The Hat

A green hat is blowing through Harvard Square
and no one is trying to catch it.
Whoever has lost it has given up –
perhaps, because his wife was cheating,
he took it off and threw it like a frisbee,
trying to decapitate a statue
of a woman in her middle years
who doesn’t look anything like his wife.
This wind wouldn’t lift the hat alone,
and any man would be glad to keep it.
I can imagine – as it tumbles along,
gusting past cars, people, lampposts –
it sitting above a dark green suit.
The face between them would be bearded
and not unhealthy, yet. The eyes
would be green, too – an all green man
thinking of his wife in another bed,
these thoughts all through the green hat,
like garlic in the pores, and no one,
no one pouncing on the hat to put it on.

© Matthew Sweeney & Jonathan Cape
Aus: Selected Poems
London : Jonathan Cape, 2002
Audioproduktion: 2006, M.Mechner / Literaturwerkstatt Berlin

PLATMALE

Zaļa platmale lido pa Hārvardas laukumu,
un neviens to nevēlas noķert.
Platmales saimnieks to pametis –
varbūt tādēļ, ka sieva to krāpa,
viņš noņēma platmali, meta kā disku,
gribēdams notriekt galvu statujai, -
sievietei vidējos gados,
kas nebija līdzīga viņa sievai.
Vējš neliek un neliek platmali mierā,
kurš gan nepriecātos par tādu?
Es iztēlojos – kamēr tā ripo
garām mašīnām, laternām, ļaudīm –
kā tā piedien virs tumšzaļa uzvalka.
Seja pa visu ir bārdaina,
taču nav neveselīga. Un acis
arī ir zaļas – vīrs viscaur ir zaļā
un domā par sievu cita gultā,
un ar šīm domām zaļā platmale
pievilkusies kā ar ķiploku dvaku, un neviens
neķer platmali, lai to uzliktu galvā.

Translation: Inguna Jansone