Traducciones
Me muestras los poemas de una mujer
de mi edad o quizás más joven
traducidos de tu lengua
Hay algunas palabras: enemigo, horno, dolor
que alcanzan para saber
que es una mujer de mi tiempo
obsesionada
por el Amor, nuestro tema:
lo hemos guiado como a la hiedra en nuestros muros
horneado como pan en nuestras cocinas
cargado como plomo en nuestros tobillos
mirado con binoculares como si
fuese un helicóptero
trayendo alimento a nuestra hambre
o el satélite
de un poder hostil
Comienzo a imaginar a esa mujer
haciendo cosas: revolviendo el arroz
planchando una falda
tipeando un texto hasta la madrugada
tratando de llamar
desde una cabina
en el cuarto de un hombre
el teléfono suena sin que conteste
y lo oye diciéndole a alguien
no importa. se cansará —
lo oye contándole su historia a la hermana
que se vuelve enemiga
y que a su tiempo
iniciará su propio camino hacia el dolor
ignorando el hecho de que ese camino de sufrimiento
es compartido, innecesario
y político.
1972
Adrienne Rich, Baltimore, 1929- Maryland, 2012
de Diving into the Wreck, W.W. Norton & Co., New York, 1973
de Diving into the Wreck, W.W. Norton & Co., New York, 1973
Versión ©Silvia Camerotto
Translations
You show me the poems of some woman
my age, or younger
translated from your language
Certain words occur: enemy, oven, sorrow
enough to let me know
she’s a woman of my time
enough to let me know
she’s a woman of my time
obsessed
with Love, our subject:
we’ve trained it like ivy to our walls
baked it like bread in our ovens
worn it like lead on our ankles
watched it through binoculars as if
it were a helicopter
bringing food to our famine
or the satellite
of a hostile power
we’ve trained it like ivy to our walls
baked it like bread in our ovens
worn it like lead on our ankles
watched it through binoculars as if
it were a helicopter
bringing food to our famine
or the satellite
of a hostile power
I begin to see that woman
doing things: stirring rice
ironing a skirt
typing a manuscript till dawn
doing things: stirring rice
ironing a skirt
typing a manuscript till dawn
trying to make a call
from a phonebook
from a phonebook
the phone rings unanswered
in a man’s bedroom
she hears him telling someone else
never mind. she’ll get tired—
hears him telling her story to her sister
in a man’s bedroom
she hears him telling someone else
never mind. she’ll get tired—
hears him telling her story to her sister
who becomes her enemy
and will in her own time
light her own way to sorrow
and will in her own time
light her own way to sorrow
ignorant of the fact this way of grief
is shared, unnecessary
and political
is shared, unnecessary
and political
