Foto tomada de aquí
[traducción: Griselda García]
Alguien
que debería haber nacido
se
ha ido.
Así como la tierra arrugó su boca,
cada
brote inflándose desde su nudo,
me
cambié los zapatos y conduje hacia el sur.
Dejé
atrás las Montañas Azules, donde
Pensilvania
se encorva infinitamente
y
luce, como un gato de crayón, su pelo verde,
sus
caminos hundidos como una tabla de lavar gris;
donde,
en verdad, el suelo se rompe perversamente,
una
oscura cuenca de la que brota carbón.
Alguien
que debería haber nacido
se
ha ido.
La
hierba erizada y dura como ciboulette,
y
yo preguntándome cuándo se rompería el suelo,
y
yo preguntándome cómo sobrevive lo frágil;
allá
en Pensilvania conocí a un hombrecito,
no
era Rumpelstiltskin, para nada, para nada…
se
llevó la plenitud con la que empezó ese amor.
De
vuelta hacia el norte, hasta el cielo se volvió fino
como
una ventana alta que mira a ninguna parte.
El
camino era liso como papel de estaño.
Alguien
que debería haber nacido
se
ha ido.
Sí,
mujer, esa lógica te llevará
a
una pérdida sin muerte. O decí lo que quisiste decir,
cobarde…
este bebé que sangro.
The Abortion
Somebody who should have been born
is gone.
Just as the earth puckered its mouth,
each bud puffing out from its knot,
I changed my shoes, and then drove south.
Up past the Blue Mountains, where
Pennsylvania humps on endlessly,
wearing, like a crayoned cat, its green hair,
its roads sunken in like a gray washboard;
where, in truth, the ground cracks evilly,
a dark socket from which the coal has poured,
Somebody who should have been born
is gone.
the grass as bristly and stout as chives,
and me wondering when the ground would break,
and me wondering how anything fragile survives;
up in Pennsylvania, I met a little man,
not Rumpelstiltskin, at all, at all...
he took the fullness that love began.
Returning north, even the sky grew thin
like a high window looking nowhere.
The road was as flat as a sheet of tin.
Somebody who should have been born
is gone.
Yes, woman, such logic will lead
to loss without death. Or say what you meant,
you coward... this baby that I bleed.
Somebody who should have been born
is gone.
Just as the earth puckered its mouth,
each bud puffing out from its knot,
I changed my shoes, and then drove south.
Up past the Blue Mountains, where
Pennsylvania humps on endlessly,
wearing, like a crayoned cat, its green hair,
its roads sunken in like a gray washboard;
where, in truth, the ground cracks evilly,
a dark socket from which the coal has poured,
Somebody who should have been born
is gone.
the grass as bristly and stout as chives,
and me wondering when the ground would break,
and me wondering how anything fragile survives;
up in Pennsylvania, I met a little man,
not Rumpelstiltskin, at all, at all...
he took the fullness that love began.
Returning north, even the sky grew thin
like a high window looking nowhere.
The road was as flat as a sheet of tin.
Somebody who should have been born
is gone.
Yes, woman, such logic will lead
to loss without death. Or say what you meant,
you coward... this baby that I bleed.
Anne Sexton (Massachusetts, Estados Unidos, 1928 -1974). Traducción de Griselda García.
N.B.: Esta traducción se revisa periódicamente. Vuelva a menudo y vea cómo avanza (o retrocede).
Wow... es fuerte leer una traducción de Anne Sexton que reúne todos los elementos y los colores que la pluma de mujer podría haberle dado...
ResponderBorrarAbrazo...
Prometo regreso...
Anne Sexton es lo máximo!
ResponderBorrarGracias por tus comentarios, mi Grise, a ver si te encuentro por el chat de facebook, quiero proponerte algo.
Besos