Ventada

Però encara no és passada,
Oh cor meu!
Ha vingut escabellada,
Tota urc.

Per la força –ai com crida!–
Se m’enduu;
Sense alè, atemorida,
Menjo pols.

L’amistat arremolina
–bo i dolent;
Res d’amiga ni veïna
Ni cel blau.

Només l’ombra que no em deixa
Dintre els ulls;
Em debato amb mi mateixa
I em faig mal.

La ventada té cobertes
Multituds:
Com un camp li són ofertes,
–tristes flors!

I esgarrifa la dallada
Que va fent
Amb la Mort aparellada:
Quanta sang!

© Estate of Carles Riba and Clementina Arderiu
From: Sempre i ara
Audio production: Library of Congress, Washington

Windstorm

But it´s not yet over,

oh my heart!

It has arrived disheveled,

arrogance complete.


By brute force—how it howls!—

it carries me away;

out of breath, frightened,

I choke on dust.


Amity is driven away

—good and bad;

no friends or neighbors,

no blue sky.


Nothing but shadow

is left in my eyes;

I struggle with myself

and do myself harm.


The windstorm has swept over

multitudes:

offerings in an open field

—pitiful flowers!


And terrifying is

the scythe that works

mated with Death

—so much blood!

Translated by Clyde Moneyhun