| ESTA ES MI VIDA, PARECE DECIR… Esta es mi vida, parece decir la hoja que cae desde la rama o la piedra que rueda por la ladera. Poco; ninguna fe digna de ser alabada o combatida, ninguna m√ɬ∫sica de esferas, ning√ɬ∫n cielo resuelto en llamas. Bajo los pies la futura ceniza que sobrevendr√ɬ° a la √ɬ∫ltima distracci√ɬ≥n, la pen√ɬ∫ltima blasfemia; toda luz se apagar√ɬ°, y a caballo de las olas vendr√ɬ° un pez de cobalto a morder sin piedad el sexo y los p√ɬ°rpados. La hoja siente a su modo como a su modo siente la piedra, pero √ɬ∫nicamente quien tiene manos encuentra blandura en la carne y dureza en los huesos. Es verdad: ning√ɬ∫n hombre es visible. El d√ɬ≠a ya no dura, la boca ayuna a un lado de la sal; en la aparente sanidad, abjuraci√ɬ≥n y vileza; s√ɬ≥lo abulia, demora: aceite que permanece y no hierve. | THIS IS MY LIFE, THE LEAF SEEMS… This is my life, the leaf seems to say as it falls from the branch or the stone that rolls down the hillside. Not much: no faith worth being praised or attacked, no music of the spheres, no sky bursting into flames. Under my feet the future ashes which will supervene at the final distraction, the penultimate blasphemy; all light will go out, and on the horse of the waves a cobalt fish will ride in to bite without pity the sex and the eyelids. The leaf feels in its way as in its way the stone feels, but only someone with hands finds softness in the flesh and hardness in the bones. It’s true: no man is visible. The day does not last, the mouth fasts at one side of the salt; in the apparent healthiness, abjuration and vileness; only lack of will-power, it lingers on: oil that stays there and does not boil. (Translated by Brian Cole) |
| Otros son los muertos. Flotan en el silencio del mediod√ɬ≠a, nost√ɬ°lgicos de la saciedad y la sed. Se alejan, no se alejan. Tienen ojos que no usan, manos que no acarician, por gusto o temor, la p√ɬ©trea materia verdinegra. Otros llevan l√ɬ°mparas apagadas, visten ra√ɬ≠dos capotes, esgrimen escudos rotos. Nos abrazamos y es luz, retamas hasta el horizonte, asentado presente. Entonces, es la respiraci√ɬ≥n de cada hierba apretada contra otra hierba o solitaria, lo que se manifiesta, nos alcanza y atraviesa, torna de a poco y de nuevo madera a lo que era apenas aserrines dispersos en el aire. | (Grosmont Castle: The Great Chimney) The dead are not like us. Suspended in the midday still, they miss satiety and thirst. They wane, yet stay. Their eyes are set aside, their hands do not caress, eager or fearful, the stony mossy stuff. They carry extinguished lamps, threadbare raincoats, broken shields. We hug and all lights up, broom as far as one can see, a settled present moment. We feel each grass blade’s breath pressed against another blade or by itself: it catches up to us and pierces through, then slowly turns back into wood that which was sawdust scattered in the air. (Translated by Ricardo Nirenberg) |
| √ǬøCU√ɬÅL ES LA MEDIDA, LA TABLA… √ǬøCu√ɬ°l es la medida, la tabla, el esbozo? En la sombra, el instinto; en la luz, la herrumbre que migra de cuerda en cuerda. Creo, no creo: se peina en la penumbra, despu√ɬ©s del deseo y su conclusi√ɬ≥n; brevedad, infinito: el agua es confusa, baja espesa hacia un centro inm√ɬ≥vil, la belleza se hace y se deshace mientras esp√ɬ≠o lo que queda del mundo a trav√ɬ©s de su √ɬ∫ltima voz, √ɬ°spera y profunda. √ǬøCu√ɬ°l es la c√ɬ°bala, la melod√ɬ≠a, el arco ahora que todo se apaga y en lo que cae, rueda y se trastorna: pronto nadie, pasado, periferia? | WHAT IS THE MEASURE, THE TABLE… What is the measure, the table, the outline? In the shadow, instinct; in the light, rust that migrates from cable to cable. I think, I don’t think: it combs its hair in the shadow, after desire and its conclusion; brevity, infinity: the water is confused, it falls thickly towards a still centre, beauty is made and unmade while I spy what remains of the world through your last voice, harsh and deep. What is the cabal, the melody, the bow now that everything dies away and in what falls, rolls and overturns: soon no-one, past, periphery? (Translated by Brian Cole) |
| Copyright (c) Carlos Barbarito 2001; trans. copyright (c) Brian Cole 2001. | |
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