Poesia kaiera
Dylan Thomas
itzulpena: Iker Alvarez
Poesia kaiera
Dylan Thomas
itzulpena: Iker Alvarez
2017, poesia
64 orrialde
978-84-92468-97-3
Dylan Thomas
1914-1953
 
 

 

Udako mutilak dakuskit

 

                         I

 

Udako mutilak dakuskit, beren gainbeheran

Urrezko hamarrenak antzutzen

Uzta-gordekinak prestatu gabe, lurrak izozten;

Barneko beroaz, amodio izoztuen

Neguko uholdeak haien nesken bila doaz,

Ontziko sagarrak beren uretan itoaz.

 

Argiaren mutil hauek izozleak dira beren zozokerian,

Ozpintzen dute ezti beroa;

Izotz zurizkoak, lapurretan erlauntzean;

Eguzkipean, zalantza eta ilunezko izotz-hariek

Haien nerbioak elikatzen dituzte;

Ilargi salataria zero da haien hutsetan.

 

Udako umeak dakuskit beren amen baitan

Umetoki gihartsuen eguraldiak zatitzen,

Maitagarri behatz lodiz gau eta egunak bereizten;

Lau puskatan banatutako eguzki eta ilargi

Itzalekin sakonean, dikeak marrazten dituzte

Eta eguzkiak, bitartean, beren buruen oskola.

 

Ikusten dut mutil hauengandik ezerezezko gizonak

Haziko direla hazi-aldaketaz,

Edo airea hondatuko dutela beroaldi baten jauziaz;

Haien bihotzetatik amodio eta argi pultsu goriak

Erretzen die eztarria.

O, begira udako pultsua izotz gainean.

 

 

                         II

 

Urtaroei aurre egin behar zaie, baina, edo balantzaka

Ibiliko dira laurden dandari baterantz, bestela

Non, heriotza bezain puntualak, izarren hotsa pizten baitugu;

Han, bere gauean, neguko gizonak nekaturik

Ezkila mihibeltzak jotzen ditu,

Baina gauerdiko ilargia putz egin ez, horrek putz egin ahala.

 

Oro-ukatzaile ilunak gara, heriotza dei dezagun

Udako andre batengandik,

Bizitza gihartsu bat maitale arranpatuengandik,

Itsasoa hartu duten hilotz zurbilez

Davyren lanparako zizare begiargia,

Eta umetoki ernetik lasto-gizona.

Guk, udako mutilok lau haizeetako biratze honetan,

Algetako burdinaren berdea garenok,

Itsaso ozenari eusten diogu eta bere txoriei jausten utzi,

Olatu-bitsezko munduaren bola hartzen dugu

Bere mareekin basamortuak itotzeko,

Eta zelaiak orraztu, koro bat egiteko.

 

Gorostiaz gurutzatzen dugu kopeta udaberrian,

Garraiatzen dugu odola eta fruitua,

Eta kide alaiak zuhaitzetan iltzatu;

Amodio-gihar umela lehortu eta hiltzen da hemen,

Maitasun ezaren harrobian muxu bat hausten da hemen.

O, ikusi promesa makilak mutilengan.

 

 

                         III

 

Ikusten zaituztet, udako mutilak, zeuen gainbeheran.

Bere larbaren lur antzuetako gizona.

Mutil bete eta arrotzak dira poltsan.

Zuen aita zen gizona naiz.

Suharri eta brearen semeak gara.

O, ikusi makilak musuka elkar topatzean.

 

I see the boys of summer

I

I see the boys of summer in their ruin / Lay the gold tithings barren, / Setting no store by harvest, freeze the soils; / There in their heat the winter floods / Of frozen loves they fetch their girls, / And drown the cargoed apples in their tides. // These boys of light are curdlers in their folly, / Sour the boiling honey; / The jacks of frost they finger in the hives; / There in the sun the frigid threads / Of doubt and dark they feed their nerves; / The signal moon is zero in their voids. // I see the summer children in their mothers / Split up the brawned womb’s weathers, / Divide the night and day with fairy thumbs; / There in the deep with quartered shades / Of sun and moon they paint their dams / As sunlight paints the shelling of their heads. // I see that from these boys shall men of nothing / Stature by seedy shifting, / Or lame the air with leaping from its heats; / There from their hearts the dogdayed pulse / Of love and light bursts in their throats. / O see the pulse of summer in the ice.

II

But seasons must be challenged or they totter / Into a chiming quarter / Where, punctual as death, we ring the stars; / There, in his night, the black-tongued bells / The sleepy man of winter pulls, / Nor blows back moon-and-midnight as she blows. // We are the dark deniers, let us summon / Death from a summer woman, / A muscling life from lovers in their cramp, / From the fair dead who flush the sea / The bright-eyed worm on Davy’s lamp, / And from the planted womb the man of straw. // We summer boys in this four-winded spinning, / Green of the seaweeds’ iron, / Hold up the noisy sea and drop her birds, / Pick the world’s ball of wave and froth / To choke the deserts with her tides, / And comb the county gardens for a wreath. // In spring we cross our foreheads with the holly, / Heigh ho the blood and berry, / And nail the merry squires to the trees; / Here love’s damp muscle dries and dies, / Here break a kiss in no love’s quarry. / O see the poles of promise in the boys.

III

I see you boys of summer in your ruin. / Man in his maggot’s barren. / And boys are full and foreign in the pouch. / I am the man your father was. / We are the sons of flint and pitch. / O see the poles are kissing as they cross. // When once the twilight locks no longer // When once the twilight locks no longer / Locked in the long worm of my finger / Nor damned the sea that sped about my fist, / The mouth of time sucked, like a sponge, / The milky acid on each hinge, / And swallowed dry the waters of the breast. // When the galactic sea was sucked / And all the dry seabed unlocked, / I sent my creature scouting on the globe, / That globe itself of hair and bone / That, sewn to me by nerve and brain, / Had stringed my flask of matter to his rib. // My fuses timed to charge his heart, / He blew like powder to the light / And held a little sabbath with the sun, / But when the stars, assuming shape, / Drew in his eyes the straws of sleep, / He drowned his father’s magics in a dream. // All issue armoured, of the grave, / The redhaired cancer still alive, / The cataracted eyes that filmed their cloth; / Some dead undid their bushy jaws, / And bags of blood let out their flies; / He had by heart the Christ-cross-row of death. // Sleep navigates the tides of time; / The dry Sargasso of the tomb / Gives up its dead to such a working sea; / And sleep rolls mute above the beds / Where fishes’ food is fed the shades / Who periscope through flowers to the sky. // When once the twilight screws were turned, / And mother milk was stiff as sand, / I sent my own ambassador to light; / By trick or chance he fell asleep / And conjured up a carcass shape / To rob me of my fluids in his heart. // Awake, my sleeper, to the sun, / A worker in the morning town, / And leave the poppied pickthank where he lies; / The fences of the light are down, / All but the briskest riders thrown / And worlds hang on the trees.