jueves, 30 de abril de 2020

Wallace Stevens (Pensilvania, 1879 – Hartford, Connecticut, 1955)

El planeta sobre la mesa



Ariel se alegró de haber escrito sus poemas.
Trataban de un tiempo recordado
De cosas que vio y que le gustaron.

Otros productos del sol
Eran residuo y mezcla
Y el arbusto maduro se retorcía.

Su ser y el sol eran uno
Y sus poemas, pese a ser productos de su ser,
No eran menos productos del sol.

No importaba que sobrevivieran.
Lo que contaba era que asumieran
Algún lineamiento o índole,

Alguna riqueza, aunque fuera a medias percibida
En la pobreza de sus palabras,
Del planeta del cual formaban parte.
 

               Versión: Isaías Garde





The planet on the table

 
Ariel was glad he had written his poems.
They were of a remembered time
Or of something seen that he liked.


Other makings of the sun
Were waste and welter
And the ripe shrub writhed.


His self and the sun were one
And his poems, although makings of his self,
Were no less makings of the sun.


It was not important that they survive.
What mattered was that they should bear
Some lineament or character,


Some affluence, if only half-perceived,
In the poverty of their words,
Of the planet of which they were part.




(Fuente: Biblioteca Ignoria)

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