my right hand

euphoria

 

You sit in the garden alone with the notebook, a sandwich, flask and pipe.

It is night, but so quiet that the light burns without flicker

disseminates a reflection of the table of rough boards

and shines in the bottle and glass.
 You take a sip, a bite, you stuff and light your pipe.

You write a line or two and step back to pause and ponder

streak of the evening redness that progresses towards dawn,

sea of wild chervil, frothy green and white in the summer night darkness,

not a moth around the light but the choirs of mosquitoes in the oak,

leaves so still against the sky. . . And aspen that rustle in the stillness:

The whole nature strong from love and death around you.

As if it was the last evening before a long, long journey:

You have the ticket in your pocket and finally everything is packed.

And you can sit and sense the nearness of the distant land,

sense how all is in all, both its end and its beginning,

sense that here and now is both your departure and return,

sense how death and life are as strong as wine inside you!

Yes, being one with the night, one with myself, with low light

who looks me in the eye quiet, inscrutable and silent,

one with aspen that trembles and whispers,

one with flowers, flocks leans out of the darkness and listen

to something I had on the tip of my tongue, but never was said,

something I did not want to betray even if I could.

And it's bubbling inside of me of pure happiness!

And the flame rises. . . It is as if the flowers crowdedcloser,

closer and closer to the light in shimmering rainbow dots.

The aspen trembles and plays, afterglow exceeds

and everything that was untold and far away is now near and unspeakable.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I sing about the only thing that reconciles,

the only practical, for all alike.

Gunnar Ekelöf

Ets assegut al jardí tot sol amb el bloc de notes, unsandvitx, flascó i pipa.

És de nit, però tan calma que la llum crema sense vacil.lar,
 escampa un reflex damunt la taula de rústecs taulons
 i llueix en ampolla i got.

Prens un glop, un mos, atacones bé i encens la pipa.

Escrius una ratlla, dues, fas una pausa i penses
 en el raig rogenc de l'ocàs que avança vers l'aurora, 
mar de cerfull, escumejant blanc verdós en la foscor de la nit d'estiu.

Cap papalló al llum però cor de mosquits al roure,
fullam tan quiet contra el cel...i el trèmol que cruixen la calma:

Tota la natura forta d'amor i la mort entorn teu.

Com si fos l'últim vespre abans d'un llarg, llarg viatge.

Tens el billet a la butxaca i tot esta empaquetat.

I hom pot seure i sentir properes les terres distants,
sentir com tot és en tot, alhora la fi i l'inici, 
sentir que ara i aquí és ensems anada i retorn, 
sentir com vida i mort són fortes com vi dins d'un mateix!

Si, formar part de la nit, de mi mateix, de la  flama 

que em mira als ulls quieta, insondable i quieta, 
del trèmol que fremeix i xiuxiua,

del munt de flors que sorgeixen de la foscor i  escolten 
quelcom que tenia a la punta de la llengua i mai vaig dir, 
quelcom que no volia trair encara que pogués.

I que mormola dins meu de pura felicitat!

I la flama creix... Es com si les flors s'esmunyíssin 
mes a prop i mes a prop la llum en resplendents punts de l'iris.

El trèmol fremeix i toca, la rojor de l'ocàs passa

i allò que era callat i llunyà es ara callat i proper.

-------------------------------

Canto de l'únic que reconcilia,
l'úni pràctic, per a tothom igual.

Gunnar Ekelöf

rebecca miller portrait

colònia güell

this morning

This morning was something. A little snow
lay on the ground. The sun floated in a clear
blue sky. The sea was blue, and blue-green,
as far as the eye could see.
Scarcely a ripple. Calm. I dressed and went
for a walk -- determined not to return
until I took in what Nature had to offer.
I passed close to some old, bent-over trees.
Crossed a field strewn with rocks
where snow had drifted. Kept going
until I reached the bluff.
Where I gazed at the sea, and the sky, and
the gulls wheeling over the white beach
far below. All lovely. All bathed in a pure
cold light. But, as usual, my thoughts
began to wander. I had to will
myself to see what I was seeing
and nothing else. I had to tell myself this is what
mattered, not the other. (And I did see it,
for a minute or two!) For a minute or two
it crowded out the usual musings on
what was right, and what was wrong -- duty,
tender memories, thoughts of death, how I should treat
with my former wife. All the things
I hoped would go away this morning.
The stuff I live with every day. What
I've trampled on in order to stay alive.
But for a minute or two I did forget
myself and everything else. I know I did.
For when I turned back i didn't know
where I was. Until some birds rose up
from the gnarled trees. And flew
in the direction I needed to be going.

raymond carver

aquest matí

Aquest matí tenia alguna cosa. Un tel de neu
cobria el terra. El sol surava en un clar
cel blau.El mar era blau i blau-verd,
tan lluny com l'ull podia mirar.
A penes un murmuri. Calma. Em vaig vestir i me'n vaig anar 
a fer un tomb - decidit a no tornar 
fins que descobrís allò que la natura m'havia d'oferir.
Vaig passar a prop d'un arbres vells i encorbats.
Vaig travessar un camp ple de rocs
coberts de neu. vaig continuar voltant 
fins arribar al penya-segat.
A on vaig mirar el mar, i el cel, i
les gavines giravoltant sobre la llunyana platja blanca.
Tot encantador. Tot banyat en una pura i 
freda llum. Però, com sempre, els meus pensaments
van començar a vagar. Tenia que
concentrar-me en veure allò que estava veient
i res mes. Tenia que dir-me que això era 
important, no la resta. ( I ho vaig veure ,
durant un minut o dos!) Durant un minut o dos
va desplaçar les reflexions habituals sobre
el be i mal - obligacions,
tendres records, la mort, com hauria de tractar
la meva ex-dona. totes les coses
que desitjava que marxessin aquest matí.
La rutina diària. Allò que
havia arraconat per tal de continuar vivint.
Però per un minut o dos em vaig oblidar
de mi mateix i tota la resta.Se que ho vaig fer.
Quan em vaig donar la volta ja no ho recordava 
a on era. Fins que alguns ocells es van enlairar
des dels arbres encorbats. I van volar 
en la direcció per a on havia d'anar.

traducció: alvart

anna akhmatova portrait

there are the words

there are the words that couldn't be twice said,
he, who said once, spent out all his sense.
only two things have never their end -the heavens' blue and the creator's mercy.

 anna akhmatova

Hi han paraules que no poden ser dites dues vegades,
ell, que les pronuncià primer, va gastar tot el seu sentit.
només dues coses mai s'esgoten-
el cel blau i la misericòrdia del creador.

unuseful scissor

 

 

Tot el temps que vam estar junts

fórem com unes bones i útils tisores.

Després de separar-nos vam tornar

a ser dos esmolats ganivets

clavats a la carn del món

cadascú al seu lloc.

 

 

Iehua Amikhai

 

 

my old albarques

the disappearing island