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
 
 

 

Hondoralekura murgil

 

Mitoen liburua irakurria izanik,

eta kamera kargaturik,

eta labanaren ahoa prest,

jantzi dut

goma beltzezko armadura

hegats absurdoak

maskara serio bitxia.

Hau egin beharra dut

ez Cousteau-k bezala, bere

talde prestuarekin

eguzkiak blaitutako goleta batean,

baizik nik bakar-bakarrik.

Eskailera bat dago.

 

Eskailera hor dago beti

xalo zintzilik

goletaren alboan, hurbil.

Badakigu zertarako den

guk, erabilia dugunok.

Gainerakoan

ez da itsas soka bat besterik

askotariko tresnetarik bat.

 

Banoa behera.

Mailaz maila eta oraindik

barneratzen zait oxigenoa

argi urdina

gure giza airearen

atomo garbiak.

Banoa behera.

Elbarri naukate hegatsek,

intsektu bat bezala noa eskaileran behera

eta ez dago inor

esango didanik noiz

hasten den ozeanoa.

 

Hasieran airea urdina da eta gero

are urdinagoa eta gero berdea eta gero

beltza, belzten ari zait dena eta halere

indartsua da maskara hau

indarrez punpatzen dit odola

itsasoa beste kontu bat da

itsasoa ez da indar-kontua

neure kabuz ikasi behar

ahaleginik gabe biratzen

elementu sakon honetan.

 

Eta orain: erraza da ahazten

zertarako etorri naizen

beti hemen bizi izan diren

hauen guztien artera

gorgonia almenatuak kulunka

arrezifeen artean

eta gainera

ezberdin hartzen da arnasa hemen behean.

 

Hondoralekua esploratzera etorri naiz.

Hitzak helburu dira.

Hitzak mapa dira.

Etorri naiz ikustera gertatu zen hondamena

eta oraindik hor dauden altxorrak.

Laztandu dut linternaren errainua

arrainak eta algak baino

iraunkorragoa den zerbaiten

alboan poliki

 

honetaraxe etorri naiz:

ontzi hondoratura, eta ez ontziaren istoriora

gauza-gauzara eta ez haren mitora

haren aurpegi itoa beti

eguzkirantz begira

hondamenaren erakusgarria

gatzak eta zabuak higatua eder zarpail hau bihurtzeraino

hondamendiaren zuakerrak

beren aldarria kurbatzen

mamu dudatsuen artean.

 

Hauxe da lekua.

Eta hemen nago ni, uhandre bat, nire ile iluna

beltz isurian, tritoi bat gorputza korazatuta.

Isil biraka gabiltza

ontzi hondoratuaren inguruan

sartu gara sotora.

Ni naiz emakume hori: ni naiz gizon hori

 

begi-zabalik lo egiten duen aurpegi itokoa

bularrak oraindik larri dituena

zama zilarkara, kobrekara, gorrizta bat duena

usteltzen utzitako upel

erdi lotuen barruan ilun

tresna erdi suntsitu batzuk gara

inoiz norakorik izan zutenak

urak jandako bitakora

iparrorratz lohitua

 

Gu gara, ni naiz, zu zara

koldarkeriaz edo ausardiaz

eszena honetara itzultzeko bidea

aurkitu duena

aldean eramanik labana bat, kamera bat

mitoen liburu bat

non

ez den ageri gure izenik.

 

Diving into the Wreck

First having read the book of myths, / and loaded the camera, / and checked the edge of the knife-blade, / I put on / the body-armor of black rubber / the absurd flippers / the grave and awkward mask. / I am having to do this / not like Cousteau with his / assiduous team / aboard the sun-flooded schooner / but here alone. // There is a ladder. / The ladder is always there / hanging innocently / close to the side of the schooner. / We know what it is for, / we who have used it. / Otherwise / it is a piece of maritime floss / some sundry equipment. // I go down. / Rung after rung and still / the oxygen immerses me / the blue light / the clear atoms / of our human air. / I go down. / My flippers cripple me, / I crawl like an insect down the ladder / and there is no one / to tell me when the ocean / will begin. // First the air is blue and then / it is bluer and then green and then / black I am blacking out and yet / my mask is powerful / it pumps my blood with power / the sea is another story / the sea is not a question of power / I have to learn alone / to turn my body without force / in the deep element. // And now: it is easy to forget / what I came for / among so many who have always / lived here / swaying their crenellated fans / between the reefs / and besides / you breathe differently down here. // I came to explore the wreck. / The words are purposes. / The words are maps. / I came to see the damage that was done / and the treasures that prevail. / I stroke the beam of my lamp / slowly along the flank / of something more permanent / than fish or weed // the thing I came for: / the wreck and not the story of the wreck / the thing itself and not the myth / the drowned face always staring / toward the sun / the evidence of damage / worn by salt and sway into this threadbare beauty / the ribs of the disaster / curving their assertion / among the tentative haunters. // This is the place. / And I am here, the mermaid whose dark hair / streams black, the merman in his armored body. / We circle silently / about the wreck / we dive into the hold. / I am she: I am he // whose drowned face sleeps with open eyes / whose breasts still bear the stress / whose silver, copper, vermeil cargo lies / obscurely inside barrels / half-wedged and left to rot / we are the half-destroyed instruments / that once held to a course / the water-eaten log / the fouled compass // We are, I am, you are / by cowardice or courage / the one who find our way / back to this scene / carrying a knife, a camera / a book of myths / in which / our names do not appear.