Made in Auschwitz
(En preparación, por Carlos Morales del Coso)
(Polonia, 1923 – Canadá, 2011)
Exiliada por fin
(Traducción de Jonio González)
Así que se ha ido,
olvidándose de llorar
sin decir adiós
ni siquiera al perro.
Sin dejar que sus ojos abrazaran
las paredes entre las que había andado,
sin tocar las cosas que dejaba atrás,
cosas atesoradas durante años.
Sin besar a aquel a quien ha amado
ni siquiera mentalmente.
Cerró con llave la puerta a su pasado,
una exiliada por fin.
Esta calle conduce a tantos caminos
¿hacia cuál dirigirá sus pasos?
No importa. Todos son el mismo:
carreteras de anhelo, autopistas de dolor,
bulevares de distanciamiento, callejones de miedo,
da igual hacia dónde se vuelva para irse de aquí.
Montañas de nieve han cubierto
dulces, olvidados recuerdos con mantos de pesar,
una gélida cubierta sobre tumbas recién excavadas.
El taxi acelera entre el ayer y el mañana.
"Por favor, chofer, de la vuelta. He olvidado
llevarme... He de..."
"¿Por ejemplo, querida?"
"Por ejemplo el hogar... el pasado..."
"Olvídelo, señora,
es usted una exiliada por fin."
De su libro –inédito en españo– Exile at Last: Selected Poems,
Guernica, Toronto, 2013.
Ed. y trad. del yiddish al inglés, Goldie Morgentaler.
Trad. del inglés al castellano, Jonio González.
Exile at last
So she had gone,
forgetting to cry,
without saying goodbye
even to the dog.
Without letting her eyes embrace
the walls between which she had paced,
without touching the things she was leaving
behind,
things cherished for years.
Without kissing him whom she had loved
even in her mind.
She locked the door to her past,
An exile at last.
So many roads leading from this street—
to which should she turn her feet?
Never mind. They are all the same:
highways of longing, expressways of pain,
boulevards of estrangement, alleys of fear,
no matter where she would turn to go from
here.
Mountains of snow have covered
sweet, forgotten memories with blankets of
sorrow,
an icy topping upon freshly dug graves.
The taxi speeding between yesterday and
tomorrow.
“Please, driver, turn back. I have
forgotten to take along...I must...”
“Like what, my dear?”
“Like home...like the past...”
“Forget it, lady,
you’re an exile at last.”
forgetting to cry,
without saying goodbye
even to the dog.
Without letting her eyes embrace
the walls between which she had paced,
without touching the things she was leaving
behind,
things cherished for years.
Without kissing him whom she had loved
even in her mind.
She locked the door to her past,
An exile at last.
So many roads leading from this street—
to which should she turn her feet?
Never mind. They are all the same:
highways of longing, expressways of pain,
boulevards of estrangement, alleys of fear,
no matter where she would turn to go from
here.
Mountains of snow have covered
sweet, forgotten memories with blankets of
sorrow,
an icy topping upon freshly dug graves.
The taxi speeding between yesterday and
tomorrow.
“Please, driver, turn back. I have
forgotten to take along...I must...”
“Like what, my dear?”
“Like home...like the past...”
“Forget it, lady,
you’re an exile at last.”
Grandes Obras de
El Toro de Barro
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| Carlos Morales, "Coexistencia (Antología de poesía israelí –árabe y hebrea– contemporánea” Ed. El Toro de Barro, Carlos Morales ed. Tarancón de Cuenca, 2002. PVP 10 euros. |
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| El Toro de Barro |