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.

© author

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.

Translated by Jacob Rhodes