RAMBLA DEL CARMEL

L'amor havia estat el reclam multicolor
dels bars de moda amb música de Blondie.
Ella tenia la pell aspra,
veu de noia trencada per l’alcohol.
La tocava en l'aire entre formes sense forma,
ella es queixava del refredat mentre fumava.

Carrer Agudells cantonada rambla del Carmel:
un túnel com els budells del somni,
crits de joves llibertaris travessant dècades
entre tirs de la policia i ordres per megafonia
com amenaces, dissolució.
Somni-malson negre,
negre com una nit negra sense tu,
negre com una llamborda negra,
negre com un negre negre.

I tu de què em parles?
D'una cultura de tanatori,
d’un rumor que no interessa ningú,
de tu, em parles de tu.
Jo vaig amb una pressa desesperada
i el món es mou a un ritme desesperant.

Corbates de blau pastel,
noies disfressades amb vestits de gasa
que marquen els pits.
Et despullo mentre preguntes per què.
Calla, mira, no repeteixis històries,
no vulguis saber el que no saps
ni voldries saber després de saber-ho.

Perquè ja ho saps:
somni, malson i negre,
negre com una nit negra sense tu,
que no vull,
negre com una llamborda al teu cor,
negre com els batecs sobre el pit
sense sostenidor negre,
sota el vestit de gasa negra,
negre com un negre ben negre.

© David Castillo
From: El pont de Mülhberg
Barcelona: Proa, 2000
Audio production: Institut Ramon Llull

Rambla del Carmel

Love had meant the multicoloured lure
of those fashionable bars with music by Blondie.
She had rough skin,
the voice of a girl ruined by alcohol.
I touched her in the open air among shapes that had no shape,
she complained about the cold while she smoked.

Carrer Agudells on the corner with rambla del Carmel:
a tunnel like the guts of sleep,
the shouts of young freedom-fighters crossing the decades
among shots from the police and orders by megaphone
with threats, dissolution.
Black nightmare of a dream,
black as a night without you,
black as a black paving-stone,
black as a black that is black.

And what is it you’re talking to me about?
A morgue-like culture,
a muttering that interests nobody,
it’s about you, you’re talking about yourself.
I travel in desperate haste
and the world moves at a despairing pace.

Pale blue ties,
girls disguised in gauzy dresses
that show their breasts.
I undress you while you ask why.
Be quiet, look, don’t tell stories,
you don’t want to know what you don’t know
nor would you like to know after you know it.

Because you already know it:
dream, the black of nightmare,
black as a black night without you,
that I do not want,
black as a paving-stone on your heart,
black as the heartbeats above your breast
without black bra,
under the black gauze of your dress,
black as a black that is truly black.

Translated into English by Anna Crowe