| de "NABÍ" | from "NABÍ" |
| Josep Carner | tr. J.L.Gili (from Catalan) |
|
............ ............ Un temps, Iahvè, no fou la meva nit opresa ni jo tirat de sobte a cada estrany camí. Tenia el meu ofici: cap a la tasca apresa em decantava l'oratjol cada matí. Vivia en mon poblet, ran de boscatge; i m'hi gruava el companatge pensant si compraria la vinya del coster. En havent-hi bastit cercaria muller i, en la nit gomboldat, plantaria llinatge. (És bo que l'home tingui un lloc i que, quan torni de la treballada, s'assegui en el llindar i esguardi l'estelada, i que la dona, que s'atansa a poc a poc, digui, feixuga: "D'haver nat estic pagada".) Una vegada passà un miseriós al meu enfront - barba i cabells guarnits de polseguera i un trèmul dit amenaçant el món. Veia i cridava, però ell no hi era, ni en els seus ulls ni en l'abrandada veu. El voltaven minyons fent-ne riota. "La branca el tusta; per fangueres trota". "Odre de vi, ¿de quin celler torneu?" I d'una pedra el va ferir la punta i ell no es temia de son cap sagnant: pel viu de llum que cel i terra ajunta anava ple de Déu tomballejant. ............ ............ |
............ ............ Time was, Jehovah, when my night was not oppressed, neither was I drawn abruptly to every unexpected path. I had my job; towards my known skills I was quietly pushed each day by the morning breeze. I lived in my village, close to the woods; and craved for the comforting thought of buying the vineyard on the hill-side. Having established myself I would search for a wife and, under shelter of night, I would sow progeny. (It is good for a man to have a home so that on returning from his labours, he can sit on the threshold star-gazing, while his wife gently draws near and says huskily: "I'm grateful to have been born".) One day a destitute man crossed my path, beard and hair decked with dust, and with a trembling finger threatening the world; seeing and shouting, yet not existing, neither in his eyes nor in his ardent voice. Mockíng youths surrounded him: "The branch hits him; he rushes about in the mud." "Wineskin, from what cellar do you come?" A sharp stone hit him on the head, and he disregarded the bleeding: along the ribbon of light that bridges heaven and earth, staggering he went on, full of God. ............ ............ |
Copyright © Hereus de Josep Carner 1998 & Ediciones 62, Barcelona 1998; Trans. Copyright © J.F., M.L and K.M.Gili 2001
- publ. Anvil Press
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