SEVEN AGES
In my first dream, the world appeared
the salt, the bitter, the forbidden, the sweet
In my second I descended
I was human, I couldn’t just see a thing
beast that I am
I had to touch, to contain it
I hid in the groves,
I worked in the fields until the fields were bare —
time
that will never come again —
the dry wheat bound, caskets
of figs and olives
I even loved a few times in my disgusting human way
and like every one I called that accomplishment
erotic freedom,
absurd as it seems
The wheat gathered and stored, the last
fruit dried: time
that is hoarded, that is never used,
does it also end?
In my first dream the world appeared
the sweet, the forbidden
but there was no garden, only
raw elements
I was human:
I had to beg to descend
the salt, the bitter, the demanding, the preemptive
And like everyone, I took, I was taken
I dreamed
I was betrayed:
Earth was given to me in a dream
In a dream I possessed it
Las siete edades
In my first dream, the world appeared
the salt, the bitter, the forbidden, the sweet
In my second I descended
I was human, I couldn’t just see a thing
beast that I am
I had to touch, to contain it
I hid in the groves,
I worked in the fields until the fields were bare —
time
that will never come again —
the dry wheat bound, caskets
of figs and olives
I even loved a few times in my disgusting human way
and like every one I called that accomplishment
erotic freedom,
absurd as it seems
The wheat gathered and stored, the last
fruit dried: time
that is hoarded, that is never used,
does it also end?
In my first dream the world appeared
the sweet, the forbidden
but there was no garden, only
raw elements
I was human:
I had to beg to descend
the salt, the bitter, the demanding, the preemptive
And like everyone, I took, I was taken
I dreamed
I was betrayed:
Earth was given to me in a dream
In a dream I possessed it
 | |||||||||
| Louise Glück, poeta americana |
Las siete edades
En mi primer sueño el mundo parecía
lo salado, lo amargo, lo prohibido, lo dulce.
En mi segundo sueño descendía,
era humana, no veía nada de nada
bestia como soy
debía tocarlo, contenerlo,
me escondí en la arboleda,
trabajé en los campos hasta que quedaron yermos
-un tiempo
que nunca volverá-
el trigo seco en gravillas, cajones
de higos y aceitunas.
Hasta amé alguna vez, a mi manera
repugnante, humana
y como todo el mundo llamé a ese logro
libertad erótica,
por absurdo que parezca.
El trigo cosechado, almacenado; seca
la última fruta: el tiempo
que se acumula, sin usar,
¿también termina?
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