Poesia kaiera
Audre Lorde
itzulpena: Danele Sarriugarte
Poesia kaiera
Audre Lorde
itzulpena: Danele Sarriugarte
2016, poesia
64 orrialde
978-84-92468-82-9
Audre Lorde
1934-1992
 
 

 

Gure artean

 

Garai batean, gela batera sartzen nintzenero

aurpegi beltz bat edo parea xerkatzen nituen

kontaktua egiteko edo ziurtatzeko edo seinale baten zain,

ez nengoen bakarrik

orain, aurpegi beltzez betetako geletara sartu

eta edozein huskeria dela-eta suntsituko ninduketenez

nora joko dute nire begiek?

Garai batean aise topatzen nuen

nire jendea.

 

Gure indarraren

pretentsio oro erauziko baligute

eta haragia moztuko

eguzkiak lixibatuko lizkiguke hezurrak

zuri egiteraino

nire amaren aurpegia nola

urreak zuritua hura

edo Orixala nola

eta zelatan

ez ote da hori ere nire neurri?

 

Ez dut uste

gure desirek

sakratu bihurtu dituztenik

gure gezurrak.

 

Eliminako itsasertzean, eguzkipean

gizon beltz batek emakume bat saldu zuen

haren emasabelean nire amona.

Txanpon horiak ordaindu zizkioten,

dir-dir egiten zuten iluntzeko eguzkitan,

eta haren seme-alaben aurpegietan.

Neba hori irudikatzen dudanean

haren irisek ez dute ez odolik ez kolorerik,

mihiaz miazkatzen ditu txanpon horiak,

itsasertz honetara jaurtiak;

txoko bat konpartitzen dugu bertan,

zeru arrotz eta ustelean,

eta saiatzen naizen aldiro,

belztasun erraxezko salbazioaren

hitzak jaten,

dastatu egiten dut

amonari egindako lehen traizioaren

kolorea.

 

Ez dut uste

gure desirek

sakratu bihurtu dituztenik

gure gezurrak.

 

Baina ez dut bere izena txistukatu Xolanako tenpluan

ez ditut heriotzaren zuku arrosadunak bere gainera ekarri

ez dut ahantzi

zuritasunaren jainko esaten diotela Orixalari

gauaren umetoki ilunetan jarduten baitu

guk guztiok ezagutzen ditugun formak sortzen

hortaz, gurtzaile sakratuak dira

baita elbarriak eta nanoak eta albinoak ere

arto egosia eskaintzean.

 

Umiltasuna datza

historiaren aurpegian

nire buruari barkatu diot

bera

eta haragi zuria

guztiok isilean jan baikenuen

jaio aurretik

otordu bera egin baikenuen denok.

Paldoztatzen nauzunean

zure belztasun estuaren lantzekin

nire bihotza hizketan aditu aurretik

deitoratu zure odol maileguan emana

zure ikuspegi maileguan emanak.

 

Ez nahastu nire haragia eta etsaia

ez idatzi nire izena hautsetan

baztanga-jainkoaren tenpluan

Exuren haurrak gara-eta

zoriaren eta ezin aurreikusizkoaren jainko

eta denok daramatzagu aldaketa asko

azalaren barruan.

 

Orbainez armaturik

sendaturik

hainbat kolorez

nire aurpegiei egiten diet so

Exuren alaba negarrez

ez badiogu uzten

gure barruko bestea akabatzeari

besteengan etzan eta

gorroto dugun geure burua hiltzeari

laster ipiniko gara denok

norabide berean

eta Exidaleren apaizak jo eta su jardungo dira

beraiek baino ezin baitituzte ehortzi

heriotza bilatzen dutenak

jauzi egin

eta norbere buruaren gainean eroriz.

 

Between ourselves

Once when I walked into a room / my eyes would seek out the one or two black faces / for contact or reassurance or a sign / I was not alone / now walking into rooms full of black faces / that would destroy me for any difference / where shall my eyes look? / Once it was easy to know / who were my people. / If we were stripped of all pretense / to our strength / and our flesh was cut away / the sun would bleach all our bones / as white / as the face of my black mother / was bleached white by gold / or Orishala / and how / does not measure me? / I do not believe / our wants have made all our lies / holy. / Under the sun on the shores of Elimina / a black man sold the woman who carried / my grandmother in her belly / he was paid with bright yellow coins / that shone in the evening sun / and in the faces of her sons and daughters. / When I see that brother behind my eyes / his irises are bloodless and without colour / his tongue clicks like yellow coins / tossed up on this shore / where we share the same corner / of an alien and corrupted heaven / and whenever I try to eat / the words / of easy blackness as salvation / I taste the colour / of my grandmother’s first betrayal. / I do not believe / our wants / have made our lies / holy. / But I do not whistle his name at the shrine of Shopana / I do not bring down the rosy juices of death upon him / nor forget Orishala / is called the god of whiteness / who works in the dark wombs of night / forming the shapes we all wear / so that even the cripples and dwarfs and albinos / are sacred worshipers / when the boiled corn is offered. / Humility lies / in the face of history / I have forgiven myself / for him / for the white meat / we all consumed in secret / before we were born / we shared the same meal / when you impale me / upon your lances of narrow blackness / before you hear my heart speak / mourn your own borrowed blood / your own borrowed visions. / Do not mistake my flesh for the enemy / do not write my name in the dust / before the shrine of the god of smallpox / for we are all children of Eshu / god of chance and unpredictable / and we each wear many changes / inside our skin. / Armed with scars / healed / in many different colors / I look in my own faces / as Eshu’s daughter crying / if we do not stop killing / the other in ourselves / the self that we hate / in others / soon we shall all lie / in the same direction / and Eshidale’s priests will be very busy / they who alone can bury / all those who seek their own death / by jumping up from the ground / and landing upon their heads. / 1. Orishala: another name for Obatala, Yoruba god of creation. The worshipers of Obatala must wear white clothes and eat white food. / 2. Elimina; seaport town in Southern Ghana, founded by Portuguese traders.