Poesia kaiera
Antzoki zaharra
Enara bat bezatzeko plana egin zenuen: zure maitasunaren
uda luzean atxikitzea, ahantz zitzan ez soilik urtaro latzak
eta atzean utzitako etxeak, baita bere izaera, hegan egiteko
premia eta zeruko bidezidor amaigabeak ere. Ez nintzen
zugana etorri beste gizon baten jakinduria biltzera, ezpada
neu zer nintzen ikastera, eta ikasiz, hazten ikastera; baina
ematen zenidan ikasgai oro zeure buruaz zen.
Atsegin ematen zizuten nire gorputzaren erantzunak,
giroak eta ohiko konbultsio arinek. Lerdea jariatu zenidan
ahoan, isuri zintzaizkidan txoko eta arrakala guztietan,
gantzutu zenuen nire irrits eskasa zure urin mingots-gozoez.
Emazte deitzen zenidan. Zure teari sakarina botatzen
erakutsi zidaten eta bitaminak une egokian eskaintzen.
Beldurrez uzkurtuta zure ego eskergaren azpian, olata
magikoa jan eta ipotx bihurtu nintzen. Neure borondatea
eta arrazoia galdu nituen; erantzun inkoherenteak ematen
nizkien, ahapeka, zure galdera guztiei. Uda interesa galtzen
hasi da. Gogoratzen ditut udazkeneko haize zakarragoak
eta erretzen ari ziren hostoen kea. Zure gela beti argi
artifizialez argituta dago; zure leihoak, beti itxita.
Hain gutxi laguntzen du aire girotuak ere, zeharo nagusi
baita zure hatsaren urrin arra. Ontzietako lore moztuak
giza izerdi usaina hartzen hasi dira. Kito kantak, kito dantza;
nire burua antzoki zahar bat da, argi guztiak itzalita.
Beti berbera da gizon indartsuaren teknika. Dosi hilgarrietan
zerbitzatzen du bere maitasuna, zeren maitasuna Nartziso
ur ertzean baita, bere aurpegi bakartiarekin obsesionaturik,
eta hala ere, azkenean, xede bat aurkitu behar du, askatasun
aratz erabateko bat; nahi behar du ispiluak txiki-txiki
eginda geratzea eta gau atseginak ura ezabatzea.
The Old Playhouse
You planned to tame a swallow, to hold her / In the long summer of your love so that she would forget / Not the raw seasons alone and the homes left behind, but / Also her nature, the urge to fly, and the endless / Pathways of the sky. It was not to gather knowledge / Of yet another man that I came to you but to learn / What I was and by learning, to learn to grow, but every / Lesson you gave was about yourself. You were pleased / With my body’s response, its weather, its usual shallow / Convulsions. You dribbled spittle into my mouth, you poured / Yourself into every nook and cranny, you embalmed / My poor lust with your bitter-sweet juices. You called me wife, / I was taught to break saccharine into your tea and / To offer at the right moment the vitamins. Cowering / Beneath your monstrous ego I ate the magic loaf and / Became a dwarf. I lost my will and reason, to all your / Questions I mumbled incoherent replies. The summer / Begins to pall. I remember the ruder breezes / Of the fall and the smoke from burning leaves. Your room is / Always lit by artificial lights, your windows, always / Shut. Even the air-conditioner helps so little, / All pervasive is the male scent of your breath. The cut flowers / In the vases have begun to smell of human sweat. There is / No more singing, no more dance, my mind is an old / Playhouse with all its lights put out. The strong man’s technique / Is always the same. He serves his love in lethal doses, / For love is Narcissus at the water’s edge, haunted / By its lonely face, and yet it must seek at last / An end, a pure, total freedom, it must will the mirrors / To shatter and the kind night to erase the water.