Mientras alguien llama por teléfono
Minutos
perdidos, perdidos que no podrían ser peores,
minutos de
bárbara condescendencia.
-Mira los
abetos por la ventana del baño,
sus agujas
negras, acumuladas sin sentido
cristalizadas
sin expresión, donde dos luciérnagas
están
nada más perdidas.
Escucha solo el tren que pasa, debe pasar, como la tensión;
nada. Y
espera;
puede ser
que ahora con el cobijo de estos minutos
emerja,
algún extraño condescendiente y tranquilo,
que
libere el corazón.
Y mientras
las luciérnagas
no alcanzan a iluminar estos árboles de pesadilla
puede que
ellos no sean sus alegres ojos verdes.
Elizabeth
Bishop, Worcester, 1911- Boston, 1979
En Elizabeth
Bishop, Complete Poems, Chatto&Windus, London, 2004
Versión © Silvia
Camerotto
imagen de Kim Dong Kyu en Artistrunwebsite
While
someone telephones
Wasted, wasted minutes that couldn't be worse,
minutes of a barbaric condescension.
--Stare out the bathroom window at the fir-trees,
at their dark needles, accretions to no purpose
woodenly crystallized, and where two fireflies
are only lost.
Hear nothing but a train that goes by, must go by, like tension;
nothing. And wait:
maybe even now these minutes' host
emerges, some relaxed uncondescending stranger,
the heart's release.
And while the fireflies
are failing to illuminate these nightmare trees
might they not be his green gay eyes.
minutes of a barbaric condescension.
--Stare out the bathroom window at the fir-trees,
at their dark needles, accretions to no purpose
woodenly crystallized, and where two fireflies
are only lost.
Hear nothing but a train that goes by, must go by, like tension;
nothing. And wait:
maybe even now these minutes' host
emerges, some relaxed uncondescending stranger,
the heart's release.
And while the fireflies
are failing to illuminate these nightmare trees
might they not be his green gay eyes.
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