MARINA
Quis hic locus, quae
regio, quae mundi plaga?
regio, quae mundi plaga?
What seas what shores what grey rocks and what islands
What water lapping the bow
And scent of pine and the woodthrush singing through the fog
What images return
O my daughter.
Those who sharpen the tooth of the dog, meaning
Death
Those who glitter with the glory of the hummingbird, meaning
Death
Those who sit in the sty of contentment, meaning
Death
Those who suffer the ecstasy of the animals, meaning
Death
Are become unsubstantial, reduced by a wind,
A breath of pine, and the woodsong fog
By this grace dissolved in place
What is this face, less clear and clearer
The pulse in the arm, less strong and stronger–
Given or lent? more distant than stars and nearer than the eye
Whispers and small laughter between leaves and hurrying feet
Under sleep, where all the waters meet.
Bowsprit cracked with ice and paint cracked with heat.
I made this, I have forgotten
And remember.
The rigging weak and the canvas rotten
Between one June and another September.
Made this unknowing, half conscious, unknown, my own.
The garboard strake leaks, the seams need caulking.
This form, this face, this life
Living to live in a world of time beyond me; let me
Resign my life for this life, my speech for that unspoken,
The awakened, lips parted, the hope, the new ships.
What seas what shores what granite islands towards my timbers
And woodthrush calling through the fog
My daughter
What water lapping the bow
And scent of pine and the woodthrush singing through the fog
What images return
O my daughter.
Those who sharpen the tooth of the dog, meaning
Death
Those who glitter with the glory of the hummingbird, meaning
Death
Those who sit in the sty of contentment, meaning
Death
Those who suffer the ecstasy of the animals, meaning
Death
Are become unsubstantial, reduced by a wind,
A breath of pine, and the woodsong fog
By this grace dissolved in place
What is this face, less clear and clearer
The pulse in the arm, less strong and stronger–
Given or lent? more distant than stars and nearer than the eye
Whispers and small laughter between leaves and hurrying feet
Under sleep, where all the waters meet.
Bowsprit cracked with ice and paint cracked with heat.
I made this, I have forgotten
And remember.
The rigging weak and the canvas rotten
Between one June and another September.
Made this unknowing, half conscious, unknown, my own.
The garboard strake leaks, the seams need caulking.
This form, this face, this life
Living to live in a world of time beyond me; let me
Resign my life for this life, my speech for that unspoken,
The awakened, lips parted, the hope, the new ships.
What seas what shores what granite islands towards my timbers
And woodthrush calling through the fog
My daughter
Marina
Quis hic locus, quae regio, quae mundi plaga
Qué mares, qué riberas, qué rocas grises y qué islas,
Qué susurrantes aguas en la proa
Y fragancia de pino y el zorzal gorjeando a través de la niebla.
Qué imágenes retornan,
Oh hija mía.
Los que aguzan el colmillo del perro con voluntad de Muerte,
Los que resplandecen en la gloria del colibrí con voluntad de Muerte,
Los que se sientan en el prostíbulo de la complacencia con voluntad de Muerte,
Los que sufren el deliquio de los animales con voluntad de Muerte,
Se han tornado inmateriales y el viento ha disipado su sustancia,
El vaho del pinar y el silvestre gorjeo de la niebla.
La gracia los ha disuelto y cambiado de sitio.
Qué faz, qué faz es ésta menos clara y más clara,
Este pulso en las venas menos fuerte y fortísimo.
¿Es propio o es ajeno y en prenda sólo dado?
Más remoto que las estrellas y más cercano que los ojos.
Cuchicheos y risillas como de hojas o pies apresurados
Bajo el sueño,
Donde todas las aguas se juntan,
El bauprés roto por el hielo y la pintura resquebrajada por el calor.
Esto hice y lo he olvidado,
Y lo recuerdo.
El aparejo débil y podrido el velamen
Entre un Junio y otro Septiembre.
Hice este enigma, medio consciente, desconocido, como yo mismo.
La hilada de la aparadura hace agua, las costuras necesitan calafateo.
Esta forma, este rostro, esta vida
Viven para vivir en un orbe de tiempo más allá derramado.
Deja que renuncie a mi vida por esta vida, a mi palabra por la que es inefable,
La desvelada en los labios abiertos, la esperanza, los nuevos navíos.
Qué mares, qué riberas, qué islotes de granito contra mis viejas cuadernas
Y el zorzal que a través de la niebla me llama
¡Hija mía!
( trad. de Leopoldo Panero).
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