Poesia kaiera
Egun erdiko sorginkeria
Azkenean etxeak eta nik bat egin genuen. Nire bihotzeko
atea, haize kirri bakoitzarekin erdi ireki-itxia, burdina
forjatuzko langa zen, gontzak herdoildurik
ez erabiltzearen poderioz, kirrinka bidaiari bati
sartzen uzteko, agian postariari telegrama batekin
urte dezente lehenago hildako bizilagunen batentzat;
eta gelazulo hartan, non egoten baitira dilindan
saguzarrak, etsai masaiek hil eta trofeo gisa uzkurturiko
gerrari afrikarren buruen antzeko giza aurpegiekin,
hantxe dago zintzilik nire arima ere, nire gorputz gaixoa
urrunetik kontrolatuz; halako moldez, non, egun erdiko
sorginkeria hutsez, ederrak arrotzen kategoriara bihurtzen
diren, zeren ni bainaiz etxe atzean orro egiten duen
itsasoa ere, pasioz orro itsasgoraren orduan; baina
gero itsasbehera iristen da eta ipuin desberdin bat
kontatzen du. Nik, itsasoak bezala, baditut barrenean
zenbait sedimentu, zenbait hondakin, gauez iraulkatu
itsasontzien hondarrak: hezur gutxi batzuk,
garagardo lata pare bat, brujula bat orratzik gabe.
Baina zeru-urdin koloreko diraute gure ametsek,
hala itsasoarenak nola nireak, eta oroitzea merezi duten
esperientzia guztiak ametsetan baizik ez zaizkigu
etortzen, eta ahanzten ditugu bekoz beko esnatzen
garenean egia bera bezain eternala den eguzkiarekin…
A Half-Day’s Bewitchment
Ultimately the house and I became one. My heart’s door / Swinging ajar with each vagrant breeze was the wrought iron gate, / Its hinges rusted from disuse, creaking to let / A traveller in, perhaps a postman delivering / A cable addressed to an occupant, dead for several / Years; and, in that alcove where the bats with human faces / Resembling the shrunken heads of the African warriors / Killed and trophied by their Massai enemies hang, / Hangs also my soul which remote controls my poor body / So that with only a half-day’s bewitchment / The beautiful ones are reverted to stranger rank, for / I am also the sea that roars behind the house, roars out / Its passion at the high tide hour; but, later the ebb arrives / To tall a different tale. I have, like the sea, some silt / At the core, some junk, the leavings of ships floundered in the night, / A few bones, a beer can or two, a compass with needles / Missing. But azure remain our dreams, both the sea’s and mine / And all the experiences worth remembering come / To us only in dreams which we forget when we wake / Face to face with the sun as eternal as truth itself...