[No convictions]
No convictions - that's my own major fault.
Nothing to tempt me to scream and shout, nothing
to raise Cain or make a song and dance about.
A man like me could be a real handful,
steeping himself overnight in petrol,
becoming inflamed in behalf of the world,
letting his blood boil, letting his hair curl.
I have a beauty spot three inches south-east
of my nose, a heart that has to be a match
for any pocket watch, a fist
that opens like a fine Swiss Army knife,
and certain tricks that have been known
to bring about spontaneous applause.
But no cause, no cause.
[Sin convicciones]
Sin la menor convicción: ése es mi gran defecto.
Nada que me tiente a gritar o a aullar, nada
que merezca un escándalo, una alaharaca o un baile.
Un hombre como yo podría ser algo serio,
y empaparse en gasolina por la noche
e incendiarse para salvar al mundo,
dejando que su sangre hierba y su cabello se rice.
Tengo un lunar cinco centímetros al sureste
de mi nariz, un corazón que vale tanto
como un reloj de cadena, un puño
que se abre como una buena navaja suiza;
y algunos trucos que han sabido
provocar el aplauso espontáneo.
Pero ninguna causa, ninguna.
Snow joke
Heard the one about the guy from Heaton Mersey?
Wife at home, lover in Hyde, mistress
in Newton-le-Willows and two pretty girls
in the top grade at Werneth prep. Well,
he was late and he had a good car so he snubbed
the police warning-light and tried to finesse
the last six miles of moorland blizzard,
and the story goes he was stuck within minutes.
So he sat there thinking about life and things;
what the dog does when it catches its tail
and about the snake that ate itself to death.
And he watched the windscreen filling up
with snow, and it felt good, and the whisky
from his hip-flask was warm and smooth.
And of course, there isn’t a punchline
but the ending goes something like this.
They found him slumped against the steering wheel
with VOLVO printed backwards in his frozen brow.
And they fought in the pub over hot toddies
as who was to take the most credit.
Him who took the aerial to be a hawthorn twig?
Him who figured out the contour of his car?
Or him who said he heard the horn, moaning
softly like an alarm clock under an eiderdown?
Wife at home, lover in Hyde, mistress
in Newton-le-Willows and two pretty girls
in the top grade at Werneth prep. Well,
he was late and he had a good car so he snubbed
the police warning-light and tried to finesse
the last six miles of moorland blizzard,
and the story goes he was stuck within minutes.
So he sat there thinking about life and things;
what the dog does when it catches its tail
and about the snake that ate itself to death.
And he watched the windscreen filling up
with snow, and it felt good, and the whisky
from his hip-flask was warm and smooth.
And of course, there isn’t a punchline
but the ending goes something like this.
They found him slumped against the steering wheel
with VOLVO printed backwards in his frozen brow.
And they fought in the pub over hot toddies
as who was to take the most credit.
Him who took the aerial to be a hawthorn twig?
Him who figured out the contour of his car?
Or him who said he heard the horn, moaning
softly like an alarm clock under an eiderdown?
Chiste nevado
¿Te sabes el del tipo aquel de Heaton Mersey?
La mujer en casa, la amante en Hyde, la querida
en Newton-le-Eillows y dos lindas chicas
en Werneth, en tercero de prepa. Bueno
pues como iba ya tarde y en muy buen coche
desdeñó las señales de alarma y quiso sortear
las seis millas finales de nevada en los Altos;
y en cosa de minutos, dicen, se había atascado.
Se entretuvo pensando en la vida y en cosas así,
lo que hace el perro al morderse la cola,
o la serpiente que se devora a sí misma.
Lo hallaron recostado en el manubrio
con las letras de VOLVO marcadas al revés
en la frente escarchada. Y alrededor de un ponche
discutieron después en el pub
quién de ellos tenía el mérito mayor.
Si el que confundió la antena con una vara seca,
el que reconoció la silueta del coche,
o el que dijo que oyó el quejido de la bocina
como un despertar bajo la almohada.
The dead sea poems
And I was travelling lightly, barefoot
over faedrock, then through lands that were stitched
with breadplant and camomile. Or was it
burdock. For a living I was driving
a river of goats towards clean water,
when one of the herd cut loose to a cave
on the skyline. To flush it out, I shaped
a sling from a length of cotton bandage,
or was it a blanket, then launched a rock
at the target, which let out a racket
-the tell-tale sound of man-made objects.
Inside the cave like a set of skittles
stood a dozen caskets, and each one gasped -
a little theatrically perhaps —
when opened, then gave out a breath of musk
and pollen, and reaching down through cool sand
I found poems written in my own hand.
Being greatly in need of food and clothing,
and out of pocket, I let the lot go
for twelve times nothing, but saw them again
this spring, on public display, out of reach
under infra-red and ultra-sonic,
apparently worth an absolute packet.
Knowing now the price of my early art
I have gone some way towards taking it all
to heart, by bearing it all in mind, like
praying, saying it over and over
at night, by singing the whole of the work
to myself, every page of that innocent,
everyday, effortless verse, of which this
is the first.
And I was travelling lightly, barefoot
over faedrock, then through lands that were stitched
with breadplant and camomile. Or was it
burdock. For a living I was driving
a river of goats towards clean water,
when one of the herd cut loose to a cave
on the skyline. To flush it out, I shaped
a sling from a length of cotton bandage,
or was it a blanket, then launched a rock
at the target, which let out a racket
-the tell-tale sound of man-made objects.
Inside the cave like a set of skittles
stood a dozen caskets, and each one gasped -
a little theatrically perhaps —
when opened, then gave out a breath of musk
and pollen, and reaching down through cool sand
I found poems written in my own hand.
Being greatly in need of food and clothing,
and out of pocket, I let the lot go
for twelve times nothing, but saw them again
this spring, on public display, out of reach
under infra-red and ultra-sonic,
apparently worth an absolute packet.
Knowing now the price of my early art
I have gone some way towards taking it all
to heart, by bearing it all in mind, like
praying, saying it over and over
at night, by singing the whole of the work
to myself, every page of that innocent,
everyday, effortless verse, of which this
is the first.
Los poemas del mar muerto
Y yo viajaba ligero, descalzo sobre la roca,
y luego por tierras zurcidas
de manzanilla y bardana; o acaso
cadillo. Vivía de conducir
un torrente de cabras hacia las aguas claras,
cuando una de ellas se desprendió hacia una cueva
sobre los riscos. Para hacerla emerger hice
una honda con vendas de algodón
o acaso una sábana; tiré una piedra
hacia el blanco, y se oyó un estruendo;
un sonido que delataba objetos humanos.
En la cueva como un juego de bolos
se erguían doce urnas; y al ser abiertas
cada una resopló —un tanto teatralmente —
soltando un aliento a almizcle y a polen,
y al hurgar entre la arena fresca encontré
unos poemas escritos por mi propia mano.
Harto necesitado de ropa y comida, sin dinero,
me deshice de ellos por una bicoca;
pero esta primavera los he vuelto a ver,
expuestos al público e inalcanzables,
bajo rayos infrarrojos y ultrasonido,
y al parecer valuados en un dineral.
Ahora que sé el valor de mis primeras letras
he comenzado a tomármelo a pecho,
a llevarlo todo en la mente,
como plegarias que repito y repito,
por las noches; y canto toda mi obra
para mí mismo, cada página de esta inocente,
cotidiana versada, que comienza
con éste.
y luego por tierras zurcidas
de manzanilla y bardana; o acaso
cadillo. Vivía de conducir
un torrente de cabras hacia las aguas claras,
cuando una de ellas se desprendió hacia una cueva
sobre los riscos. Para hacerla emerger hice
una honda con vendas de algodón
o acaso una sábana; tiré una piedra
hacia el blanco, y se oyó un estruendo;
un sonido que delataba objetos humanos.
En la cueva como un juego de bolos
se erguían doce urnas; y al ser abiertas
cada una resopló —un tanto teatralmente —
soltando un aliento a almizcle y a polen,
y al hurgar entre la arena fresca encontré
unos poemas escritos por mi propia mano.
Harto necesitado de ropa y comida, sin dinero,
me deshice de ellos por una bicoca;
pero esta primavera los he vuelto a ver,
expuestos al público e inalcanzables,
bajo rayos infrarrojos y ultrasonido,
y al parecer valuados en un dineral.
Ahora que sé el valor de mis primeras letras
he comenzado a tomármelo a pecho,
a llevarlo todo en la mente,
como plegarias que repito y repito,
por las noches; y canto toda mi obra
para mí mismo, cada página de esta inocente,
cotidiana versada, que comienza
con éste.
Chapter and verse
They were ushered along to the water's edge
to wait. Then one further back on the bank
said drink, so they drank, some of them
cupping their hands, taking the water like gods,
and some of the kneeling and lapping the water
like dogs.
And those that had sunk to their knees, gone down
on all fours, they were taken aside and tried
for stooping as low as a beast, but moreover
for kissing themselves on the lips in the lake.
They were all of them guiltyand gathered together
and thumped. In the face. And those that were saved
were rewarded with mirrors and cups and praise
having made at the lake such a lasting impression.
Here endeth the first lesson.
Capítulo y versículo
Fueron conducidos a la orilla del agua
para esperar. Allí, alguien, desde atrás,
les dijo beban, y bebieron, algunos
con las manos enconchadas, tomando el agua como dioses,
y algunos arrodillados, lamiendo el agua
como perros.
Y los que se arrodillaron, echados
en cuatro patas, fueron apartados y juzgados
por caer tan bajo como una bestia, y peor aún
por besarse los labios en el lago.
Tos fueron culpables y a todos reunieron
y golpearon. En el rostro. Y aquellos que se salvaron
fueron recompensados con espejos y copas y elogios,
ya que en el lago habían hecho tan perdurable impresión.
Y así culmina la primera lección.
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