Jacob Rhodes
inglés
Dictat
Soc la branca on xiulava la merla.
Soc la mà que no vol la magnòlia
tancada
no viva encara
la teva mort
que esperava
l’olor de la flor blanca
llimones i negre
el bec i la por
atenta.
Té la flor.
No és oberta
no és temps.
Té la flauta
de l’ocell que em reclama
agafa
l’olor de llimona
i la cera
que em posaran als llavis tancats
i tu canta
merla meva
magnòlia encara verda.
Dictation
I am the branch upon which the blackbird whistled.
I am the hand who does not want the petals
closed tight
not alive yet,
your death
who was waiting
for the white flower’s odour,
lemons, and the black beak,
and attentive fear.
Here’s the flower.
It hasn’t blossomed,
it is not time yet.
Here’s the flute
belonging to the bird calling to me,
Take a whiff of lemon,
and the wax
that they will smear on my closed lips,
and you, sing
my blackbird
young magnolia still young.