Poesia kaiera
Poesia kaiera
Seamus Heaney
itzulpena: Xabi Borda
2017, poesia
64 orrialde
978-84-17051-05-1
Seamus Heaney
1939-2013
 
 

 

Ballynahinch lakua

 

 

                                          Godi, fanciullo mio; stato soave,

                                          Stagion lieta è cotesta.

                                                   Leopardi, “Il Sabato del Villagio”

 

 

Eamon Grennanentzat

 

 

Connemarako udaberri-aratzaren argitan

Autoa geratu genuen igande goiz batez.

Distira xarmagarri bat hedatu eta liluratu egin gintuen

Eta mendia osorik lakuan islaturik

Gozo sartu zitzaigun

Ziriak zuraren mamia bilatzen duen gisan.

           Ez oso urrun,

Baina euren txilioak irits ez zitezen aski urrun,

Bi itsastxorik murgil egiten zuten

Behin eta berriz. Gero euren flexio zuri eta azkarrak,

Urduri edo agonikoak zirela pentsa zitezkeenak,

Airean goratze bihurtzen ziren, hegaldi eta eroriko irmoak

Uraren gainean — ez ziren etxeetara hurbiltzen

Diren arimak,

Baizik eta, airea bera baino askoz ere astunagoak izan arren, hegalari bipilak.

 

Haiek bistaratzean barruan zerbait

Urratu zitzaigun, eta giltzari eragitean

Bira erdian gelditu egin zen,

Haizetakoari hitz egin zion, nolabait esatearren,

Alboz, pentsakor, besoak luze bolanteari eutsita,

Oraingoan bai eginez, baietz, benetan

Merezi izan zuela geratzeak; gero gidari bekokia beheratu

Eta emeki asaldatu egin zen motorra piztean.

 

Ballynahinch Lake

So we stopped and parked in the spring-cleaning light / Of Connemara on a Sunday morning / As a captivating brightness held and opened / And the utter mountain mirrored in the lake / Entered us like a wedge knocked sweetly home / Into core timber. / Not too far away / But far enough for their rumpus not to carry, / A pair of waterbirds splashed up and down / And on and on. Next thing their strong white flex / That could have been excitement or the death-throes / Turned into lift-off, big sure sweeps and dips / Above the water — no rafter skimming souls / Translating in and out of the house of life / But air-heavers, far heavier than the air. // Yet something in us had unhoused itself / At the sight of them, so that when she bent / To turn the key she only half-turned it / And spoke, as it were, directly to the windscreen, / In profile and in thought, the wheel at arm’s length, / Averring that this time, yes, it had indeed / Been useful to stop; then inclined her driver’s brow / Which shook a little as the ignition fired.