Conversación
El tumulto en el
corazón
sigue haciendo
preguntas.
Y luego se
detiene y comienza a responder
en el mismo tono
de voz.
Nadie podría
decir la diferencia.
Poco inocentes, comienzan
estas conversaciones,
y luego
involucran los sentidos,
casi sin querer.
Y luego no hay
opción,
y luego no hay
sentido;
hasta que un
nombre
y toda lo que
connota son lo mismo.
***
Un arte
El arte de perder no es difícil de dominar;
tantas cosas parecen decididas a
perderse que su pérdida no es una catástrofe.
Pierde algo cada día. Acepta el desbarajuste
de llaves perdidas, la hora malgastada.
El arte de perder no es difícil de dominar.
Luego practica perder un poco más, pierde más rápido:
lugares, y nombres, y allí donde pensabas
viajar. Nada de esto causará una catástrofe.
Perdí el reloj de mi madre. ¡Y mira! se fueron mis tres últimas
o penúltimas casas amadas.
El arte de perder no es difícil de dominar.
Perdí dos ciudades hermosas. Y, aun más
algunos reinos que tuve, dos ríos, un continente.
Los extraño, pero no fue una catástrofe.
Incluso perderte a ti (la voz burlona, un gesto
que amo) no mentiré. Es evidente
el arte de perder no es muy difícil de dominar
aunque parezca (¡Escríbelo!) una catástrofe.
Elizabeth
Bishop, Worcester, 1911- Boston, 1979
Versión © Silvia
Camerotto
Imagen de David Bowers©, The Three Graces,en Uno de los nuestros
Conversation
The tumult in the
heart
keeps asking questions.
And then it stops and undertakes to answer
in the same tone of voice.
No one could tell the difference.
Uninnocent, these conversations start,
and then engage the senses,
only half-meaning to.
And then there is no choice,
and then there is no sense;
until a name
and all its connotation are the same.
keeps asking questions.
And then it stops and undertakes to answer
in the same tone of voice.
No one could tell the difference.
Uninnocent, these conversations start,
and then engage the senses,
only half-meaning to.
And then there is no choice,
and then there is no sense;
until a name
and all its connotation are the same.
One Art
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like a disaster.
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like a disaster.
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