Potser la terra flota,

no ho sé.

Potser els estels són retallables de paper

fets per tisores gegantines,

no ho sé.

Potser la lluna és una llàgrima glaçada,

no ho sé.

Potser Déu és només una veu profunda

que senten els sords,

no ho sé.

Potser no sóc ningú.

Certament, tinc un cos

i no puc escapar-ne.

M’agradaria sortir volant del meu cap,

però és impossible.

En la làpida del destí està escrit

que sóc presonera de la forma humana.

Essent així,

voldria fer avinent el meu problema.

Hi ha un animal dins meu,

un gran cranc

que s’aferra al meu cor.

Els metges de Boston

no hi veuen solució.

Han provat amb escalpels,

agulles, gasos verinosos i coses per l’estil.

Però el cranc hi roman

i pesa un munt.

Intento oblidar-lo, ocupar-me de les meves coses,

cuinar el bròquil, obrir i tancar llibres,

raspallar-me les dents i cordar-me les sabates.

He provat de resar,

però llavors el cranc s’arrapa amb més força

i el dolor augmenta.

Un cop vaig somniar,

tal vegada fou un somni,

que el cranc era la meva ignorància de Déu.

Però qui sóc jo per creure en somnis?

Anne Sexton (Estats Units, 1928-1974) , Reduccions. Revista de poesia, març 2008, número 89-90, Eumo Editorial, Vic, traducció de Lluís Calvo

versió en anglès:

THE POET OF IGNORANCE

Perhaps the earth is floating,

I do not know.

Perhaps the stars are little paper cutups

made by some giant scissors,

I do not know.

Perhaps the moon is a frozen tear,

I do not know.

Perhaps God is only a deep voice

heard by the deaf,

I do not know.

Perhaps I am no one.

True, I have a body

and I cannot escape from it.

I would like to fly out of my head,

but that is out of the question.

It is written on the tablet of destiny

that I am stuck here in this human form.

That being the case

I would like to call attention to my problem.

There is an animal inside me,

clutching fast to my heart,

a huge crab.

The doctors of Boston

have thrown up their hands.

They have tried scalpels,

needles, poison gasses and the like.

The crab remains.

It is a great weight.

I try to forget it, go about my business,

cook the broccoli, open and shut books,

brush my teeth and tie my shoes.

I have tried prayer

but as I pray the crab grips harder

and the pain enlarges.

I had a dream once,

perhaps it was a dream,

that the crab was my ignorance of God.

But who am I to believe in dreams?