Joves

Pignone, Itàlia. Fotografia: Empar Sáez

Joves

Fa milers de portes

quan era una criatura solitària

en una gran casa amb quatre

garatges i era a l’estiu,

tal com puc recordar-ho,

jeia sobre la gespa a la nit,

amb el trèvol marcint-se sota meu,

les sàvies estrelles acotxant-me,

la finestra de la meva mare, un forat

que abocava aire groc i calent,

la finestra del meu pare, mig tancada,

un ull per on passen els adormits,

i el trespol de la casa

era llis i blanc com cera

i probablement un milió de fulles

navegaven damunt les seves estranyes tiges

mentre els grills xiuxiuejaven plegats

i jo, en el meu cos nou de trinca,

que encara no era el d’una dona,

feia les meves preguntes a les estrelles

i pensava que Déu realment podia veure

la calor i la llum pintada,

colzes, genolls, somnis, bona nit.

Young

A thousand doors ago

when I was a lonely kid

in a big house with four

garages and it was summer

as long as I could remember,

I lay on the lawn at night,

clover wrinkling under me,

the wise stars bedding over me,

my mother's window a funnel

of yellow heat running out,

my father's window, half shut,

an eye where sleepers pass,

and the boards of the house

were smooth and white as wax

and probably a million leaves

sailed on their strange stalks

as the crickets ticked together

and I, in my brand new body,

which was not a woman's yet,

told the stars my questions

and thought God could really see

the heat and the painted light,

elbows, knees, dreams, goodnight.

Anne Sexton, Com ella. Poemes escollits (1960-1965)

Traducció: Montserrat Abelló