Jo Westren: La poetisa fue una enfermera / The poet was a nurse

Autumn Leaves_Toronto_November 6th 2015

Jo Westren (1914 – ?)
Refugio breve
.
Tú, viniste de las armas, y yo vine de cuidar a los heridos
– y hicimos el amor en una posada.
Crepúsculo profundo, y dentro del cuarto estrecho
estuvimos liberados de guerra y del temor de nuestro miedo.
Hicimos de nuestros miembros lisos un amor dulce
– un refugio para cada uno, sí, el uno por el otro.
En la taberna vacía pues tomamos vino fresco
y yo cantaba mientras tú rasgueabas el piano.
Cuando Tiempo se movió de nosotros y tuvimos que irnos,
hicimos acercarse nuestros vasos en la mesa simple
– y sus sombras se unieron.
Mira, dijimos, se pararán juntos, aquí, cuando hemos partido.
Imágenes de nosotros y testigos por nuestro amor.
Mientras nos fuimos me sonreíste, levantando el pestillo
– pues vinieron las bombas…

. . .
Jo Westren (1914 – ?)
Brief Sanctuary
.
You from the guns
and I from tending,
made love at an inn;
deep-dusked
in a narrow room
were freed from war,
from fear of our fear,
made of our smooth limbs
our sweet love
sanctuary
each for the other.
In the empty saloon
drank then cool wine
and sang as you
strummed the piano.
When time moved from us
and we must go,
we drew our glasses close
on the bare table,
their shadows one.
Look, we said,
they will stand here
together
when we have gone,
images of ourselves,
witnesses to our love.
As we left
you smiled at me
lifting the latch,
then the bombs came…

Autumn Leaves 2_Toronto_November 6th 2015
Detrás de los biombos
.
Meticulosamente
vendo tu herida
aunque yo sé que
no puedes continuar vivir.
Con diez ríos ligeros
de las yemas de mis dedos
chorrea la compasión
a tu cuerpo pálido
– que está tan lastimado que solo queda como el custodio de tu ser.
Detrás de los biombos,
Soldado,
nosotros – estos dos –
estamos empapados
en una paz más profunda que
lo que puede darnos la Vida.
Tú, con ojos cerrados,
y yo, moviendo silenciosamente,
casi como te despiertes…
Y todos mis sentidos están conscientes
de un hecho:
tu otro ser está aquí,
esperando a iniciar
la vida sin fin.
. . .
Behind the Screens
.
Meticulously
I dress your wound
knowing you cannot live.
In ten swift rivers
from my finger-tips
compassion runs
into your pale body
that is so hurt
it is no more
than the keeper
of your being.
Behind these screens,
soldier,
we two are steeped
in a peace deeper
than life gives,
you with closed eyes
and I moving quietly
as though you could wake,
all my senses aware
that your other self
is here,
waiting to begin
life without end.
. . .
Jo Westren, born in Essex, England, in 1914, was a nurse who was also an amateur poet.
These two lovely poems are as good as any composed by a seasoned literary professional.
During World War II, Jo served as a nurse at Colchester Military Hospital.
. . .
Jo Westren fue una enfermera durante la Segunda Guerra Mundial, y trabajó al Hospital Militar de Colchester en Inglaterra.
.     .     .     .     .


Jo Westren: the Poet was a Nurse

ZP_Toronto sculptor Florence Wyle's memorial to Nurse Edith Cavell 1865 to 1915ZP_Toronto sculptor Florence Wyle’s memorial to Nurse Edith Cavell (1865-1915)

.

Brief Sanctuary

.

You from the guns

and I from tending,

made love at an inn;

deep-dusked

in a narrow room

were freed from war,

from fear of our fear,

made of our smooth limbs

our sweet love

sanctuary

each for the other.

In the empty saloon

drank then cool wine

and sang as you

strummed the piano.

When time moved from us

and we must go,

we drew our glasses close

on the bare table,

their shadows one.

Look, we said,

they will stand here

together

when we have gone,

images of ourselves,

witnesses to our love.

As we left

you smiled at me

lifting the latch,

then the bombs came…

 

*

 

Behind the Screens

.

Meticulously

I dress your wound

knowing you cannot live.

In ten swift rivers

from my finger-tips

compassion runs

into your pale body

that is so hurt

it is no more

than the keeper

of your being.

Behind these screens,

soldier,

we two are steeped

in a peace deeper

than life gives,

you with closed eyes

and I moving quietly

as though you could wake,

all my senses aware

that your other self

is here,

waiting to begin

life without end.

 

 

.     .     .

Jo Westren, the author of these exquisite poems,

was born in Essex, England, in 1914.

During World War II, she served as a nurse at Colchester Military Hospital.

.     .     .     .     .