Poetry

They are not heavenly voices speaking to us
from deep in the distance. They are well-loved voices,
inner voices, faraway voices, voices that signal
a path no one knows where it leads.

There are voices that are lamps on unlit streets;
as those are that sound like remote rustling.
There are voices that have made us become words.
Soft voices, absent voices, silent voices. . .

Poetry is voices turned into sounds saying
where we come from, where we’re headed, who we are.

Josep Piera, Spain, 1947-2026

Translated by D. Sam Abrams

from: “En el nom de la mar”. ©Edicions 62