VARIACIÓN SOBRE LA PALABRA SUEÑO
Me gustaría mirarte dormir,
algo que tal vez no suceda.
Me gustaría mirarte,
durmiendo. Me gustaría dormir
con vos, entrar
en tu sueño mientras su ola suave y oscura
resbala sobre mi cabeza
y caminar con vos por ese bosque
luminoso, oscilante, de hojas verdeazules
con su sol acuoso & sus tres lunas
hasta la cueva donde tenés que descender,
hasta el peor de tus miedos
me gustaría darte la rama
de plata, la pequeña flor blanca, la única
palabra que te va a proteger
del dolor en el centro
de tu sueño, desde el dolor
en el centro me gustaría seguirte
por la larga escalera
otra vez & transformarme
en la barca que cuidadosamente te traerá
de regreso, como una llama
entre dos manos juntas,
hasta donde tu cuerpo duerme
al lado mío, y cuando entres en él
con la facilidad de la respiración
me gustaría ser el aire
que te habita sólo un
momento. Me gustaría ser así de anónima
& así de necesaria.
VARIACIONES SOBRE LA PALABRA AMOR
Esta es una palabra que usamos para tapar
agujeros. Tiene el tamaño exacto de esos acalorantes
baches del discurso, de esos espacios
con forma de corazón rojo en la página, que nada se parecen
a corazones de verdad. Ponele un moño
y podés venderla.
Incluso la insertamos en el único
casillero vacío del formulario impreso
sin instrucciones. Hay revistas enteras
sin mucho más adentro
que la palabra amor, te la podés
frotar en todo el cuerpo y
usarla también para cocinar ¿Cómo saber
que no es lo que le sigue a las heladas
orgías de las babosas bajo
los cartones mojados? En cuanto a los brotes
de maleza que asoman sus morros prepotentes
entre las lechugas, la gritan.
¡Amor! ¡Amor! cantan los soldados, alzando
sus sables lustrosos como saludo.
Después estamos
nosotros dos. Esta palabra
nos queda demasiado corta, tiene sólo
cuatro letras, muy poco
para llenar esos dos hondos vacíos
desnudos entre las estrellas
que nos aplastan con su sordera.
No es el amor en lo que no queremos caer
No es el amor en lo que no queremos caer
sino en ese miedo.
Esta palabra no es suficiente pero tendrá
que ser. Es una sola
vocal en este silencio
metálico, una boca que dice
una y otra vez oh, con dolor
y con asombro, una respiración, un dedo
aferrado a la cornisa. Podés
agarrarte o dejarte caer.
VARIATION ON THE WORD SLEEP
I would like to watch you sleeping,
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my head
and walk with you through that lucent
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun & three moons
towards the cave where you must descend,
towards your worst fear
I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and as you enter
it as easily as breathing in
I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my head
and walk with you through that lucent
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun & three moons
towards the cave where you must descend,
towards your worst fear
I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and as you enter
it as easily as breathing in
I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.
VARIATIONS ON THE WORD LOVE
This is a word we use to plug
holes with. It's the right size for those warm
blanks in speech, for those red heart-
shaped vacancies on the page that look nothing
like real hearts. Add lace
and you can sell
it. We insert it also in the one empty
space on the printed form
that comes with no instructions. There are whole
magazines with not much in them
but the word love, you can
rub it all over your body and you
can cook with it too. How do we know
it isn't what goes on at the cool
debaucheries of slugs under damp
pieces of cardboard? As for the weed-
seedlings nosing their tough snouts up
among the lettuces, they shout it.
Love! Love! sing the soldiers, raising
their glittering knives in salute.
Then there's the two
of us. This word
is far too short for us, it has only
four letters, too sparse
to fill those deep bare
vacuums between the stars
that press on us with their deafness.
It's not love we don't wish
to fall into, but that fear.
this word is not enough but it will
have to do. It's a single
vowel in this metallic
silence, a mouth that says
O again and again in wonder
and pain, a breath, a finger
grip on a cliffside. You can
hold on or let go.
holes with. It's the right size for those warm
blanks in speech, for those red heart-
shaped vacancies on the page that look nothing
like real hearts. Add lace
and you can sell
it. We insert it also in the one empty
space on the printed form
that comes with no instructions. There are whole
magazines with not much in them
but the word love, you can
rub it all over your body and you
can cook with it too. How do we know
it isn't what goes on at the cool
debaucheries of slugs under damp
pieces of cardboard? As for the weed-
seedlings nosing their tough snouts up
among the lettuces, they shout it.
Love! Love! sing the soldiers, raising
their glittering knives in salute.
Then there's the two
of us. This word
is far too short for us, it has only
four letters, too sparse
to fill those deep bare
vacuums between the stars
that press on us with their deafness.
It's not love we don't wish
to fall into, but that fear.
this word is not enough but it will
have to do. It's a single
vowel in this metallic
silence, a mouth that says
O again and again in wonder
and pain, a breath, a finger
grip on a cliffside. You can
hold on or let go.
Versiones en castellano de Sandra Toro
MARGARET ATWOOD (CANADÁ, 1939)
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