The Cone, in this poem by Isabel Sánchez Heras, is the mountain that rises just outside her natal village of Benaojan in the Serrania de Ronda, a mountain range in southern Andalusia. This region, like so many in the world, is ever more frequently beset by droughts, floods, and fires. In its folklore, the appearance of an itinerant knife-sharpener means there will be a death in the village.
There’s nothing
more vertiginous
than seeing the Cone
in clouds,
and
it’s not raining
in the village.
I’m frightened
by the signals
nature
gives
and then
doesn’t finish.
The rook flies
neither high
nor low.
You sense
water like you do before the rain,
like you smell sugar,
salt,
the earthen-tiled floor,
but no rain comes.
This climate
that speaks
of
human inertia.
Now the sky
sends down chills.
Perhaps
today
begin the days
when nightfall
doesn’t come
and
hopefully
the knife sharpener
forgets
all the names.
*
Nubes en el Conio
No hay
nada mas
vertiginoso
que ver nublarse
el Conio
y
no llover
en mi pueblo.
Me asusto
de las señales
que da
la naturaleza
y
ahora
no se cumplen.
El grajo
ya
ni vuela alto,
ni vuela bajo.
Barruntan
agua
el azúcar,
la sal,
las lozas del suelo
y no llueve.
El clima
es un vacío
de la desgana
humana.
Ahora
el cielo
da escalofríos.
Quizás
hoy sea
de los días
que no llegue
a anochecer
y
ojalá también
al afilador
se le olviden
los nombres.
Isabel Sánchez Heras is a native of Benaoján, a village in the Serranía de Ronda, in the south of Spain. Her poems have appeared in Antología Poetica de la Serranía de Ronda (Editorial La Serranía, 2021), and Escritores Gaucin. Her chapbook, Bien Querer, was published by Fuente de Libros Ediciones in 2020. She’s currently working on a new collection titled La VísPera de Mañana (The Eve of Tomorrow)
Photo by CARLOS CALAMAR
