Poesia kaiera
Poesia kaiera
William Butler Yeats
itzulpena: Juan Kruz Igerabide
2022, poesia
64 orrialde
978-84-17051-86-0
William Butler Yeats
1865-1939
 
Poesia kaiera
William Butler Yeats
itzulpena: Juan Kruz Igerabide
2022, poesia
64 orrialde
978-84-17051-86-0
aurkibidea
 

 

Odola eta ilargia

 

 

I

 

Bedeinkatua bedi toki hau,

are bedeinkatuagoa dorre hau,

arraza honetatik altxatu baitzen

odola, ahalmen harroa,

bertan mintzatuz eta nagusituz,

ekaitzak jotako etxola horren

hormak bezala altxaturik.

Ikur ahaltsu bat eraiki dut erdeinuz

eta errimaz errima kantatu dut

gailurrean erdi-hilik dagoen

garai bati iseka eginez.

 

 

II

 

Alexandria baliza-dorre zen,

eta Babilonia, zeruen mugimenduaren irudia,

eguzkiaren eta ilargiaren

bidaiaren erregistro-liburua;

eta Shelleyk ere bazituen bere dorreak,

gogoetaren ahalmen koroatuak

deitu zienak behin.

 

Nik, berriz, diot dorre hau

dela nire sinboloa;

nik diot eskailera sigi-sagatsu,

birakari eta espiralez osatua

dela nire zurubi antzinakoa;

Goldsmith, deana, Berkeley eta Burke

han zehar igarotakoak dira.

 

Deana, Swift, bularra kolpatuz

misteriozko eldarnio itsu batez,

ezen bihotzak bular odoleztatutik

gizateriarengana bultzatu zuen;

Goldsmith, bere gogamenaren

ezti-ontzitik xurgaka,

 

eta Burke harroetan harroa

Estatuari zuhaitz bat erakutsiz,

txorien labirinto menderaezina,

mendez mende hostoak botatzen dituena

heriotzan etzanik matematikoki berdinduz,

 

eta Berkeley Jainkoak hautatua,

gauza guztiak amets gisa erakutsi zituena,

nahiz eta mundu zerri, pragmatiko, zentzugabe

honen erditzeak hain sendoa dirudien,

ezen desagertu egingo baita

gogamenak gaia aldatu ahala;

 

Saeva Indignatio eta gure odola,

desiraren arima-handitasuna;

Jainkoa ez den oro su intelektualak suntsitua.

 

 

III

 

Hodeirik gabeko ilargiaren garbitasunak

zorua geziz josi du,

zazpi mende igarota, hala ere garbi,

errugabetasunaren odolak ez du orbanik utzi.

Han, odolez blaituriko lurrean tentesoldadua, hiltzailea, borreroa.

Dela eguneroko zoritxarragatik,

edo erabateko gorrotoagatik, edo odol-isurketagatik,

ezin izan zuen inolako turrustarik

bota horren guztiaren gainera.

Odolaren usaina antzinako zurubian!

Gu, odolik isuri ez dugunok,

elkartu gaitezen hantxe

eta egin dezagun deiadar eldarnioz

mozkorturik ilargiaren alde.

 

 

IV

 

Hautsez beteriko leiho distiratsuetan itsasten dira,

ilargiak argituriko zeruan itsatsiko balira bezala,

asun-tximeletak,

pauma-tximeletak;

horra gau-sits batzuk hegan.

Nazio moderno bakoitza

dorrearen antzeko ote da?

Hor, erdi hilik, muinoan? Ez dio axola zer esan dudan,

heriotza da-eta jakinduriaren jabe,

bizitzarekin bateraezina; eta bizitza, berriz,

indarraren jabe, odolaren

orbana duen beste edozer bezala;

baina inolako orbanik ezin da igo

ilargiaren aurpegira, hodei batetik

loriaren loriaz begiratzen zaionean.

 

Blood and the Moon

I

Blessed be this place, / More blessed still this tower, / A bloody, arrogant power / Rose out of the race / Uttering, mastering it, / Rose like these walls from these / Storm-beaten cottages — / In mockery I have set / A powerful emblem up, / And sing it rhyme upon rhyme / In mockery of a time / Half dead at the top.

II

Alexandria’s was a beacon tower, and Babylon’s / An image of the moving heavens, a log-book of the sun’s journey and the moon’s; / And Shelley had his towers, thought’s crowned powers he called them once. // I declare this tower is my symbol; I declare / This winding, gyring, spiring treadmill of a stair is my ancestral stair; / That Goldsmith and the Dean, Berkeley and Burke have travelled there. // Swift beating on his breast in sibylline frenzy blind / Because the heart in his blood-sodden breast had dragged him down into mankind, / Goldsmith deliberately sipping at the honey-pot of his mind, // And haughtier-headed Burke that proved the State a tree, / That this unconquerable labyrinth of the birds, century after century, / Cast but dead leaves to mathematical equality; // And God-appointed Berkeley that proved all things a dream, / That this pragmatical, preposterous pig of a world, its farrow that so solid seem, / Must vanish on the instant if the mind but change its theme; // Saeva Indignatio and the labourer’s hire, / The strength that gives our blood and state magnanimity of its own desire; / Everything that is not God consumed with intellectual fire.

III

The purity of the unclouded moon / Has flung its arrowy shaft upon the floor. / Seven centuries have passed and it is pure, / The blood of innocence has left no stain. / There, on blood-saturated ground, have stood / Soldier, assassin, executioner, / Whether for daily pittance or in blind fear / Or out of abstract hatred, and shed blood, / But could not cast a single jet thereon. / Odour of blood on the ancestral stair! / And we that have shed none must gather there / And clamour in drunken frenzy for the moon.

IV

Upon the dusty, glittering windows cling, / And seem to cling upon the moonlit skies, / Tortoiseshell butterflies, peacock butterflies, / A couple of night-moths are on the wing. / Is every modem nation like the tower, / Half dead at the top? No matter what I said, / For wisdom is the property of the dead, / A something incompatible with life; and power, / Like everything that has the stain of blood, / A property of the living; but no stain / Can come upon the visage of the moon / When it has looked in glory from a cloud.