Ponç Pons

katalanisch

Julie Wark

englisch

Cala's morts

Llueve sobre mi infancia
Octavio Paz

I
Vora el mar brau del nord dret veig ploure la pluja
Rere aquest nus al coll s'amuntega la infància
No viurem ja mai més els hiverns crus de l'illa
Ni al furtiu safareig nedarem mai més nus
Ara el temps esburbat presagia eixorquesa
I un retorna feliç als versos dalt sa cambra
Corríem pels hortals d'espessa fruita lliures
Jugàvem a foners per camps sembrats de cards
No sabíem alegres que fóssim tan pobres
El sexe no era encara afronta ni pecat
Les vetllades s'omplien de contes i mites
El vent sencelistrava al cor ple de bondat

II
Fills del mar i la calç amb camamilla als ulls
Descobríem els noms dels ocells emboscats
Ens vestíem de llum a les platges ardents
Amb sorra esmerilàvem gregament el cos
La sal creixia als patis verds sota el raïm
No sabíem que el món existia i que enllà
De les costes de l'illa hi hagués altres déus
Un vell atles romput em va obrir tots els ports
Vaig llegir l'Odissea entre mates i pins
On són ara els senders desvirgats de Son Bou
O els tendals de canyís vora els verds tamarells
Sobrevolen Addaia sornuts gavians
Aquí encara hi ha gestos de Guerra Civil

© Edicions 62
Aus: Estigma
Barcelona: Edicions 62, 1995
Audioproduktion: Institut Ramon Llull

Cala's morts

It rains on my childhood
                                                   Octavio Paz

I
Standing by the wild north-coast sea I see the rain raining
Behind this lump in my throat is my childhood heaped
We shall nevermore know the island’s crude winters
Nor ever again swim nude in the furtive tank
Now careless time presages sterility
And one returns happy to the verses above his room
We ran free through the orchards laden with fruit
We played with our slings in cardoon-sown fields
We did not know in our happiness that we were so poor
Sex had not yet become affront or sin
Our evenings overflowed with stories and myths
The wind rose in the sky to a heart full of goodness

II
Children of sea and limestone with camomile in our eyes
We discovered the names of birds that hid in the woods
On the burning beaches we were arrayed in light
Like Greeks with emery sand our bodies shone
Salt grew in green patios under bunches of grapes
We did not know the world existed and that beyond
The island's coasts there were other gods too
A battered old atlas opened all the ports to me
I read The Odyssey among thickets and pines
Where are they now Son Bou’s deflowered paths
And the trails of reeds by green tamarisk trees
Flying over Addaia are peevish gulls
Here there are still gestures of Civil War
Because to write is also to give sense to the world
and to rescue from anguish what is finite and absurd,
I persevere into the night fervently turning words
into emotion and so shore up my life with verse.

Translation from Catalan by Julie Wark