Octavio Quintanilla
Octavio Quintanilla is the author of the poetry collection,
If I Go Missing (Slough Press, 2014), and he served as the 2018-2020 Poet Laureate of San Antonio, TX. His poetry, fiction, translations, and photography have appeared, or are forthcoming, in journals such as Poetry Northwest, Salamander, Texas Highways, RHINO, The Rumpus, Alaska Quarterly Review, Pilgrimage, Green Mountains Review, Southwestern American Literature, The Texas Observer, Existere: A Journal of Art & Literature, and elsewhere. Visual poems have been exhibited in several galleries, including Presa House Gallery, Equinox Gallery, and at the Southwest School of Art in San Antonio, TX. He holds a PhD from the University of North Texas and is the regional editor for Texas Books in Review. Octavio teaches Literature and Creative Writing in the MA/MFA program at Our Lady of the Lake University in San Antonio, Texas. Instagram: writeroctavioquintanillaWebsite: octavioquintanilla.com
“Los días oscuros” #28
En ese entonces, todo estaba oscuro.En ese entonces, todavía no había hachas. No había cuchillos y tampoco enfermedades. Cuando los viejos me decían que nací niño, me sentía becerro. Cuando me decían que ya era hombre, me sentía olvidado. En ese entonces, todavía no sabíamos de que color se vestía la verdad. Muchos decían que se vestía de negro.Otros decían que se vestía de blanco.Mira, en aquel entonces yo pensaba que la verdad era una hoja de robletambaleandose en el aire,suspirando para que el invierno llegaracon una cara nueva.
Back then, everything was dark.Back then, there were still no axes.There were no knives and no illnesses.When elders told me that I was born a boy,I felt like a calf.When they told me that I had grown into a man,I felt forgotten.Back then, we still didn't knowwhat color truth dressed itself in.Many said that she dressed in black.Others said that she dressed in white.Look, back then I thought that truth was an oak leaf staggering in midair, sighing for winter to comewith a new face.
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“Los días oscuros” #20
Voy a encontrar una nueva forma de tocarte.
I will find a new way to touch you.
“Los días oscuros” #33
A media noche por la rendija de la puerta veo a mi vecino
Me dice que se siente solo
Me dice que se siente solo
At midnightThrough the peepholeI see my neighbor
He tells me he feels lonely
He tells me he feels lonely
