Erbesteratua
Bihotzean bilaturik zein pena duen zinez
Aurkitu dut honako hau dela arazoa:
Hitzez eta jendeaz nekaturik nagoela,
Higuinduta hiriaz, faltan dut itsasoa;
Faltan dut gozotasun gazi eta itsaskorra,
Haize zakarrarena eta bisutsarena;
Faltan dut egun osoz apurtzen aritzen diren
Olatu handien hots ozena eta hots leuna.
Antzina beti ate aurreko lorategian,
Neguko itsasoaren muga jartzen zuela
Harean erroturik eta ezpalez nahasita,
Zabaltzen zen basa ilar usaindun ubela;
Goizez beti ibili ohi nintzen uhinen gainean,
Eta zapatetatik harea astintzen gauez,
Orain gatibu nago eraikin garaien pean
Zarataz gogaiturik, nahasita argiez.
Aditu ahal banitu zutoin berdeak karranka
Haizeak jotako kai zurezkoaren azpian,
Berriz ere ikusi bilin-bolonka upelak,
Eta hesola beltzak malekoiko hesian,
Ikusi ahal banitu muskuilu algatsuek
Estalitako krosko erdi ustel hondatuak,
Aditu berriz ere han gainean oihuka
Jira-biran dabiltzan antxeta gosetuak,
Berriz sentitu nola etxola den atezatzen
Marea datorrela gora, edo behera doala,
Haziz doazen uren beldur izan berriz ere,
Ikaraz entzutean lainoaren ezkila.
Zoriontsu nintzateke! —zoriontsu nintzenez,
Mainen itsasaldean goizetik gaua artio—;
Premia daukat hartu eta eskuz ibiltzeko
Maskorrak eta aingurak eta ontziak berriro!
Zoriontsu nintzateke... Ez naizenez batere
Izan zoriontsua helduz geroztik hona,
Urrunegi baitago hemen ura niregandik,
Ura gertu eduki, horra behar dudana.
Exiled
Searching my heart for its true sorrow, / This is the thing I find to be: / That I am weary of words and people, / Sick of the city, wanting the sea; // Wanting the sticky, salty sweetness / Of the strong wind and shattered spray; / Wanting the loud sound and the soft sound / Of the big surf that breaks all day. // Always before about my dooryard, / Marking the reach of the winter sea, / Rooted in sand and dragging drift-wood, / Straggled the purple wild sweet-pea; // Always I climbed the wave at morning, / Shook the sand from my shoes at night, / That now am caught beneath great buildings / Stricken with noise, confused with light. // If I could hear the green piles groaning / Under the windy wooden piers, / See once again the bobbing barrels, / And the black sticks that fence the weirs, // If I could see the weedy mussels / Crusting the wrecked and rotting hulls, / Hear once again the hungry crying / Overhead, of the wheeling gulls, // Feel once again the shanty straining / Under the turning of the tide, / Fear once again the rising freshet, / Dread the bell in the fog outside,— // I should be happy,—that was happy / All day long on the coast of Maine! / I have a need to hold and handle / Shells and anchors and ships again! // I should be happy, that am happy / Never at all since I came here. / I am too long away from water. / I have a need of water near.