Jordi Julià i Garriga

De pequeños, las tardes de verano
íbamos tras la vida que era esquiva,
bajo las piedras, entre las rendijas,
vuelta una lagartija aprisionable.
Entonces descubrimos que huiría,
que requería ingenio y atención:
la paciencia y la astucia eran las armas,
y atrapar con la mano firme y blanda
aquel móvil tesoro entre los dedos.
Las cajas de zapatos eran jaulas,
las hojas de lechuga y moscas muertas
la ración que ignoraba el pobre sauro,
que un día aparecía muerto y fláccido,
la panza arriba y con el vientre claro.
El gato de mi casa era más hábil:
con una sola pata se bastaba,
y huía con la presa entre los dientes,
aunque causaba daños más tangibles:
un pedazo de rabo retorciéndose.
Ahora hay gente que no halla su lugar,
y en mi interior palabras se revuelven
buscando algún contexto, un todo extinto,
para crear sentido.

From the time when we were very young, on summer afternoons
we went in pursuit of life, wildlife,
under stones, among the cracks,
life become lizards to hunt.
Then we discovered that it would run away from us,
that we needed to be alert, on the qui vive:
patience and ingenuity were our weapons,
and grasping with a firm but gentle hand
the treasure wriggling between our fingers.
Shoe boxes were cages,
vine leaves and dead flies
the banquet refused by the poor saurian,
who one day lay limp and dead
on its back with pale belly upward.
Our cat was always much more cunning
able to catch it with a single paw,
and would walk proudly along with his prey in his mouth.
But the damage he inflicted was much heavier than ours:
he used to leave a stump of tail still twisting about.
Now there are people who cannot find their place,
and as for me, there are words shifting about
searching for a lost whole, some context,
in order to make sense.