Francisca Esteve
Translator
on Lyrikline: 1 poems translated
from: catalan to: english
Original
Translation
Una instantània
catalan | Antònia Vicens
Els pits sota el jersei desafien la plaça
a la fotografia.
Era molt jove quan un espontani em va fotografiar
baixant els esglaons de l’església. (Al fons el campanar contra el cel.)
Els homes sortiren del bar amb una cassalla a la mà.
Somreien
etílics i concupiscents.
Era diumenge.
De tots ells només la mirada del pare era aigua de la mar amb veles.
No coneixia fortuna però teixia xarxes:
Atrapar el temps.
Recobrar el minut exacte de la puresa.
M’ho deia sempre:
Als tretze anys la mar ja em feia mal a l’esquena.
Als quinze anys no coneixia la cassalla ni l’aspirina.
*
I deia la mare:
Encara somia platges. Tu no has de ser
com ton pare filla. Ell sempre
s’ha deixat seduir fàcilment.
I un rast de planys se li va encallar a les genives
igual que els hams dels palangres s’encallen
en les prades de posidònia.
from: Lovely
Moll, 2009
Audio production: Catalunya Ràdio
Snapshot
english
In the plaza, my breasts under the sweater
defy the photo.
I was very young when someone suddenly snapped my picture
as I descended the church steps. (In the background, the bell against the sky.)
Men were leaving the bar with schnapps in hand.
Smiling,
etherized and concupiscent.
It was on a Sunday.
Among all of them, the only look of innocence was the look on my father’s face,
sea water and sails.
He didn’t know what it was to be rich, but he knitted nets:
Catching time,
retrieving the exact minute of purity.
He always used to tell me:
“When I was thirteen, the sea already hurt my back.
When I was fifteen, I knew nothing of aspirin, let alone aspirin.”
And my mother said:
“He’s still dreaming about the shores. You don’t have to be
like your father. He was always
easily seduced.”
And a strung up bunch of moaning was stuck in his gums
like hooks on trawl-lines stuck
in coral.
Antologia Xeixa - Fifteen Catalan Poets: Tupelo Press, 2015.