La Argonauta
¿Para las
autoridades cuyas esperanzas
son fraguadas por
mercenarios?
¿Escritores
atrapados por la
fama a la hora del
té y por
las comodidades de casas
en las afueras? No es
para ellos para
quien la argonauta
construye su
delicada concha de cristal.
Cediendo su efímero
souvenir de esperanza,
blanco insulso
por fuera y por
dentro una superficie vivaz
brillante como el
mar, la celosa
hacedora lo cuida
día y noche; apenas
come hasta que los
huevos se rompen.
Ocultos ocho veces
entre sus ocho
brazos, porque ella
es en
cierto modo un
pulpo,
su protegida carga de
armazón de cristal
permanece oculta
pero no vencida;
como Hércules, al que
mordido
por un cangrejo
fiel a la hidra
se le impidió triunfar,
los huevos
intensamente
custodiados al salir
de la concha al
liberarse la liberan,—
dejando en su
avispero imperfecciones
blanco sobre
blanco, y apretujados
pliegues de chitón
iónico
como las líneas en las
crines de un
caballo del
Partenón,
alrededor del que
sus brazos se
enroscaron como si
supieran que el amor
es la única
fortaleza
lo suficientemente
fuerte en la que confiar.
Marianne Moore, Kirkwood, 1887
- Nueva York, 1972
en Marianne Moore, What are years, 1941
versión ©Silvia Camerotto
imagen s/d
The Paper Nautilus
For authorities whose hopes
are shaped by mercenaries?
Writers entrapped by
teatime fame and by
commuters’ comforts? Not for these
the paper nautilus
constructs her thin glass shell.
are shaped by mercenaries?
Writers entrapped by
teatime fame and by
commuters’ comforts? Not for these
the paper nautilus
constructs her thin glass shell.
Giving her perishable
souvenir of hope, a dull
white outside and smooth-
edged inner surface
glossy as the sea, the watchful
maker of it guards it
day and night; she scarcely
souvenir of hope, a dull
white outside and smooth-
edged inner surface
glossy as the sea, the watchful
maker of it guards it
day and night; she scarcely
eats until the eggs are
hatched.
Buried eight-fold in her eight
arms, for she is in
a sense a devil-
fish, her glass ram’shorn-cradled freight
is hid but is not crushed;
as Hercules, bitten
Buried eight-fold in her eight
arms, for she is in
a sense a devil-
fish, her glass ram’shorn-cradled freight
is hid but is not crushed;
as Hercules, bitten
by a crab loyal to the
hydra,
was hindered to succeed,
the intensively
watched eggs coming from
the shell free it when they are freed,–
leaving its wasp-nest flaws
of white on white, and close-
was hindered to succeed,
the intensively
watched eggs coming from
the shell free it when they are freed,–
leaving its wasp-nest flaws
of white on white, and close-
laid Ionic chiton-folds
like the lines in the mane of
a Parthenon horse,
round which the arms had
wound themselves as if they knew love
is the only fortress
strong enough to trust to.
like the lines in the mane of
a Parthenon horse,
round which the arms had
wound themselves as if they knew love
is the only fortress
strong enough to trust to.
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