Poesia kaiera
Haurtzaroa inor hiltzen ez den erresuma da
Haurtzaroa ez doa jaiotzetik adin jakin batera, eta adin jakin batean
Umea hazten da eta bazter uzten ditu ume kontu guztiak.
Haurtzaroa inor hiltzen ez den erresuma da.
Axola duen inor ez, alegia. Jakina, urruneko senideak
Hiltzen dira, inoiz ikusi ez dituzunak, edo ordubete baino ez;
Eman zizkizuten gozokiak, marra arrosa eta berdeko poltsa batean, edo labana bat,
Eta joan ziren, eta ezin esan bizi ere bizi izan zirenik.
Eta katuak hiltzen dira. Lurrean etzaten dira buztana tente,
Eta haien larru uzkurra bat-batean astrapala batean da,
Bertan zirenik ere ez zenekien arkakusoekin,
Distirant eta marroi, jakin beharreko dena jakinda,
Bizien mundura abiatzen direlarik.
Zapata kutxa bat hartzen duzu, baina txikiegia da, katemea orain ez baita kiribiltzen:
Beraz, kutxa handiago bat bilatzen duzu, eta jardinean lurperatu, eta negar egin.
Baina ez zara esnatzen handik hilabetera, bi hilera
Urtebetera, bi urtera, gauaren erdian,
Negarrez, hatz koskorrei haginka, eta esanez Ai, ene! Ai, ene!
Haurtzaroa da axola duen inor hiltzen ez den erresuma, amak eta aitak ez dira hiltzen.
Eta esan baduzu: “Jainkoarren, beti ibili behar zara musuak ematen?”.
Edo “Jesaus, utziko diozu behingoz leihoan klas-klas jotzeari titare horrekin?”.
Bihar, edo ondo pasatzen oso lanpetuta bazaude are etzi ere,
Denbora izango duzu soberan esateko: “Barkatu, ama”.
Heldua izatea da mahai aurrean jesartzea hilda dagoen jendearekin, ez entzun ez berba egiten ez dutenekin;
Terik hartzen ez dutenekin, nahiz eta beti esan ohi zuten
Teak zein on egiten duen.
Joan arineketan sotora eta ekarri mugurdien azken potoa: ez ditu kilikatzen.
Lausenga itzazu, galde egiezu zer esan zioten zehazki orduko hartan apezpikuari, gainbegiraleari, Mason jaunari:
Ez dute amua irensten.
Egiezu aldarri, gorritzeraino egin ere, jaiki,
Altxa itzazu aulkitik sorbalda zurrunetatik helduta eta astin itzazu, eta oihu egiezu;
Ez dira asaldatzen, lotsatu ere ez dira egiten; irristatzen dira aulkira berriz;
Hoztu egin zaizu tea.
Zutunik edaten duzu,
Eta bazoaz etxetik.
Childhood Is the Kingdom Where Nobody Dies
Childhood is not from birth to a certain age and at a certain age / The child is grown, and puts away childish things. / Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies. // Nobody that matters, that is. Distant relatives of course / Die, whom one never has seen or has seen for an hour, / And they gave one candy in a pink-and-green striped bag, or a jack-knife, / And went away, and cannot really be said to have lived at all. // And cats die. They lie on the floor and lash their tails, / And their reticent fur is suddenly all in motion / With fleas that one never knew were there, / Polished and brown, knowing all there is to know, / Trekking off into the living world. / You fetch a shoe-box, but it’s much too small, because she won’t curl up now: / So you find a bigger box, and bury her in the yard, and weep. / But you do not wake up a month from then, two months, / A year from then, two years, in the middle of the night / And weep, with your knuckles in your mouth, and say Oh, God! Oh, God! / Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies that matters,— mothers and fathers don’t die. // And if you have said, “For heaven’s sake, must you always be kissing a person?” / Or, “I do wish to gracious you’d stop tapping on the window with your thimble!” / Tomorrow, or even the day after tomorrow if you’re busy having fun, / Is plenty of time to say, “I’m sorry, mother.” // To be grown up is to sit at the table with people who have died, who neither listen nor speak; / Who do not drink their tea, though they always said / Tea was such a comfort. / Run down into the cellar and bring up the last jar of raspberries; they are not tempted. // Flatter them, ask them what was it they said exactly / That time, to the bishop, or to the overseer, or to Mrs. Mason; / They are not taken in. / Shout at them, get red in the face, rise, / Drag them up out of their chairs by their stiff shoulders and shake them and yell at them; / They are not startled, they are not even embarrassed; they slide back into their chairs. // Your tea is cold now. / You drink it standing up, / And leave the house.