Hombre de negro
Donde las tres
rompeolas
magenta embisten
y chupan el mar gris,
a la izquierda, y la
ola
se abre contra el terroso
promontorio alambrado
de
la prisión de Deer
Island
con sus chiqueros
cuidados,
gallineros y pasturas,
a
la derecha, y el hielo de marzo
aun cubre la roca,
acantilados de arena opacos se levantan
aun cubre la roca,
acantilados de arena opacos se levantan
sobre una
gran roca petrificada
que queda
al descubierto con cada bajamar
y tu, del
otro lado de esas piedras
blancas,
paseabas con tu abrigo negro
de
difunto, zapatos negros, y tu
cabello
negro hasta que allí te detuviste
un
remolino fijo en el lejano
extremo, piedras
fascinantes, aire,
todo a la vez.
1959
Sylvia Plath, Boston,
1932 – Londres, 1963
En The
Colossus and other poems, c. 1962. Knopf, New York, 1967
Versión © Silvia Camerotto
imagen de Deer Island Prison s/d
Man In
Black
Where the three magenta
Breakwaters take the shove
And suck of the grey sea
To the left, and the wave
Unfists against the dun
Barb-wired headland of
The Deer Island prison
With its trim piggeries,
Hen huts and cattle green
To the right, and March ice
Glazes the rock pools yet,
Snuff-colored sand cliffs rise
Over a great stone spit
Bared by each falling tide,
And you, across those white
Stones, strode out in you dead
Black coat, black shoes, and your
Black hair till there you stood,
Fixed vortex on the far
Tip, riveting stones, air,
All of it, together.
Breakwaters take the shove
And suck of the grey sea
To the left, and the wave
Unfists against the dun
Barb-wired headland of
The Deer Island prison
With its trim piggeries,
Hen huts and cattle green
To the right, and March ice
Glazes the rock pools yet,
Snuff-colored sand cliffs rise
Over a great stone spit
Bared by each falling tide,
And you, across those white
Stones, strode out in you dead
Black coat, black shoes, and your
Black hair till there you stood,
Fixed vortex on the far
Tip, riveting stones, air,
All of it, together.
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