Una yapa
Ese día terminé
un insignificante
artículo
para una revista
desconocida
lo metí en el
buzón
y un júbilo radiante
se apoderó de mí
que por primera
vez en mucho tiempo
me silbaron en
la calle.
Estaba sucia y mal
vestida
y tenía mis
ojeras
y muy lejos del
coqueteo
pero completamente
realizada
por un hecho
debidamente terminado
un acto de
consumación
que la libertad
y la fuerza que generaba
brilló y se desprendió
de mi viejo
impermeable.
Debí parecer
amor
o como unas fabulosas
vacaciones gratuitas
para los hombres
jóvenes que paseaban
por la calle
Berwick.
Sigo pensando
que esto es de lo más misterioso
porque mientras
lo escribía
era dura se
sentía como auto-abuso
constipación,
desesperadamente antisocial.
Pero concluido
concluido concluido
todo en el mundo
fluyó otra vez
como una yapa
monumental.
Elizabeth Smart, Ottawa, 1913- London, 1986
de A Bonus,
1977
versión ©Silvia Camerotto
imagen del Diario de Elizabeth Smart en Library and Archives Canada
A Bonus
That day I finished
A small piece
For an obscure magazine
I popped it in the box
And such a starry elation
Came over me
That I got whistled at in the street
For the first time in a long time.
I was dirty and roughly dressed
And had circles under my eyes
And far far from flirtation
But so full of completion
Of a deed duly done
An act of consummation
That the freedom and force it engendered
Shone and spun
Out of my old raincoat.
It must have looked like love
Or a fabulous free holiday
To the young men sauntering
Down Berwick Street.
I still think this is most mysterious
For while I was writing it
It was gritty it felt like self-abuse
Constipation, desperately unsocial.
But done done done
Everything in the world
Flowed back
Like a huge bonus.
A small piece
For an obscure magazine
I popped it in the box
And such a starry elation
Came over me
That I got whistled at in the street
For the first time in a long time.
I was dirty and roughly dressed
And had circles under my eyes
And far far from flirtation
But so full of completion
Of a deed duly done
An act of consummation
That the freedom and force it engendered
Shone and spun
Out of my old raincoat.
It must have looked like love
Or a fabulous free holiday
To the young men sauntering
Down Berwick Street.
I still think this is most mysterious
For while I was writing it
It was gritty it felt like self-abuse
Constipation, desperately unsocial.
But done done done
Everything in the world
Flowed back
Like a huge bonus.
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tengo ese libro...
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