Poesia kaiera
Adrienne Rich
itzulpena: Maialen Berasategi
Poesia kaiera
Adrienne Rich
itzulpena: Maialen Berasategi
2017, poesia
64 orrialde
978-84-92468-95-9
Adrienne Rich
1929-2012
 
 

 

Bekatuan bizitzen

 

Uste izan zuen estudioa berez txukunduko zela;

hautsik ez maitasunaren altzarietan.

Erdi heresia, nahi izatea iturriak ez hain ozen,

kristalak krakatik libre. Platera bete udare,

estalki persiarra piano gainean, katu bat

sagu pintoresko jostagarriari kirika

irrikaz tentetua.

Eta ez bostetan eskailera oro karranka

esneketariaren pauso bakoitzarekin; ez goizeko argiak

hain hotz marraztea bart gaueko

gazta-hondarrak eta hiru botila sepulkral;

ez sukaldeko apaleko platertxoetatik

kakalardo baten begi-parea iltzatzea bere begietan,

molduretako herriren baten mandatari…

Bitartean, gizona, aharrausi batez,

teklatuan dozena bat nota jo,

desafinatuta zegoela ebatzi, ispilu aurrean sorbaldak jaso,

bizarra igurtzi, eta zigarro bila atera zen;

bitartean, emakumeak, deabru txikiak hari trufaka,

izarei tira gora, eta ohea egin, eta hartu zuen

trapu bat mahaiko hautsa kentzeko,

eta jarri zuen kafetera sutan, irakin zezan.

Iluntzerako, maiteminduta zegoen berriro,

ez guztiz, baina gau hartan

esnatu zen tarteka sentitzeko bazetorrela egun-argia

esneketari bat eskaileretan bezain tinko.

 

Living in Sin

She had thought the studio would keep itself; / no dust upon the furniture of love. / Half heresy, to wish the taps less vocal, / the panes relieved of grime. A plate of pears, / a piano with a Persian shawl, a cat / stalking the picturesque amusing mouse / had risen at his urging. / Not that at five each separate stair would writhe / under the milkman's tramp; that morning light / so coldly would delineate the scraps / of last night's cheese and three sepulchral bottles; / that on the kitchen shelf among the saucers / a pair of beetle-eyes would fix her own— / envoy from some village in the moldings ... / Meanwhile, he, with a yawn, / sounded a dozen notes upon the keyboard, / declared it out of tune, shrugged at the mirror, / rubbed at his beard, went out for cigarettes; / while she, jeered by the minor demons, / pulled back the sheets and made the bed and found / a towel to dust the table-top, / and let the coffee-pot boil over on the stove. / By evening she was back in love again, / though not so wholly but throughout the night / she woke sometimes to feel the daylight coming / like a relentless milkman up the stairs.