2 poems by Elí Urbina, The Useless City , Beyond The Nameless Thickets Of Silence
ELÍ URBINA (Chimbote, Peru, 1989) is one of the most prominent Peruvian poets of the new generation. He is the founder and director of the magazine and publishing house Santa Rabia Poetry. His published works include: El abismo del hombre (The Abyss of Man), Buenos Aires Poetry, 2020 (Argentina); La patria del instante, 120 haiku (The Homeland of the Instant, 120 Haiku), Alcorce Ediciones, 2023 (Mexico); Exŏdus, a bilingual Spanish/English edition, Santa Rabia Poetry, 2022 and 2023 (Peru); and L’abisso dell’uomo (The Abyss of Man), a bilingual Spanish/Italian edition, Edizioni Arcoiris, 2023 (Italy). He is also the author of the chapbooks La sal de las hienas (The Salt of Hyenas), Plectro Editores, 2017 (Peru), and Fábula de los burros salvajes (Fable of the Wild Donkeys), Editora BGR, 2022 (Spain). His poetry has been translated into several languages and featured in numerous anthologies and literary journals around the world. His most recent book is the poetry anthology Un hombre solo, un solo infierno (One Man, One Hell), published in 2025 by Valparaíso Ediciones (Spain), which brings together the most significant pieces of his work written between 2012 and 2024.
Two poems from the anthology of poetry by Elí Urbina, One Man, One Hell, published in 2025 by Valparaíso Ediciones (España).
THE USELESS CITY
Along paths of luminous threads,
you head toward the useless city
in a car without speech or belief.
Sporadic flashes of light
brighten your face and darken it;
anxious hurry, your sole companion.
Frightened, you witness
the sudden suicide of a shadow,
like a fast and falling book
that opens an abyss in your hands.
Avenues in ruin and heaps of trash
muddy your gaze for miles,
and the disgust that fills you,
the demagoguery on the walls,
like an unburied tongue,
coils around you inside,
and suddenly, madness bursts forth,
the sprawling commercial lights,
the omnipresent ugliness, the stubborn
grating noise. And so you arrive
and flee, overwhelmed you enter
the sanctuary for which you longed,
and the lighted room at the end,
drives you onward till you find
the company of your equals,
that small exile from nothingness,
and you find nought, nought but the social
chatter of invisible deaf-mutes,
the sudden gash of solitude,
and stripped of yourself, exhausted,
at last you return to the streets and see
how the dunghills gather
and mock you and burn by the dozens,
and now helpless you join them
as just one more, you, antisocial.
BEYOND THE NAMELESS THICKETS OF SILENCE
Beyond the nameless thickets of silence,
someone yearns to be you and take your kingdom.
That realm, you see full of shadows and sadness,
is the hidden desire of another in his exile.
Are you nothing more than an mirage obsessed
with the exuberance of a false life?
Your hand pierces the fullness of the dream
and, on waking, breaks the dry husks of your days.
The mirror no longer holds an image for you.
You live on the dark side of all quicksilver washes;
a world of mourning where you are your own corpse.
How can you build a castle worthy of your yearnings?
You are exhausted by prayers and their useless baiting.
Through the sands, you drag the magnet of words
yet you do not reach full bristling of good fortune.
Your steps toward the abyss are inevitable and, though
you sense the fall, you distract yourself with fleshly pleasures.
Beyond the nameless thickets of silence,
someone yearns to be you and take your kingdom,
that vast realm full of shadows and sadness.
Translated from the Spanish by Jeremy Paden
LA CIUDAD INÚTIL
Por caminos de hileras luminosas,
vas rumbo a la ciudad inútil
en un auto sin habla y sin creencia.
Intermitentes golpes de luz
iluminan tu rostro y lo ensombrecen;
solo la ansiosa prisa te acompaña.
Espantado, presencias
el súbito suicidio de una sombra,
como un precipitado libro
abriendo un abismo entre tus manos.
Avenidas en ruinas y pilas de basura
enturbian largamente tu mirada,
y el asco que te embute,
la demagogia en las paredes,
como una lengua insepulta,
te enrosca por adentro,
y de pronto, despunta la demencia,
las dilatadas luces mercantiles,
la omnipresente fealdad y la terca
trituración sonora. Y entonces llegas
y huyendo, agobiado entras
en el refugio que anhelabas,
y el cuarto iluminado al fondo,
te anima a proseguir hasta encontrar
la compañía de tus pares,
ese pequeño exilio entre la nada,
y nada hallas, sino la tertulia
de sordomudos invisibles,
el tajo abrupto de la soledad,
y despojado de ti mismo, exhausto,
al fin retornas a la calle y miras
cómo los estercoleros se agrupan
y se ríen de ti y arden por montones,
y ya sin remedio te sumas a ellos
como uno más, tú, antigregario.
MÁS ALLÁ DE LAS ANÓNIMAS ESPESURAS DEL SILENCIO
Más allá de las anónimas espesuras del silencio,
hay alguien que ansía ser tú y tomar tu reino.
Ese reino, que tú ves lleno de sombras y tristeza,
es el anhelo oculto de otro en su destierro.
¿Es que acaso eres solo un espejismo obsesionado
con la exuberancia de una vida ilusoria?
Tu mano atraviesa la plenitud del sueño
y, al despertar, quiebra la cáscara seca de los días.
El espejo ya no tiene una imagen para ti.
Vives en el lado oscuro de todos los azogues;
un mundo de duelo donde eres tu propio muerto.
¿Cómo puedes construir un castillo digno de tus ansias?
Estás cansado de plegarias y de sus inútiles carnadas.
En las arenas, restriegas el imán de las palabras
y no alcanzas el abundante erizamiento de la dicha.
Tus pasos hacia el vacío son inevitables y, aunque
intuyes la caída, te distraes con los placeres de la carne.
Más allá de las anónimas espesuras del silencio,
hay alguien que ansía ser tú y tomar tu reino,
ese vasto reino lleno de sombras y tristeza.
