Poesia kaiera
Aurkibidea
Aurkibidea
Hega-Probak
ONGI ETORRI ZORTZIGARREN BATAILOIKO GAZTEAK.
Pankarta hark probokazioren bat izango zuen gordean harresiko horman baitzegoen margotuta, albiste zaharren goiburuekin, OROITU 1690 eta EZ ERRENDITU, tupustean jaso nituen alderik alde idatzita zeuden mezuok.
Atorra kakia eta letoizko belarridun gerrikoa soinean, auzoko desmobilizatu bat gure ate ertzaren gainean zegoen. Nire aitak txin-txin egiten zuen eskuak bi patriketan sartuta eta barrez hasi zen arrosarioaren ale ozenak erakustean.
“Papista bihurtu al haute hor kanpoan ibili haizenean?”
“Ez hadi beldurtu! Hiretzat ostu nizkian, Paddy, Aita Santuaren jantzi-gelatik bizkarra emanda zegoenean.”
“Asto bat apaindu dezakek horrekin”.
Haien barre-algarak nire buru gainean aske zebiltzan, aldarri zakar bat, bi hegazti urduri amil egin eta aireratzen, lurraldean barrena hega-probak eginez.
Trial Runs
WELCOME HOME YE LADS OF THE EIGHTH ARMY.
There had to be some defiance in it because it was painted along the demesne wall, a banner headline over the old news of REMEMBER 1690 and NO SURRENDER, a great wingspan of lettering I hurried under with the messages.
In a khaki shirt and brass-buckled belt, a demobbed neigh- bour leaned against our jamb. My father jingled silver deep in both pockets and laughed when the big clicking rosary beads were produced.
‘Did they make a Papish of you over there?’
‘Oh damn the fear! I stole them for you, Paddy, off the Pope’s dresser when his back was turned.’
‘You could harness a donkey with them.’
Their laughter sailed above my head, a hoarse clamour, two big nervous birds dipping and lifting, making trial runs across a territory.