Elisabeth Bishop |
en la luz que declina, la vieja abuela
está sentada en la cocina con el niño
al lado de Litle Marvel la estufa,
leyendo los chistes del calendario,
riendo y hablando para ocultar sus lágrimas.
Piensa que de otoño sus
lágrimas
y la lluvia que golpea el
tejado de la casafueron predichas por el calendario,
aunque esto solo puede saberlo una abuela.
La tetera de hierro canta sobre la estufa.
Ella corta pan y le dice al niño,
Es la hora del té;
pero el niño
contempla en la tetera las pequeñas y duras lágrimas,que bailan como locas sobre la negra y caliente estufa,
de la misma manera que la lluvia debe bailar sobre la casa.
Poniéndose a recoger, la vieja abuela
cuelga el sabio calendario
de su cordel . Como un pájaro, el calendario
planea semiabierto sobre el niño,planea sobre la vieja abuela
y su taza de té llena de oscuras lágrimas.
Está tiritando y dice que cree que la casa
siente frío, y pone más madera en la estufa.
Tenía que ser, dice Marvel la estufa
Yo sé lo que sé,
dice el calendario.Con lápices de colores el niño dibuja una rígida casa
y un sinuoso sendero. Luego el niño
pone dentro un hombre con botones como lágrimas
y se lo enseña orgulloso a la abuela.
Pero en secreto, mientras la
abuela
se afana en torno a la
estufalas pequeñas lunas caen como lágrimas
de entre las páginas del calendario
sobre la jardinera de flores que el niño
ha colocado con cuidado enfrente de la casa.
Tiempo de plantar lágrimas, dice el calendario.
La abuela canta a la
maravillosa estufay el niño dibuja otra inescrutable casa.
Sestina
September rain falls on the house.
In the failing light, the old grandmother
sits in the kitchen with the child
beside the Little Marvel Stove,
reading the jokes from the almanac,
laughing and talking to hide her tears.
She thinks that her equinoctial tears
and the rain that beats on the roof of the house
were both foretold by the almanac,
but only known to a grandmother.
The iron kettle sings on the stove.
She cuts some bread and says to the child,
It's time for tea now; but the child
is watching the teakettle's small hard tears
dance like mad on the hot black stove,
the way the rain must dance on the house.
Tidying up, the old grandmother
hangs up the clever almanac
on its string. Birdlike, the almanac
hovers half open above the child,
hovers above the old grandmother
and her teacup full of dark brown tears.
She shivers and says she thinks the house
feels chilly, and puts more wood in the stove.
It was to be, says the Marvel Stove.
I know what I know, says the almanac.
With crayons the child draws a rigid house
and a winding pathway. Then the child
puts in a man with buttons like tears
and shows it proudly to the grandmother.
But secretly, while the grandmother
busies herself about the stove,
the little moons fall down like tears
from between the pages of the almanac
into the flower bed the child
has carefully placed in the front of the house.
Time to plant tears, says the almanac.
The grandmother sings to the marvelous stove
and the child draws another inscrutable house.
In the failing light, the old grandmother
sits in the kitchen with the child
beside the Little Marvel Stove,
reading the jokes from the almanac,
laughing and talking to hide her tears.
She thinks that her equinoctial tears
and the rain that beats on the roof of the house
were both foretold by the almanac,
but only known to a grandmother.
The iron kettle sings on the stove.
She cuts some bread and says to the child,
It's time for tea now; but the child
is watching the teakettle's small hard tears
dance like mad on the hot black stove,
the way the rain must dance on the house.
Tidying up, the old grandmother
hangs up the clever almanac
on its string. Birdlike, the almanac
hovers half open above the child,
hovers above the old grandmother
and her teacup full of dark brown tears.
She shivers and says she thinks the house
feels chilly, and puts more wood in the stove.
It was to be, says the Marvel Stove.
I know what I know, says the almanac.
With crayons the child draws a rigid house
and a winding pathway. Then the child
puts in a man with buttons like tears
and shows it proudly to the grandmother.
But secretly, while the grandmother
busies herself about the stove,
the little moons fall down like tears
from between the pages of the almanac
into the flower bed the child
has carefully placed in the front of the house.
Time to plant tears, says the almanac.
The grandmother sings to the marvelous stove
and the child draws another inscrutable house.
Sestina: Poema rimado o no, de seis estrofas con seis versos cada una, terminados en seis palabras distintas que se repiten al final de los versos de cada estrofa en un orden diferente; termina con un terceto al final.
Traducción del inglés: Luisa Antolín
1 comentario:
He leido el poema escuachando cancion
Things the Grandchildren Should Know de Eels y me he emocinado mucho.
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