Poesia kaiera
Bizitza baino handiagoa zen
Biziek, azkenean, hilak gainditu
behar dituzte, eta haiek baino
luzaroago bizi sosegu neurritsuan.
Hogei asteren buruan, nire penak
erru sentimendu arin bati eman zion bide:
hamabost urte edo gehiagoz
ez nintzen etzan haren kontra
egunsentiko lo arinean.
Emazte aseek egiten zuten moduan,
desiratik urrun zedin saiatu nintzen;
nire zelibatua hazitako ibai bat bezala
isurtzen zen gure gelako ohe bikien artean.
Ez dago oroitzapen xarmagarririk,
ez buruan iltzatu esaldi txeratsurik:
inoiz ez zen izan senar-emazte lotura bat.
Hain ginen bikote desparekatua!
Hala ere, bazeuden abantailak, onartzen dut;
hura libre zen ustiatzeko eta ni libre nintzen
ustiatua izateko. Bakean geunden
jostatzen ginen joko orotan.
Sita izan nintekeen haren Ramarentzat
aukera erdi bat eman izan balitzait.
Hiru seme hazi nituen; lanpetuegi
zebilen haiek handitzen ikusteko,
baina hark jartzen zuen aitaren aurpegi
margula, halakotzat ezagutzen ziotena.
Harena zen ilunabarrean hartxintxarretan
entzuten zen ibili astuna.
Bulegoko dokumentuak arakatzen
aritzen zen harik eta afaria hoztu, umeak mahaitik
altxatu eta lotara joaten ziren arte.
Ez dut gogoan inoiz film, antzezlan edo
kontzerturen batera eraman gintuenik,
edo txantxaren bat partekatu izana.
Kutxa gotor bat bezalakoa zen,
altzairu hotz itxia,
edo jabeak soilik ireki lezakeen
artxibategi baten gisakoa.
Une batez ere ez nintzen izan haren jabe.
Ondo egindako ohe lan batzuek soilik
lotu zuten nirekin.
Sentimenduen sujeta inoiz ez zen
ateratzen gure etxean, nahiz eta
luzaro iraun zuen gai gisa
gauak eta biok elkar hartuta
sortzen genituen ipuinetarako.
Haren falta sumatzen dudan?
Jakina, bizitza baino handiagoa
baitzen. Falta dut haren ahots zakarra
erretiluak igortzen, eskuizkribuak etsipenez
estuturik nola ama ezkongabeek
beren haur ez legitimoak.
Falta dut eguneroko postan egiten zidan
zentsura, telefono dei bakoitza ikertu beharra
eta haren zaintzaren isolamendua.
Larger than Life Was He
The living must ultimately / triumph over the dead / and outlive them in moderate calm, / In twenty weeks / my grief gave way to faint stirrings of guilt. / In the gauzy sleep of dawn / I had not lain against him / for fifteen years or more / I had tried as satiated wives did / to wean him off desire / My celibacy flowed like a river in spate / between the twin beds in our room / There are no memories that enthral, / no fond phrase capsuled in thought, / It was never a husband and wife bond. / We were such a mismated pair, / Yet there were advantages, I admit / he was free to exploit and I was free / to be exploited. / We were quits at every game we played / I could have been Sita to his Rama / had I been given half a chance. / I reared three sons, / he was too busy to watch them grow / but he it was who wore the faded face / that they recognised as their father’s. / His was the heavy tread / heard on the gravel at dusk / He peered into his office files / till the supper turned cold / and the children got up to sleep / I cannot recollect a film / a play or a concert he took us to / or a joke which together we shared. / He was like a bank locker / steely cold and shut / or a filing cabinet that / only its owner could unlock / Not for a moment did I own him. / Only a few bed-bound chores / executed well, tethered him to me. / Emotion was never a topic / brought up in our home / although for long it remained / as grist for the tales that the night / and I, combined, produced. / Do I miss him? / Of course, I do, for larger than life / was he. I miss that brusque voice / sending out the trays / hugging their manuscripts / meekly as unwed mothers did / their illegitimate offspring / I miss his censoring my daily mail / his screening each phone call / and the insulation of his care.