THE DONKEY

De niña pasé unos años en un lugar de los Andes en el que el animal de carga por antonomasia era la mula. Las mulas llegaban donde no llegaban los tractores ni los todoterrenos ni las pick-ups.
Sentía tanta admiración por estos animales que mi padre me recitaba este poema de Chesterton (referido, supe años después, al domingo de ramos).

Se lo dedico a Víctor y sus cuentos maravillosos.


THE DONKEY
by G.K. Chesterton

When fishes flew and forests walked
And figs grew upon thorn,
Some moment when the moon was blood
Then surely I was born;

With monstrous head and sickening cry
And ears like errant wings,
The devil's walking parody
On all four-footed things.

The tattered outlaw of the earth,
Of ancient crooked will;
Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,
I keep my secret still.

Fools! For I also had my hour;
One far fierce hour and sweet:
There was a shout about my ears,
And palms before my feet.

ST.PATRICK'S

I Am Of Ireland by William Butler Yeats

'I am of Ireland,
And the Holy Land of Ireland,
And time runs on,' cried she.
'Come out of charity,
Come dance with me in Ireland.'

One man, one man alone
In that outlandish gear,
One solitary man
Of all that rambled there
Had turned his stately head.
That is a long way off,
And time runs on,' he said,
'And the night grows rough.'

'I am of Ireland,
And the Holy Land of Ireland,
And time runs on,' cried she.
'Come out of charity
And dance with me in Ireland.'

'The fiddlers are all thumbs,
Or the fiddle-string accursed,
The drums and the kettledrums
And the trumpets all are burst,
And the trombone,' cried he,
'The trumpet and trombone,'
And cocked a malicious eye,
'But time runs on, runs on.'

I am of Ireland,
And the Holy Land of Ireland,
And time runs on,' cried she.
"Come out of charity
And dance with me in Ireland.'

A SLANT OF LIGHT

There's a Certain Slant of Light
by Emily Dickinson

There's a certain slant of light,
Winter Afternoons,
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes.

Heavenly Hurt it gives us;
We can find no scar,
But internal difference
Where the Meanings are.

None may teach it  anything,
'Tis the Seal Despair,
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the Air.

When it comes, the Landscape Listens,
Shadows - hold their breath;
When it goes, 't is like the Distance
On the look of Death.


Hay una luz sesgada

Hay una luz sesgada
en las tardes de invierno,
que con su peso oprime
como la voz de un órgano en un templo.

Una celeste herida
nos hace, mas sin huella:
el alma en el sentido de las cosas
nota la diferencia.

Decir su traza nunca lograrías,
porque es el sello, la desesperanza:
una aflicción de reyes
que nos envía el aire.

Cuando viene, el paisaje presta oído;
sin respirar, la sombra ya lo advierte;
cuando se aleja, es como la distancia
que tiene la mirada de la muerte.

Versión de M. Manent.