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MAUREEN H. ALTMAN —PERÚ—



Maureen Altman is a visual artist, poet, and educator. She has been invited to participate in diverse anthologies, iterary magazines, book fairs, and poetry festivals in North, Central, South America and Europe. Altman has given writing workshops in Central America and in New York. She was appointed coordinator in New York of Poetic ducation for the World in 2020 and associate director in 2023. She has published Encuentro, amor, vida, tiempo, 2014, uances, 2017 and Trapecista,in 2019, as part of the Hipatya collection, La Chifurnia Editorial.

Since 2018, Altman has directed EducaArts, a studio dedicated to art. The studio embraces neurotypical and atypical communities and celebrates the students’ artwork with an annual art salon which is open to the public. Altman was born in Georgia, USA. Studied in Lima, Peru, at the Monterrico National Institute of Pedagogy and at the National School of Fine Arts. Later, in New York she studied at Pratt Institute, obtaining a bachelor’s degree in fine arts and at Touro University acquiring a Master of Science in Education and Special Education.




Escorzo


Estamos llenos de ternura,

solo que el humano

se asusta con facilidad.

Imágenes de nuestra estructura

se desbordan en los acantilados

de la esperanza.

Aún,

vamos en círculos,

suspiramos

ante la utopía

de nuestros propios

pensamientos.



Foreshortening


We are full of tenderness,

it is just that humans

easily get frightened.

Images of our structure

overflow the cliffs

of hope.

Yet,

we go in circles,

we sigh

before the utopia

of our own thoughts.



El túnel de las Horas

Imágenes de la Estación Central


Viene,

va,

un segundo

adelanta andares,

una mirada perdida,

el suspiro atragantado,

y un poco de café.


Un tic tac

avanza la risa de aquel

que no aguarda

tren alguno.

Ni va ni viene,

sólo queda

en los pasillos

de su inmediata estación.


¿Quién ha dicho

que no avanzamos

en los subterráneos

del alma?

Cuidado,

mira al caminar.



Tunnel of the Hours

Images of Grand Central Terminal


Comes,

goes,

a second

passes steps,

a lost sight,

the drawn breath.

and some coffee.


A tic tac

overtakes the laughter of the one

who doesn’t wait

for any train.

Doesn’t come, doesn’t go,

alone stays

in the hallways

of an immediate station.


Who said

that we don’t walk

in the subways

of the soul?

Beware,

watch your step.



Verano


En cierto modo,

del azul

y su magnética calma,

me he distanciado.

Tiempo inverosímil.

La estridencia del color

me parece

lo más certero

al resaltar esta corriente

alterna que me tranza.

No opongo resistencia,

los días aparecen

en rojo y lentejuelas.


Mientras

el mundo camina

hacia algún agujero negro,

me pregunto,

cómo es posible,

que tu verano me conmueva

de tal manera

que solo tenga ojos

para elevarme

al centro del universo,

y presentarme luego

allí mismo,

ante

la lógica

de tu inequívoca

mirada.



Summer


Somehow,

from blue

and its magnetic calm,

I have distanced myself.

Unlikely time.

The stridency of color

seems to me

the most accurate

when highlighting

this alternative current

that trances me.

I do not resist,

days appear

in red and sequins.



While the world

walks

towards some black hole,

I wonder,

how is it possible,

that your summer moves me

in such a way

that I only have eyes

to rise

to the center of the universe,

and later

introduce myself

right there,

before the logic

of your unequivocal

gaze.



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