"El viaje" ("The Journey") by Cristina Peri Rossi, contributed by Jorge Zafrilla Díaz (2025)
Mi primer viaje
fue el del exilio
quince días de mar
sin parar
la mar constante
la mar antigua
la mar continua
la mar, el mal
Quince días de agua
sin luces de neón
sin calles sin aceras
sin ciudades
sólo la luz
de algún barco en fugitiva
Quince días de mar
e incertidumbre
no sabía adónde iba
no conocía el puerto de destino
sólo sabía aquello que dejaba
Por equipaje
una maleta llena de papeles
y de angustia
los papeles para escribir
la angustia
para vivir con ella
compañera amiga
Nadie te despidió en el puerto de partida
nadie te esperaba en el puerto de llegada
Y las hojas de papel en blanco enmoheciendo
volviéndose amarillas en la maleta
maceradas por el agua de los mares
Desde entonces
tengo el trauma del viajero
me quedo en la ciudad me angustio
si me voy
tengo miedo de no poder volver
Tiemblo antes de hacer una maleta
-cuánto pesa lo imprescindible-
A veces preferiría marcharme
El espacio me angustia como a los gatos
Partir
es siempre partirse en dos
My first journey
was that of exile
fifteen days at sea
without stopping
the constant sea
the ancient sea
the continuous sea
the sea, the evil
Fifteen days of water
without neon lights
without streets, without sidewalks
without cities
only the light
of some fugitive ship
Fifteen days at sea
and uncertainty
I didn’t know where I was going
I didn’t know the port of destination
I only knew what I was leaving behind
For luggage,
a suitcase full of papers
and anguish
the papers to write
the anguish
to live with it
a companion, a friend
No one said goodbye at the departing port
no one awaited me at the arrival port
And the blank sheets of paper, impoverished,
turned yellow in the suitcase
soaked by the waters of the seas
Since then
I have the traveler’s trauma
if I stay in the city, I grow anxious
if I leave,
I fear not being able to return
I tremble before packing a suitcase
—how heavy the indispensable things are—
Sometimes I would rather leave
Space suffocates me like it does cats
Leaving
is always splitting oneself in two.
After discussing exile, I could not help but recall this poem, which I analyzed last year in my literature class. The Journey (El viaje) is a poem by the Uruguayan author Cristina Peri Rossi, who was forced into exile in Europe—specifically Spain—following the Uruguayan military coup in 1972. The experience of exile permeates Peri Rossi’s work, and in this poem, we observe a profound sense of duality and, consequently, of rupture. This fragmentation arises not only because a part of oneself remains in the place left behind but also due to the tension between nostalgia and the impossibility of returning to what is longed for. The poem alludes to the devastating attempt to use writing as a means of reclaiming, through language, that which is unattainable or already experienced; yet, to lose something, it must have first existed as a unitary whole. Although I have not directly experienced exile, being international I resonate with this poem in my understanding of what it means to be “split in two”—to never anchor the sense of home in one place and, at the same time, in all places.