Anna Crowe
englisch
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Que els altres són com tu, de tots els pensaments cruels,
és el que mulla més. Els pren allò que és seu:
la forma dels cabells, el color dels teixits,
el traçat de les lletres, difuminat com molsa.
Si penso que ets com jo, deixo de veure
que el riure és un desordre d'aire arremolinat al cove
de la gola. Que les tardes es poden quedar quietes,
en un instant etern, com colibrís que beuen.
Quan penses que ets com jo, salto de branca
en branca fugint del teu foc moll que em llepa.
Qui ha bufat massa fort? Qui ha dit
que sap com som, que el temps cal mastegar-lo
cinquanta-cinc vegades?
Aus: Petrolier
València: Denes, 2003
Audioproduktion: Institut Ramon Llull
Knowledge of others
Of all cruel thoughts, the one of others being like you
is the most drenching. It takes from them what is theirs:
the way their hair grows, the colour of their garments,
the shape of their handwriting, all blurred, like moss.
If I think that you are like me, I no longer see
that laughter is a tangle of air whirled in the rattle-bag
of your throat. Or that afternoons can be still,
for an endless instant, like humming-birds drinking.
When you think you are like me, I leap from branch
to branch to escape from your wet, licking fire.
Who is it has blown too hard? Who has said
they know what we’re like, or that time has to be chewed,
every mouthful, fifty-five times?