A propósito del post anterior, aqui una traducción que hice de mi poema "Transitar" para la lectura en Cornelia Street Café.
Dim lights running through dark tunnels,
resounding noise over tracks,
the annoyance of a voice on the mike
while another shrieks on a radio.
Weary eyes,
tired of staring at the filthy floor
just to avoid an encounter
with a curious, perhaps unsettled gaze;
turn away so not to see one’s reflection.
50th, 53rd…
How to distinguish one from another
when both have the same gloom
the same frigidness of its walls,
monotony of its bulletins.
Abode of rats and humidity
of rush hours and neglect
of rust and stagnant air;
smell of alcohol,
fries, rancid perfume.
Liberty and confinement,
long hours of silence
in crammed trains,
transit amid masses
and be just one
of many…
It is then when solitude is felt most.
Dim lights running through dark tunnels,
resounding noise over tracks,
the annoyance of a voice on the mike
while another shrieks on a radio.
Weary eyes,
tired of staring at the filthy floor
just to avoid an encounter
with a curious, perhaps unsettled gaze;
turn away so not to see one’s reflection.
50th, 53rd…
How to distinguish one from another
when both have the same gloom
the same frigidness of its walls,
monotony of its bulletins.
Abode of rats and humidity
of rush hours and neglect
of rust and stagnant air;
smell of alcohol,
fries, rancid perfume.
Liberty and confinement,
long hours of silence
in crammed trains,
transit amid masses
and be just one
of many…
It is then when solitude is felt most.
3 commentarios: