En la guarda de los Cantos de
Pound
Ahí están los Alpes. ¿Qué se puede decir sobre ellos?
No tienen
sentido. Glaciares fatales, riscos que excéntricos trepan,
un revoltijo
de rocas y de yuyos, pastura y rocas,
derrubios de ladera,
et l’on entend, quizás, le
refrain joyeux et leger.
Quién
sabe lo que el hielo habrá marcado en la roca que alisa.
Ahí están,
tendrás que dar un largo rodeo
si
quieres evitarlos.
Cuesta un
poco acostumbrarse. ¡Ahí están los Alpes,
idiotas! ¡Siéntense
y esperen a que se desmoronen!
Basil Bunting, Benwell and Scotswood, 1900- Hexham, 1985
En The Complete Poems of Basil Bunting (1900-85), Oxford University
Press, 1994
Versión ©
Silvia Camerotto
imagen de The University of Toledo
On the Fly-Leaf of Pound's Cantos
There are the Alps. What is there to say about them?
They don't make sense. Fatal glaciers, crags cranks climb,
jumbled boulder and weed, pasture and boulder, scree,
et l'on entend, maybe, le refrain joyeux et leger.
Who knows what the ice will have scraped on the rock it is smoothing?
There they are, you will have to go a long way round
if you want to avoid them.
It takes some getting used to. There are the Alps,
fools! Sit down and wait for them to crumble!
They don't make sense. Fatal glaciers, crags cranks climb,
jumbled boulder and weed, pasture and boulder, scree,
et l'on entend, maybe, le refrain joyeux et leger.
Who knows what the ice will have scraped on the rock it is smoothing?
There they are, you will have to go a long way round
if you want to avoid them.
It takes some getting used to. There are the Alps,
fools! Sit down and wait for them to crumble!
No hay comentarios.:
Publicar un comentario