Julie Wark
inglés
Solstici
Les paraules són cérvoles que fugen de la mort
Tenen fred i se'n duen la tarda dins els ulls
Se'n duen instants liles com la mar de Menorca
Mai no he tornat d’aquells horitzons que eren música
Ardents sacerdotesses hi ballaven descalces
Embriagues d'aromes de roser imperial
Des d'un vaixell corsari pensaria els seus besos
Pensaria un rivet de notes d'oboè
A més de laberints les paraules són cérvoles
Beuen aigua dins l'últim batec de la tardor
Esdevenen deesses amb flors a la cintura
Volen créixer com taques de rovell i desfici
Mentre passa el perfil malva-rosa del vent
Passen contrabandistes pels sorrals de l'absència
Som l'amo de la seva tristesa i d'un vell gos
Tot allò que m'espera no té nom a cap mapa
De: Cap de cantó
Proa, 2004
Producción de Audio: Institut Ramon Llull
Solstice
Words are deer that take flight from death
They feel the cold and bear away afternoon in their eyes
They bear away lilac moments like the Menorca sea
I have never returned to those horizons that were music
Ardent priestesses danced there barefoot
Heady with aromas of the imperial rose
From a corsair boat I would think of their kisses
I would think of a ribbon of oboe notes
Besides labyrinths words are deer
They sip water in autumn’s last heartbeat
They become goddesses girded with flowers
They want to grow like patches of rust and unease
While the geranium-pink profile of the wind goes by
Smugglers go by on the sand lands of absence
We are lord of their sadness and of an aging dog
All that awaits me has no name on any map