Poemes de Norman MacCaig (2)

XIQUET

Agafava un cudol
i el llançava a la mar.

I un altre, i un altre.
No podia parar.

No tractava d'omplir la mar.
No tractava de buidar la platja.

Simplement els llançava,
no res més.

Com un gatet que juga
practicava per al futur

quan hi hauria tantes coses
que voldria llançar

només amollant els dits
i deixant-les anar.

SMALL BOY He picked up a pebble / and threw it into the sea. // And another, and another. / He couldn't stop. // He wasn't trying to fill the sea. / He wasn't trying to empty the beach. // He was just throwing away, nothing else but. // Like a kitten playing / he was practising for the future / when there'll be so many things / he'll want to throw away // if only his fingers will unclench / and let them go. (July 1985)


PRESSENTIMENT A L'EDÉN

És culpa meua, delicada Eva,
que siga un home que es diu
Adam?

Estic viu i enamorat.
La indolora ferida del meu costat
ha cicatritzat.

I he acabat d'anomenar els animals,
tots menys un.

Però alguna cosa no està bé. La nit
gira i gemega
en la primera de les tempestes.

Demà arribarà. Ferida,
fuetejarà l'aire.

–Fins que caurà un silenci i en ell
trobarem el creador de les tempestes,
el creador de la calma.

FOREBODING IN EDEN Is it my fault, delicate Eve, / that I'am a man called / Adam? // I'm in life and in love. / The painless wound in my side / has healed. // And I've finished naming the animals, / all but one. // But something's wrong. The night / groans and whirls / in the first storm of all. // Tomorrow will come. Wounded, / it'll thrash in the air. // –Till a silence falls and in it / we'll meet the maker of storms, / the maker of stillmess. (August 1985)