Men with coats
thrashing
Our
lives we do not weep
Are like wild cigarettes
That on a stormy day
Men light against the wind
With cupped and practised hand
Then burn themselves as deep
As debts we cannot pay
And smoke themselves so fast
One scarce gives time to light
A second life that might
Flake smoother than the first
And have no taste at last
And most are thrown away.
Malcolm Lowry
Are like wild cigarettes
That on a stormy day
Men light against the wind
With cupped and practised hand
Then burn themselves as deep
As debts we cannot pay
And smoke themselves so fast
One scarce gives time to light
A second life that might
Flake smoother than the first
And have no taste at last
And most are thrown away.
Malcolm Lowry
Aquí va la traducción
de Juan Luis Panero:
Brasas
en el viento
Nuestras vidas —no lo lamentemos—
son como cigarrillos encendidos
en un día de tormenta,
una brasa protegida del viento
por una mano cuidadosa.
Entonces arden hasta el final,
como ardieran aquellas deudas que nunca pagamos,
y se queman tan deprisa como la vida.
Uno querría encender otro, encender otra vida
que fuera menos dura que la anterior,
pero no es posible y el cigarrillo ya no tiene sabor
y lo único que podemos hacer es tirarlo.
