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| 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
