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| Reykjavík. Fotografia: Empar Sáez |
Nit fidel i virtuosa (fragment)
Era cert:
no em sortien sons de la boca. I tanmateix
eren al cap, expressats, possiblement,
com una cosa menys exacta, pensats segurament,
tot i que aleshores no deixaven de semblar-me sons.
Hi havia alguna cosa allà on no hi havia hagut res.
O hauria de dir, no hi havia res allà
però havia estat profanat amb preguntes.
Les preguntes m'encerclaven el cap; tenien la qualitat
d'estar organitzades d'alguna manera, com planetes.
A fora, es feia de nit. ¿Era aquesta,
aquella nit perduda, coberta d'estrelles, esquitxada de lluna,
com un compost químic que conserva
tot el que hi submergeixes?
La tieta havia encès l'espelma.
La foscor va escombrar la terra
i al mar flotava la nit
lligada a un tros de fusta.
Si pogués parlar, ¿què hauria dit?
Louise Glück, Nit fidel i virtuosa
Traducció de Núria Busquet
Edicions del Buc, 2017
***
Faithful and Virtuous Night (fragment)
It was true—
sounds weren’t coming out of my mouth. And yet
they were in my head, expressed, possibly,
as something less exact, thought perhaps,
though at the time they still seemed like sounds to me.
Something was there where there had been nothing.
Or should I say, nothing was there
but it had been defiled by questions—
Questions circled my head; they had a quality
of being organized in some way, like planets—
Outside, night was falling. Was this
that lost night, star-covered, moonlight-spattered,
like some chemical preserving
everything immersed in it?
My aunt had lit the candle.
Darkness overswept the land
and on the sea the night floated
strapped to a slab of wood—
If I could speak, what would I have said?
Louise Glück, Faithful and Virtuous Night (2014)
