Otra tarde más de domingo,
esta vez un tanto extraña porque mañana es festivo. Diciembre ha entrado como
un atropello, y en contraste con las imágenes sensuales y veraniegas de Louise,
la luz se va tan pronto, y el frío y el viento laceran.
Te
advierto lo que nadie me advirtió,
como si valiese, como si realmente quisiera prevenir. Los recursos del poeta
para llevarnos adonde quiere, a su angustia, a su desesperación; no te atenderá.
The sensual world
I call to you across a monstrous river or chasm
to caution you, to prepare you.
Earth will seduce you, slowly, imperceptibly,
subtly, not to say with connivance.
I was not prepared: I stood in my grandmother’s kitchen,
holding out my glass. Stewed plums, stewed apricots–
the juice poured off into the glass of ice.
And the water added, patiently, in small increments,
the various cousins discriminating, tasting
with each addition–
aroma of summer fruit, intensity of concentration:
the colored liquid turning gradually lighter, more radiant,
more light passing through it.
Delight, then solace. My grandmother waiting,
to see if more was wanted. Solace, then deep immersion.
I loved nothing more: deep privacy of the sensual life,
the self disappearing into it or inseparable from it,
somehow suspended, floating, its needs
fully exposed, awakened, fully alive–
Deep immersion, and with it
mysterious safety. Far away, the fruit glowing it its glass bowls.
Outside the kitchen, the sun setting.
I was not prepared: sunset, end of summer. Demonstrations
of time as a continuum, as something coming to an end,
not a suspension: the senses wouldn’t protect me.
I caution you as I was never cautioned:
you will never let go, you will never be satiated.
You will be damaged and scarred, you will continue to hunger.
Your body will age, you will continue to need.
You will want the earth, then more of the earth–
Sublime, indifferent, it is present, it will not respond.
It is encompassing, it will not minister.
Meaning, it will feed you, it will ravish you,
it will not keep you alive.
I call to you across a monstrous river or chasm
to caution you, to prepare you.
Earth will seduce you, slowly, imperceptibly,
subtly, not to say with connivance.
I was not prepared: I stood in my grandmother’s kitchen,
holding out my glass. Stewed plums, stewed apricots–
the juice poured off into the glass of ice.
And the water added, patiently, in small increments,
the various cousins discriminating, tasting
with each addition–
aroma of summer fruit, intensity of concentration:
the colored liquid turning gradually lighter, more radiant,
more light passing through it.
Delight, then solace. My grandmother waiting,
to see if more was wanted. Solace, then deep immersion.
I loved nothing more: deep privacy of the sensual life,
the self disappearing into it or inseparable from it,
somehow suspended, floating, its needs
fully exposed, awakened, fully alive–
Deep immersion, and with it
mysterious safety. Far away, the fruit glowing it its glass bowls.
Outside the kitchen, the sun setting.
I was not prepared: sunset, end of summer. Demonstrations
of time as a continuum, as something coming to an end,
not a suspension: the senses wouldn’t protect me.
I caution you as I was never cautioned:
you will never let go, you will never be satiated.
You will be damaged and scarred, you will continue to hunger.
Your body will age, you will continue to need.
You will want the earth, then more of the earth–
Sublime, indifferent, it is present, it will not respond.
It is encompassing, it will not minister.
Meaning, it will feed you, it will ravish you,
it will not keep you alive.
El mundo sensual
Te hablo a través de un río monstruoso o un
abismo
para advertirte, para prepararte.
La tierra te seducirá, lenta, imperceptible,
sutilmente, por no decir con tu consentimiento.
Yo no estaba preparada: de pie en la cocina de
mi abuela,
sosteniendo mi vaso. Ciruelas en compota,
damascos en
compota...
el jugo vertido en el vaso de hielo.
Y el agua agregada con paciencia, un poco cada
vez,
los diversos primos opinando, probando
con cada agregado...
aroma a fruta de verano, concentrada
intensidad:
el líquido coloreado que se volvía más claro
gradualmente, más radiante,
atravesado por más luz.
Placer, después solaz. Mi abuela esperando
por si alguien quería más. Solaz, después
ensimismamiento profundo.
Nada amé más: la profunda intimidad de la vida
sensual,
el yo fundiéndose en ella o inseparable de
ella,
como en suspensión, flotando, todas sus
necesidades
a la vista, despierto, plenamente vivo...
Ensimismamiento profundo, y con él
una misteriosa seguridad. A lo lejos, la fruta
reluce en sus
cuencos
de vidrio.
Fuera de la cocina se pone el sol.
No estaba preparada: puesta del sol, fin del
verano.
Manifestaciones
del tiempo como un continuo, como algo que
lleva a su fin,
no una suspensión; los sentidos no me
protegerían.
Te advierto lo que nadie me advirtió:
nunca bastará, nunca estarás saciado.
Serás herido, quedarás marcado, y querrás más.
Tu cuerpo se hará viejo, tu necesidad persistirá.
Querrás la tierra, después más de la tierra.
Sublime, indiferente, ahí presente, no
responderá.
Te circunda, no te atenderá.
Es decir: te alimentará, te cautivará,
no te mantendrá vivo.
Louise Glück.
Traducción de Mirta Rosenberg.
