ganbara, Koldo Mitxelena Kulturunea, Donostia-San Sebastián 2013.