All translation practice can be reduced to the formula , where Δv is equal to the amount of distance travelled (d) divided by the time taken (t). Here, Δd refers specifically to the amount of distance travelled by a unit of energy, which is in the form of potential energy in the poem before the moment of its reading. Δt refers not only to time but also to theory, which is equal to time. Increased time, or increased indulgence in theory, results in slower speed.

‘Rios de Cisnes [Rivers of Swans]’ is the dramatic result of a material collision between a territory [Southern Chile], a voice who defends it, and the variety of energies on which the voice draws. Within this collision, a rich collection of materiality has accumulated to a particular intensity before bifurcating. The change in the value of d, therefore, is enormous.

Speed is of particular concern in the following poem. We are concerned with a rapid resolution of the ongoing injustices suffered by the people of whom Paulo Huirimilla speaks. In this instance, then, to achieve the highest quantity of v, to allow for the complete, positive transference of energy which generated the enormous flux of d, we will be reducing t to its smallest possible value:

Incorporeal transformation, not petrification, is the essence of language. A linguistic expression presupposes a continuum of variation between and across thresholds. Any given language is a dialect among others, in a network of power relations marked by grammatical formations standing as signposts to a site of everyday conflict. Translation adds another level of definition to an event’s dynamism. It re-invigorates it, makes it repeatable, multiplies it. I stole everything in this paragraph from Brian Massumi.

If you see a gap it’s because you’ve missed the bifurcation; the war has moved on to the next valley.