Poesia kaiera
James Deanentzat
Ongietorri egin iezadazu, nahi baduzu,
gorroto baten enbaxadore gisara
zeinak bere kausa dakien
eta bera akabatzearen
apeta ez dizun bekaizten.
Aktore gazte bategatik ari naiz bakea
erregutzen, jainkook. New Yorkeko
kale hutsetan bakarrik
halaxe naiz haren oin zikinak eta burua
eta aktorea hilik da.
Zure airezko horman kolpekatu
da, zure lainezan, zure
garaierarantz korrika eta
zure mahaitik kendu duzu
zeina egina baita, zeinen bidegabeki
guretzat! ez zuhaitzez, lainoz baino.
Bere zikinkeria bere buruaren modukoa
denaren gisara mintzo naiz, urguiluz
eta abiadaz eta zure adibide
izugarria sirenen mintzoa baino gertuago da,
zigorraren zain den espiritua
zure aintzatespen bakarra dena.
Bakea! Leial izatea arratoizko
hiri bati eta goibelaren bekaitza
maitatzea, ezkutuko abaildura baten
hitzontzi nahasiak
isilka su eztian
etsipenaren eta eskandaluaren hautematean
kemen ez-naturalaren aurrean. Beren ametsak
beraienak dira, diren gisara
trenbide-terminal handi bateko komunak
eta betazal oso txiki, oso lodi
bateko lentejuelak.
Niretzat hartzen
dut hau, eta hagin artean hartzen duzu
nire biziaren haria,
abusuz histutako eta eztainuzko haria,
entzungo duzu oraindik
nire barneko piztiak
nire malkozko betazalak ixteko indar hitsa
gordetzen duen bitartean, eta nire erraiak hortxe doaz
bakarrik utzi nauzun mundu horien guztien
pertsekuzio noblean, eta haietatik
minez distraitzea litzateke,
zure larritasunen armada deitzen duzun bitartean
zeina begietan eta belarrietan
milioi bat odol-itsasontzi ululari baita
heriotza aurreko istant horretan.
Eta
epai-gogoz inguratu zuten otzanak,
soraio zain azken ozarkeriari
bere kontra matxinatzeko
eta esklabo bihurtzeko, zinema-izar nahiak
eta bestelako gauza distiratsuak lupetzan,
lokatz artean beren adorazio hutsal
sits modukoan, kezka zekenen eta beraiek
ordaindutako eta zuk emandako
—ospitale batek andariak gordetzen dituen bezala—
begiramen geldien adorazio hutsalean.
Hauek al dira azken orduko zure santuak,
begiluze koipetsu hauek, sonanbulu gihartsuok,
eszenatoki hauek zeinari buruz ez den hitzik esan
behar bezain hutsalki, ondo estalitako leku pribatuetako
exhibizionistok, zilbor-zupatzaileok?
Egia al da zuek, jende goren horiek, euli
maitekorren artean ezagunak, gorroto
zenutela haren azal lodiaren mirari eta grazia?
Zuen argia bide zainduetatik
atxikitzeko!
zuen maitasunak
zaila behar du izan, harena latza zen moduan.
Oinazezko sudur-zuloek
listu burbuila argitsuzko abenidetan barna
arnasten dute kea nola haren
haragi freskoaren lurrina,
behin-behineko altxatzea,
manera doilorren eta txahal-ezpain meheen
minbizi-ondorengo zirrara,
ilun zuen guraizeen arduragabekerian.
Gizonek hobietatik egiten dute negar bizirik diren bitartean
eta orain hildako honen ahotsa naiz,
totelka, apur bat lurpean.
Onartzen dut
bere begi berde hitsen elikagaia,
zeinetan loreak haztea
eragotziko dudan, zuen loreak.
For James Dean
Welcome me, if you will, / as the ambassador of a hatred / who knows its cause / and does not envy you your whim / of ending him. // For a young actor I am begging / peace, gods. Alone / in the empty streets of New York / I am its dirty feet and head / and he is dead. // He has banged into your wall / of air, your hubris, racing / towards your heights and you / have cut him from your table / which is built, how unfairly / for us! not on trees, but on clouds. // I speak as one whose filth / is like his own, of pride / and speed and your terrible / example nearer than the sirens’ speech, / a spirit eager for the punishment / which is your only recognition. // Peace! to be true to a city / of rats and to love the envy / of the dreary, smudged mouthers / of an arcane dejection / smoldering quietly in the perception / of hopelessness and scandal / at unnatural vigor. Their dreams / are their own, as are the toilets / of a great railway terminal / and the sequins of a very small, / very fat eyelid. // I take this / for myself, and you take up / the thread of my life between your teeth, / tin thread and tarnished with abuse, / you still shall hear / as long as the beast in me maintains / its taciturn power to close my lids / in tears, and my loins move yet / in the ennobling pursuit of all the worlds / you have left me alone in, and would be / the dolorous distraction from, / while you summon your army of anguishes / which is a million hooting blood vessels / on the eyes and in the ears / at that instant before death. // And / the menials who surrounded him critically, / languorously waiting for a / final impertinence to rebel / and enslave him, starlets and other / glittering things in the hog-wallow, / lunging mireward in their inane / mothlike adoration of niggardly / cares and stagnant respects / paid themselves, you spared, / as a hospital preserves its orderlies. / Are these your latter-day saints, / these unctuous starers, muscular / somnambulists, these stages for which / no word’s been written hollow / enough, these exhibitionists in / well-veiled booths, these navel-suckers? // Is it true that you high ones, celebrated / among amorous flies, hated the / prodigy and invention of uis nerves? / To withhold your light / from painstaking paths! / your love / should be difficult, as his was hard. // Nostrils of pain down avenues / of luminous spit-globes breathe in / the fragrance of his innocent flesh / like smoke, the temporary lift, / the post-cancer excitement / of vile manners and veal-thin lips, / obscure in the carelessness of your scissors. // Men cry from the grave while they still live / and now I am this dead man’s voice, / stammering, a little in the earth. / I take up / the nourishment of his pale green eyes, / out of which I shall prevent / flowers from growing, your flowers.