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W. S. Merwin
SECOND PSALM:
THE SIGNALS
When
the ox-horn sounds in the hills
of
Iceland
I am
alone
my
shadow runs back into me to hide
and
there is not room for both of us
and
the dread
when the ox-horn sounds on the blues
stairs
where
the echoes are my mother’s name
I
am alone
as
milk spilled in a street
white
instrument
white
hand
white
music
when the ox-horn is raised like a feather in one
of
several rivers
not
all of which I have come to
and
the note starts toward the sea
I
am alone
as
the optic nerve of the blind
though
in front of me it is written
This
is the end of the past
Be
happy
when the ox-horn sounds from
its tassels of blood
I
always seem to be opening
a
book an envelope the top of a well
none
of them mine
a
tray of gloves has been set down
beside
my hands
I
am alone
as
the hour of the stopped clock
when the ox-horn is struck by its
brother
and
the low grieving denial
gropes
forth again with its black hands
I
am alone
as
one stone left to pray in the desert
after
god had unmade himself
I
am
I still
am
when
the ox-horn sounds over the dead oxen
the
guns grow light in hands
I
the fearer
try
to destroy me the fearing
I
am alone
as
a bow that has lost its nerve
my
death sinks into me to hide
as
water into stones
before
a great cold
when the ox-horn is raised in
silence
someone’s
breath is moving over my face
like
the flight of a fly
but
I am in this world
without
you
I
am alone as the sadness surrounding
what
has long ministered to our convenience
alone
as the note of the horn
as
the human voice
saddest
of instruments
as
a white grain of sand falling in a still sea
alone
as the figure she unwove each night alone
alone
as
I will be
***
W. S. Merwin es traducido por:
- Jeannette L. Clariond
Publicado
el 20/5/2010
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