Poesía y traducción

W. S. Merwin


When the ox-horn sounds in the hills
         of Iceland
         I am alone
         my shadow runs back into me to hide
         and there is not room for both of us
         and the dread
when the ox-horn sounds on the blues stairs
         where the echoes are my mother’s name
         I am alone
         as milk spilled in a street
         white instrument
         white hand
         white music
when the ox-horn is raised like a feather in one
         of several rivers
         not all of which I have come to
         and the note starts toward the sea
         I am alone
         as the optic nerve of the blind
         though in front of me it is written
         This is the end of the past
         Be happy
when the ox-horn sounds from its tassels of blood
         I always seem to be opening
         a book an envelope the top of a well
         none of them mine
         a tray of gloves has been set down
         beside my hands
         I am alone
          as the hour of the stopped clock
when the ox-horn is struck by its brother
         and the low grieving denial
         gropes forth again with its black hands
         I am alone
         as one stone left to pray in the desert
         after god had unmade himself
         I am
         I still am

when the ox-horn sounds over the dead oxen
         the guns grow light in hands
         I the fearer
         try to destroy me the fearing
         I am alone
         as a bow that has lost its nerve
         my death sinks into me to hide
         as water into stones
         before a great cold
when the ox-horn is raised in silence
         someone’s breath is moving over my face
         like the flight of a fly
         but I am in this world
         without you
         I am alone as the sadness surrounding
         what has long ministered to our convenience
         alone as the note of the horn
         as the human voice
         saddest of instruments
         as a white grain of sand falling in a still sea
         alone as the figure she unwove each night alone
         as I will be


W. S. Merwin es traducido por:

- Jeannette L. Clariond

Publicado el 20/5/2010

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