Siomara España Muñoz ( Ecuador)
Born in Ecuador (1976)
Poet and teacher of literature, aesthetics, and literary criticism at the university of Arts; Master in literary and artistic studies of culture. Ph.D. student, Universidad Autónoma of Madrid. She won the first place at Floral Game from: Casa de la Cultura Ambato, Ecuador 2012; First place of poesy at “University of Guayaquil” 2008; Finalist in the competition for stories, “Jorge Luis Borges”, Argentina 2008
He has published books:
“Concupiscencia”; “Alivio demente”; “De cara al fuego ”; “Contraluz”; “El regreso de lolita”; “Jardines en el aire”; “Construcción de los sombreros encarnados, música para una muerte inversa”; “Celebración de la memoria”.
HER WORK HAS BEEN OBJECT OF IMPORTANT STUDIES AND TRANSLATIONS AS: Poetry Wales – New Poetry From Latin America, Four Latin American poets / (Wendy Guerra, Andrés Neuman, Siomara España y Jorge Fondebrider ) Study and translations of the poet Richard Gwyn.
Great River Review, Number 57. Minnesota EE.UU.
The Evansville Review Volume XXII, University of Evansville, Indiana EE.UU.
She has been included in multiplies anthologies from Ecuador, Bolivia, Perú, Mexico, Chile, Argentina, Cuba, Spain, USA, Colombia, France.
In 2016 the Hafa publishing house in Alexandria Published her book Jardines en el aire, study and translation of Mohamed Othman, professor at the University of Helwan, Cairo.
A piece of her work has been translated to english, arabic, portuguese, japanese and French.
THE RETURN OF LOLITA
(del libro, The Return of Lolita 2015/translated by Richard Gwin)
I am Lolita.
So the wolves from the steppe
tear my braids
with their teeth
and toss me
chewy cyanide sweets.
I intuited my name that day
down at the harbour
with the people from the shipwreck.
Do you remember?
And that battle
I know I’m Lolita
I knew it when he offered up
his hands lacerated with writing me.
That is why
when you appeared pleading
telling me your fears
I let you touch me
bite my arms and knees
I let you mutilate Charlotte’s fears
between my legs.
I knew that your old sword
would cut my veins one by one
and my pupils
and a hundred times over
I mocked your ageing child’s stupidity
crying on my belly
and when all the shipwrecked of the world
came back to my harbour
to offer me gifts
that I paid for with colostrum and flesh
you leapt across my shadow
as I fled
as I danced.
That’s why I’m Lolita
nymphet of motels and anagrams
who returns, bag on my shoulder
to repossess the past
from across the years.
(From “De cara al fuego” 201/ Translated Pilar González By Veronica Aranda)
I like women …so what!
those who yell who enjoy themselves who shout
those who smother with their instinct,
those perceptive, piercing, and profound
the ones who laugh and laugh
who tear even their souls
those who charm,
and charm me.
I like exciting women
the terrible ones, the catastrophic
the one who showed me love
in the bed of her hysteria
and taught me how to love the love of uncertainty.
The one who birthed nostalgia in each delivery
and gave me six companions like swords.
I like women
those who harass who pursue me and rebel
those who call
those who cry
those who take restlessly
who praise themselves
the ones who divide and give signals with their perfume
and kiss me
and squeeze me
and are quiet
and shut me up with a kiss.
I like cybemetic women
without front-page smiles
without voices of honey or sweetener
without kitten lashes or silicone.
not of rice of lilies or chocolate,
I like the neurotic ones menopausal kinetic
who sweeten me and poison me
who hate me and caress me
who open their morning wings for me
or stab me in the most terrible night
and cherry trees.
HE AND I
(From “De cara al fuego” 201/ Translated by Pilar González and Verónica Aranda)
We were so perfectly inalterable
so inevitably honest with one another
so humanly inseparable
that it was as if we were molded from the same clay.
We were so luminously strict
that we loved the same gestures
the same idols
the absolute perfection of the engraved stonc.
We were so paradoxically exact
that our tongues wore out just before dawn
speaking of the same gods and speeches
of Copernicus, Fidel, metaphysics
and we loved each other without hints
without saints or candlesticks.
We were so copiously youthful
that we enjoyed the same foolishness
and at the time of our meeting
we knew the exact nook ofthe caresses
and the G spot
of that which rises before the enjoyment of human ecstasy.
We knew of everything against everyone
and we argued back against back
like differing demons
searching for the necessary position for winning battles
always allied elbow to elbow
under the roof of a home and its swamps.
We were so close and perfect
that we looked past a detail …
to love each other
through the same differencese.
THE EMPTY HOUSE
(From “Alivio demente” 2008/translated by Alexis Levitín)
into our house,
for they will notice
the doors, walls, staircase and windows,
they will see
in the corners,
the rusty locks,
Don’t bring anyone to our house
for they will only fret on account of
your table, your bed, the tablecloth,
the furniture, laugh pityingly at the cups,
pretend to be nostalgic for my name,
make fun, what is more, of our hammock.
Don’t bring people to our house any more
for they will write you songs,
enervate your soul,
plant a flower at your window.
That’s why – I beg you – you must
not bring people to our house,
for they will turn pink,
greenish, reddish, blueish,
on discovering broken walls
and withered plants.
They will want to sweep out the corners
they will want to open our blinds
and find, tucked away among my books
the depraved excuses they were searching for.
Don’t bring anyone to our house any more,
for they will discover our absurdities,
will carry you off to faraway beaches
tell you tales of shipwrecks
drag you from our house.
Criticism of her work
True in her way of saying things, to feel them and express them in the poem, solid, direct and vital, stands as one of the great voices of eros new female lyrics, masterful in developing the poetic message, as seen in this couplet: “Do not say temporary insanity to say love / sex to passion, zeal and fury to oblivion distance”, in it, we say, permanence is fire, is shock of the senses, desire, and the journey becomes “transit of the words” or, worse, walk on them.
España delves into the feelings and thoughts of herself and others, unravels the mysteries of passion, of speech, of human understanding, with a powerful breath, like a mother again and again gives life to their children the verb, in a creative process that never ends, because “writing is an irreversible good” as human existence, motherhood, love, in its facets indecipherable poetical conception in its more important width, and, finally, the death, towards which they run / run all the rivers, ” the wealths and the tinniest ” said Manrique, and Siomara España confirms this one clung to their faith and belief, the other to her vitality and her profound ability to be delivered and permanently.
By Jorge Davila Vasquez