sábado, 29 de diciembre de 2012

Una traducción de Silvia Senese para los angloparlantes o para aquellos que también gustan leer en inglés


If you go to read poetry, Kid
put the small t-shirt on.
Poetry is cold, Kid.
I know they say it warms the soul
but what a soul Kid at the bus stop
this winter five o’ clock in the morning.                                            
Put the small t-shirt on Kid.
And the gloves?
You take care of the lines that cut
you take care Kid of those pigeons
of the moon
of the wind
of the west wind Kid that bleeds to death over the
houses like a scarlet tide.
Kid: Didn’ t you think about the scarf?
They ’re soon going to blow ice to the neck
to whet the little word
to wring it as if it were your nape.
You know how those guys are Kid.
They shake hands with you, they applaud you and then
they send you back with an empty stomach.
And you didn’ t eat me anything before leaving.
There I left you the potatoes and peas stew.
If at least you took your deceased father’s anorak
or the overcoat. But you leave without giving me a kiss
How many times I’ ve told you have to put on the right road
Study law, get a girlfriend who at least
won’t be drunk on Sundays.
But Kid, you stroll with those who live of nothing
spinning the letters.
Where did you see the gleam of the infinite cosmos?
Since when the fire is a prepubescent blaze?
Tell me Kid, don’t go yet.
You should have put the shoes with the rubber sole on
Let’s see if so much magnetization, if such a voltage electrocutes you.
But Kid: Didn’t you see I’m alone?
That momma needs you more than the whole dictionary?
That noone at the academy or at the SADE is going to cover you up at night?
We can play Buraco, finish the strudel
watch sábados continuados beside the small rock crystal heater.
For what the double meaning
the metaphor
the synecdoche
the metonymy, Kid
if you return to me with a cold?
For what the paradox, Kid, the free verse
The alliteration, the ellipsis.
For what serves the otherness
or the mistery of death?
If everything is so simple as when you leave naked
because you live a worn out reality.
That is what they call poetry?
Come here, Kid
That momma is going to make you a soup with Manón cookies in the tea with milk.
Don’t be a fool
world should be small
world is not conquered by enlarging it with sense
nor folding, or sticking it
not even trying to break it.
The world is, watch this Kid I’m saying,
the world is like the small drawer in your wardrobe.
Like this, square, at the end of a bedroom
in your own house, with everything you need.
Come here Kid, here is your small new t-shirt.
Look at it how nice.
I bought it to Don Samuel in two payments
Put it on Kid.
I don’t want you to be cold.

The academy: Academy of Letters
The SADE: Argentine Writer’s Society
Buraco: A rummy-type card game for four players in fixed partnerships in which the aim is to lay down in groups of cards of equal rank and suit sequences, there being a bonus for combinations of seven cards or more.
Sábados continuados: A 1964 TV programme conducted by a well-known journalist named Antonio Carrizo.
Manón: Sweet cookies sold since 1960 by one top selling brand of cookies and crackers in Argentine.

No hay comentarios: