2.
Verano después de que el verano ha terminado,
bálsamo después de la violencia:
no me hace ningún bien
ser bueno conmigo ahora;
la violencia me ha cambiado.
Amanecer. Las bajas colinas brillan
ocre y fuego, incluso los campos
brillan.
Conozco lo que veo; el sol podría ser
el sol de agosto, devolviendo
todo lo que nos quitaron—
¿Oyes
esta voz? Esta es lo voz de mi mente;
no
puedes tocar mi cuerpo ahora.
Cambio
una vez, se endureció,
no
le pidas que reaccione otra vez.
Día
como un día de verano.
Excepcionalmente
calmo. Las altas sombras de los arces
casi
malva en los caminos de grava.
Y
al atardecer, el calor. Noche como una noche de verano.
No
me hace ningún bien; la violencia me cambió.
Mi
cuerpo se volvió frío como los campos despojados;
ahora
solo queda mi mente, cautelosa y precavida,
con
la sensación de ser puesta a prueba.
Una
vez más, el sol sale como salía en el verano;
generoso,
bálsamo después de la violencia.
Bálsamo
después de que las hojas han cambiado, después de que los campos
fueron
cosechados y removidos.
Dime
que esto es el futuro,
no
voy a creerte.
Dime
que estoy viva,
no
voy a creerte.
De ‘October’
Louise Glück, Nueva York, 1943
En Averno, Farrar, Straus and Giroux, New York, 2007
Versión © Silvia Camerotto
imagen de Shayna Leib, Glass Art en Simply Creative
2.
Summer after
summer has ended,
balm after violence:
it does me no good
to be good to me now;
violence has changed me.
balm after violence:
it does me no good
to be good to me now;
violence has changed me.
Daybreak. The
low hills shine
ochre and fire, even the fields shine.
I know what I see; sun that could be
the August sun, returning
everything that was taken away —
ochre and fire, even the fields shine.
I know what I see; sun that could be
the August sun, returning
everything that was taken away —
You hear this
voice? This is my mind’s voice;
you can’t touch my body now.
It has changed once, it has hardened,
don’t ask it to respond again.
you can’t touch my body now.
It has changed once, it has hardened,
don’t ask it to respond again.
A day like a day
in summer.
Exceptionally still. The long shadows of the maples
nearly mauve on the gravel paths.
And in the evening, warmth. Night like a night in summer.
Exceptionally still. The long shadows of the maples
nearly mauve on the gravel paths.
And in the evening, warmth. Night like a night in summer.
It does me no
good; violence has changed me.
My body has grown cold like the stripped fields;
now there is only my mind, cautious and wary,
with the sense it is being tested.
My body has grown cold like the stripped fields;
now there is only my mind, cautious and wary,
with the sense it is being tested.
Once more, the
sun rises as it rose in summer;
bounty, balm after violence.
Balm after the leaves have changed, after the fields
have been harvested and turned.
bounty, balm after violence.
Balm after the leaves have changed, after the fields
have been harvested and turned.
Tell me this is
the future,
I won’t believe you.
Tell me I’m living,
I won’t believe you.
I won’t believe you.
Tell me I’m living,
I won’t believe you.
.
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