Friday, April 13, 2007

Poemas, sueños, y recuerdos

Esta noche después de cenar, me he puesto a leer uno de mis tantos queridos blogs. Imagínate mi sorpresa cuando en Amigas y Más leo este post de Irene en el que comenta que se ha enamorado de la poetisa Wislawa Szymborska. Resulta que esta mujer también es una de mis favoritas. La leí por primera vez en mi clase de ¨World Literature¨ (una de las mejores clases de toda mi carrera universitaria... ¡y mira que fue larga!).

Este es el poema que me llega más profuno. El poema lo tengo en inglés y es demasiado tarde aquí para que me ponga yo a traducirlo. Espero que aún así te guste.

Se llama ¨Memory Finally¨ y dice así:

Memory's finally found what it was after.
My mother has turned up, my father has been spotted.
I dreamed up a table and two chairs. They sat.
They were mine again, alive again for me.
The two lamps of their faces gleamed at dusk
as it for Rembrandt.

Only now can I begin to tell
in how many dreams they've wandered, in how many crowds
I dragged them out from underneath the wheels,
in how many deathbeds they moaned with me at their side.
Cut off, they grew back, but never straight.
The absurdity drove them to disguises.
So what if they felt no pain outside of me,
they still ached within me.
In my dreams, gawking crowds heard me call out Mom
to a bouncing, chirping thing up on a branch.
They made fun of my father's hair in pigtails.
I woke up ashamed.

So, finally.
One ordinary Friday night
they suddenly came back
exactly as I wanted.
In a dream, but somehow freed from dreams,
obeying just themselves and nothing else.
In the picture's background possibilities grew dim,
accidents lacked the necessary shape.
Only they shone, beautiful because just like themselves.
They appeared to me for a long, long, happy time.

I woke up. I opened my eyes.
I touched the world, a chiseled picture-frame.

Aún me hace llorar.


Blogger Teresa said...

No conocía a esta escritora.

6:06 PM  

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