Mary Ann Newman
englisch
ELS SABERS
conec la por dels teus ulls a l’alba. i l’espetec de les flames, el crepitar amagat dels boscos, la bogeria dels ocells obrint-se camins d’aire. érem tots dos una hipòtesi molt vaga, als llindars de la son, al vertigen del dubte i de la nit felina. ja no caminàvem: sèiem dalt d'una muntanya on havíem trescat, insaciables, pels senders costeruts de l’ànima. no reies, no em miraves: tenies els ulls clavats en les flames, als ulls dues flames que no trigarien a fer-me totes les rutes de la cendra per dintre: molt cruels i molt belles. i jo t’esperava, a la gatzoneta dalt d’un cim rocós ple d’esculls dificilíssims, tentinejant a un esglai de l’abisme: véns i em salves? véns i em saltes? conec els filons de la por dels teus versos, el triangle escalè dels teus gestos, l’animal arraulit als teus polsos, el retorn dissonant del teu gust quan m’allunyo, el sabor amargant de la taronja que em dónes. m’he après totes les albes, m’he après tots els sorolls quiets de la matinada: el bosc, l’ocell, les pedres, la fusta, les flames. i ara, quan del nostre caminar plegats en direccions sens dubte oposades no me’n queda sinó un grapat de pedretes dringuejant a les butxaques, un flascó de vidre buit i tota aquesta pols a les sabates; ara que ja em sé de memòria el rosari de la pena; ara que ja et saps de memòria les filigranes de la llenya a les soques; ara; ara ja m’he tornat gorga profunda, mort i passió, tres dies sense pa i deliris d’aigua: ara ja duc a dins del pit la nit sencera.
Aus: La matinada clara
Accent Editorial, 2010
Audioproduktion: Catalunya Ràdio
WAYS OF KNOWING
i know the fear in your eyes at dawn. and the crackle of flames, the hidden creaking
of the woods, the madness of the birds beating paths in the air. the two of us were just
a vague hypothesis, on the threshold of sleep, in the vertigo of doubt and the feline
night. we weren’t walking: we were sitting at the peak of a mountain we had scaled
insatiably up the soul’s steep paths. you didn’t laugh, you didn’t look at me: your eyes
were fast on the flames, in your eyes were two flames that would not be long in
following all the ashen routes inside me: ever so cruel and ever so beautiful. and I
awaited you, crouching atop a rocky peak riddled with impassible hurdles, teetering
one shiver from the abyss: will you come and save me? will you hurtle past me? i know
the lodes of fear in your verses, the scalene triangle of your gestures, the animal
huddled in your pulse, the dissonant repeat of the taste of you when I walk away, the
bitter taste of the orange you hand to me. i have learned all the dawns, i have learned
all the quiet sounds of the morning: the forest, the bird, the stones, the wood, the
flames. and now, when nothing is left of our walk together surely in opposite
directions but a handful of pebbles pinging in my pockets, an empty glass flask and all
this dust on my shoes; now that I have learned by heart the rosary of sadness; now
that you know by heart the filigrees of the wood at its roots; now; now that I have
become a deep gorge, death and passion, three days without bread and deliriums of
water: now I carry in my breast the whole of the night.