La deriva del no moure's

La deriva del no moure's.
Aquell no saber-se enlloc
perquè l’espai no t’és estrany
de fa massa llunes i vents,

és el que empeny qualsevol soca
de figuera a retòrcer-se en un dolor de panxa encesa;

és el que estira el meu desig -en giragonses
cap a aquella altra finestra encortinada i amb baranes.

M’és l’encanteri autoimposat:
no menjaré i no beuré fins que hagi omplert
tot el meu niu de llavors teves.

Prò em nego a ser-te l’oreneta,
si no m’ets fèrtil, Terra roja!

© LaBreu
Aus: Afollada
Barcelona: LaBreu, 2016
Audioproduktion: Catalunya Ràdio

A drift of stasis

A drift of stasis.
That sense of feeling adrift
as nothing has felt strange about this space
for many moons and changes in the wind now,

this is what pushes any old stump
of a fig tree to gnarl and twist up in the pain of an inflamed stomach;

this is what pulls on my desire – in twists
and turns towards the railings of that curtained window.

A spell cast on myself:
I shall neither eat nor drink until my nest
is filled with your seeds.

But I refuse to be your little swallow,
if you are not fertile for me, Red Earth!

Translated by Laia Martínez i López