Poesia kaiera
Poesia kaiera
Kamala Das
itzulpena: Joxe Mari Berasategi
2026, poesia
64 orrialde
978-84-19570-67-3
Kamala Das
1934-2009
 
 

 

Emakume sentsuala

 

Emakume sentsualak bere estiloari ondo doazkion

jantziak bezala hautatu behar du bere gaitza,

egoera delikatu halako bat begiarentzat ikusezina,

beldurra eta sinpatia samurra eragiten duena;

hartara, etzanda egon liteke, burko azala

martiri halo batek argituta, kaxmirrezko tapakien

edo zetazko estalkien azpian, lohadarrak ahul

nola haur batenak, larruazala arrosa bezain fresko;

eta bisitariak, hanka punttetan sartuz lore edo

fruitu eskaintzekin, sandaloa arnastu behar du

airean, argiontzietan erretzen ari diren

kotoizko metxen usaina, zeina beti mantentzen

baitu haren gelak, misterioski, gauza exotiko

guztiak kenduta ere; eta makurtu behar du

muin egitera esku bigunean, zeina ez baitago

ohitua maitasuna pizteko lanetara baizik.

Eta gauak eta egunak bata bestearen atzetik

aienatzen diren bitartean, itsasaldiak bezala,

ozeanoaren langidura neurrigabe batek hartzen dio

odola, bizirik eta hilik egotearen arteko hesiak

lausotzen dira, eta, Izatearen gurutze atseginean

iltzatuta, zangalatrau doa eternitatearen

erloju esfera orratzik gabean.

 

The Sensuous Woman

The sensuous woman must choose her illness as she / Chooses her clothes to suit her own style, a certain / Delicate condition invisible to the eye / Inspiring awe and tender sympathy / So that she may lie, a martyr’s halo / Lighting up her pillowcase, under rugs / Of cashmere or silken quilts, limbs flaccid / As a baby’s, skin cool as a rose, and / The visitor tiptoeing in with his / Offerings of flower or fruit must inhale / The sandal in the air, the scent of cotton wicks / Burning themselves out in lamps which her room / Mysteriously seems to hold always, / Although bare of such exotica, and must stoop / To kiss the back of an idle hand, unused / To chores all except that of kindling love. / And, as day and night as one tide after / Another roll away, an ocean’s vast / Languor seizes her blood, the fences between / The state of life and death fade, and nailed / To the pleasant cross of Being she straddles / The handless clockface of eternity.