Ana Guillot was born in Buenos Aires. She has taught Language and Literature in secondary schools and universities. She manages the writing workshop “Tangerina” and gives seminars on literature, mythology and oral literature both in her country and abroad. She has also co-hosted the radio program Dos Palabras (Two Words). As a teacher, she has published El taller de escritura en el ámbito escolar (1987), and ¿Querés que te cuente el cuento? (1989). As a poet, she has published: Curva de mujer (1994), Abrir las puertas (para ir a jugar) (1997), Mientras duerme el inocente (1999), Los posibles espacios (2004), La orilla familiar/La riba familiar (2009); two personal anthologies Liquid/ambar (2016) and Polvo que late (2017). In 2012 her first novel, Chacana was published in Peru. She is also author of the collection of essays Buscando el final feliz (hacia una nueva lectura de los cuentos maravillosos (2014). Ana has travelled extensively to participate in academic conferences, poetry festivals and book festivals.
a mi nieta Juana
casi fantasmal canta no hay en esa noche otro sonido más carnal que esa voz atenuada en su cauce alivianando negruras y tristezas nido o manantial o canto ella entona lo que quiere la niña que sonríe deslumbrada y frugal pajarita en sus brazos risa o mano que abre y cierra o pestañas el canto que ahora late el verde en ese canto como si la naturaleza toda iluminara el pequeño lugar donde las dos hembritas se amamantan
la nieta tiene un hilo en la mollera de pura luz o brillo y la abuela tejerse quisiera en ese hilo para reinventarse como si el jardín volviera en la canción y ella estuviera por detrás de la tila esperando sucesos y reencuentros hay en la habitación un río que las mece que se las va llevando en lenta placidez se amamantan las dos vínculo o laboriosidad o herencia de la herencia
apenas ese espacio sencillo y tenaz donde el nombre se amplía y persevera
to my granddaughter Juana
she sings almost ghostly there’s no other sound in that night more carnal than such voice alleviated in its course cooling blacknesses and sadnesses nest or spring or song she sings what the girl wants and the girl smiles dazzled and frugal litlle bird in her arms laughter or hand opening and closing or eyelashes the song that now beats the green in that song as if nature illuminated to its fullest the little place where the two little females breastfeed the granddaughter has a thread in her head of pure light or shine and the grandmother would like to weave in that thread to reinvent herself as if the garden came back in the song and she was behind the linden tree waiting there’s events and reencounters in the room a river rocking them which is taking them away in slow tranquility they both breastfeed bond or laboriousness or legacy of legacies barely such a space simple and tenacious where the name expands and perseveres