Poesia kaiera
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.