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
 
 

 

Natur baliabideak

 

                         3

 

Ilunetan murgildu da kaiola,

aurrera doa bizitzaren egunerokoa:

 

atearen kirtenari eragin dio andre batek, baina

hain poliki, hain isilik, ez baita inor esnatu

 

eta berak bakarrik begiratu du

logelen ilunera, berak bakarrik aztertu

 

nola dauden lo, zeinek behar duen bere laztana

zer leihotatik sartzen den otsaileko izotza

 

gela barrura, eta zeinek behar duen babesa:

Berak soilik ikusten du; bera soilik entrenatu dute ikusteko.

 

 

                         4

 

Imajinatzen al duzu emakumez bakarrik osatutako mundu bat,

galdetu zidan elkarrizketatzaileak. Imajinatzen al duzu

 

emakumerik ez den mundu bat. (Txantxa-ustean

zebilen gizona.) Nik, ordea, imajinatu behar

 

bi-biak aldi berean. Bi-bietan

bizi bainaiz. Imajinatzen al duzu,

 

galdetu zidan elkarrizketatzaileak, gizonen mundu bat?

(Txantxa-ustean zebilen gizona). Eta, hala bada,

 

gizonik ez den mundu bat?

Adigabe, nekatuta, erantzun nion: Bai.

 

 

                         7

 

Bitartean, beste izaki mota bat

bere burua egiten ari zen, itsuan

 

…mutante bat, zenbaiten esanetan:

odolez behartutako ale bat

 

“alferrik galdutako zibilizazio” batekoa,

haietako batek esan zuen bezala

 

haurrek horren alde pistolak hartzea,

horixe da gizon izatea

 

Indarkeriaz bizi izan gara zazpi urte

Bizi bakar bat ere ez zuen merezi…

 

baina aberkoiak andrearen lepoan dauka ukabila,

hilzorian dago andrearen ahotsa

 

eta halako izakiak gure ohean etzan dira

beren burua izendatuz gure desira

 

andreen odola exijituz bizitzarako

andre baten bularra, amesgaiztoak bertan pausatzeko

 

 

                         12

 

Emakumeek gordetako gauza horiek

besterik ez zaigu geratzen orain haiengandik

 

eta haien maiteengandik

eskutitz lazodun horiek, urteetan

 

ebakin-albumaren orrialdeetan

fedez itsatsitako irudiak

 

ebakinak, patchwork bihurtuak,

panpina-soinekoak, odoljarioa eteteko

 

trapu zuri garbiak

emaztegaiaren zapi horia, tearen kolorekoa

 

haurraren garaiera arkatzez sotoko atean

Bihitegi hotz honetan, guk amets

 

gauza xumeen unibertso batekin;

eta horiek gabe, ez memoriarik

 

ez fideltasunik, ez helbururik etorkizunerako

ez ohorerik joanari.

 

 

                         14

 

Hilda daude beren burua meatzari uste zuten

emakumeak. Badoa hegan ostadarra

 

nola doan hegan hodei-hormen

euskarria; beta zilar-berdea

 

esperoan dago pikotxa noiz kolpeka hasiko,

eta zain iluna, argi-nahiz malkotan.

 

Salbatu ezin dudan denagatik hunkitzen zait bihotza:

hainbeste dute suntsitu

 

nahitaez lerratu behar baitut

urterik urte, modu perbertsoan,

 

botere handirik gabe

mundua berregin dutenen alde.

 

Natural Resources

3

The cage drops into the dark, / the routine of life goes on: // a woman turns a doorknob, but so slowly / so quietly, that no one wakes // and it is she alone who gazes / into the dark of bedrooms, ascertains // how they sleep, who needs her touch / what window blows the ice of February // into the room and who must be protected: / It is only she who sees; who was trained to see.

4

Could you imagine a world of women only, / the interviewer asked. Can you imagine // a world where women are absent. (He believed / he was joking.) Yet I have to imagine // at one and the same moment, both. Because / I live in both. Can you imagine, // the interviewer asked, a world of men? / (He thought he was joking.) If so, then, // a world where men are absent? / Absently, wearily, I answered: Yes.

7

Meanwhile, another kind of being / was constructing itself, blindly // —a mutant, some have said: / the blood-compelled exemplar // of a "botched civilization": / as one of them called it // children picking up guns / for that is what it means to be a man // We have lived with violence for seven years / It was not worth one single life— // but the patriot's fist is at her throat, / her voice is in mortal danger // and that kind of being has lain in our beds / declaring itself our desire // requiring women's blood for life / a woman's breast to lay its nightmare on

12

These things by women saved / are all we have of them // or of those dear to them / these ribboned letters, snapshots // faithfully glued for years / onto the scrapbook page // these scraps, turned into patchwork, / doll-gowns, clean white rags // for stanching blood / the bride's tea-yellow handkerchief // the child's height penciled on the cellar door / In this cold barn we dream // a universe of humble things— / and without these, no memory // no faithfulness, no purpose for the future / no honor to the past

14

The women who first knew themselves / miners, are dead. The rainbow flies / like a flying buttress from the walls / of cloud, the silver-and-green vein / awaits the battering of the pick / the dark lode weeps for light. / My heart is moved by all I cannot save: / so much has been destroyed / I have to cast my lot with those / who age after age, perversely, / with no extraordinary power, / reconstitute the world.