Alejandrona Pizanik
alejandra pizarnik
April 29, 1936 – September 25, 1972
Born in Buenos Aires to a family of Eastern European immigrants, a Jewish-Argentinian poet of Russian and Slavic descent. Since childhood, she has been plagued by insomnia and hallucinations, and her drug dependence is severe, and she began to undergo psychoanalysis when she was a girl. Published his first book of poetry at the age of 19, he spent several years in Paris as a young man, studied and translated the works of French poets at the Sorbonne, and established deep friendships with writers such as Paz and Cortázar. He has won the first prize of the annual poetry award of the city of Buenos Aires, and has been funded by the Guggenheim and Fulbright societies in the United States. In the last years of her life, she was in and out of psychiatric hospitals several times due to depression and suicidal tendencies, and died on September 25, 1972, at the age of 36, after swallowing 50 barbiturates in Buenos Aires, the cause of her death remains a mystery to this day. Great words
Not yet.
Now is never.
Not yet.
Now always is.
Never. Dawn
Dreaming nakedly about a white night.
I have long slept in the daytime of animals.
The wind and rain wiped me away.
It's like erasing a fire, erasing a song.
Poems written on the wall.
The meaning of absence.
If I dare. Watch and talk.
It's because of her shadow.
So gently.
Meet with my name.
Far away. In the rain.
In my memory.
her face. Burning in my poems.
I emanate beautifully.
An aroma. Like the face of deep love that disappeared.
Your voice
Ambush in my writing.
You sing in my poems.
Hostage of your sweet voice.
petrification in my memory.
Asuka hold on to your escape.
Air tattoo your absence.
The clock beats with me.
In order to never wake up.
Forgetting
On the other side of the night.
Love is possible.
Bring me with you - Bring me with the sweet entity.
Die in your memory every day.
exists
Your voiceNothing can get out.
My sight. They took me away.
Make me a boat on the Stone River.
If it's not your voice.
It rained alone in my blazing silence.
Untie my eyes.
Please. All the time for me.
Speak. 
The sound of begging
And I dare to love.
The sound of light in the dead hours, the color of time in the abandoned walls.
In my eyes I lost everything.
Claim too far. Knowing that it wasn't too close.
Salvation
Escape from the island. The girl re-climbs the stairs of the wind.
Rediscover the death of the prophet bird.
Now. She is the flame that has been submitted.
Now. She is flesh.
It's leaves. It's stone.
Lost in the Springs of the Storm.
Like a man who sails in the horrors of civilization.
The fall of the cleansing night.
Now. The girl finds the mask from Hentai.
Break down the walls of poetry.
The meaning of absence.
If I dare. Watch and talk.
It's because of the shadow of that person.
So gently.
Tied up with my name.
Remotely. In the rain.
In my memory.
The man's face.
Burning in my poems.
Beautifully diffused.
An aroma. Like the dear face that disappeared.
Present
Your voiceNothing can get out.
My sight. They strip me naked.
Make me a boat on the Stone River.
If it's not your voice.
It rained alone in my burning silence.
You untie my eyes.
Please. Always.
Speak to me. Privileges
One. My name he had called me was lost, and his face revolved around me.
Like the sound of water flowing in the night, when the water falls into the water.
It was his smile that survived in the end, not my memory.
2. It belongs to the night of the departed.
The most beautiful one, oh longed for, is endless is your non-return, the shadow is your day until all day.
Childhood
The prairie is in the memory of the horse.
The moment of growth.
The wind is in the name of cloves.
Reading the naïve speech, someone opened his eyes.
Into death. Like Alice in the land of things that have been seen.
In this world this night
To Martha Isabel Moia.
In this world this night
Death of childhood dream words.
That's never what I wanted to say.
The original tongue is severed.
The tongue is a cognitive organ, cognition.
All poems fail.
Cut off by his own tongue.
The tongue is the organ of recreation.
For recognizance.
But it is not an organ for resurrection.
Resurrection is nothing as a denial.
My far away from Maldoro and its dogs.
Something that can be said.
There are no promises.
What can be said is tantamount to lying.
Everything that can be said is a lie)
The rest is silence.
It's just that silence doesn't exist. No. Words.
Can't make love. All that is done is absence.
Do I say "water" for me to drink?
Do I say "bread" for me to eat?
In this world this night
The night was eerily quiet.
The problem with the soul is that it can't see.
The problem with the mind is that it can't see.
The problem with the spirit is that it can't be seen.
The invisibility of these conspiracies came from **?
Not a single word is visible.
Translated by Wang Tianai.