Traducció de Francesc Parcerisas |
||
FOR ITALICO BRASS |
|
From boat to boat the bridge makes long its strand
And from death's isle they on returning way
As shadows blotted out against far cloud
Hasten for folly or with sloth delay.
When thou knowst all that these my hues strive say
Then shalt thou know the pain that eats my heart.
Some see but color and commanding sway
Of shore line, bridge line, or how are composed
The white of sheep clouds ere the wolf of storm
That lurks behind the hills
shall snap wind's leash
And hurl tumultuous on the peace before.
But I see more.
Some as I say
See but the hues that gainst more hues laugh gay
And weave bright lyric of such interplay
As Monet claims is all the soul of art.
But I see more.
If this isle to North
shall I not know
How death’s own isle doth in
some wise partake
Of all the reek and mystery of braggart death?
And if the hoard returns
Tis as one saith,
«That boasted door not every
way concluyes.»
What—if? This out of death we come
And not thereto as every old wive’s saw
Worn toothless saith.
This thither thither wafts the
life-wind’s breath.
And to the West that pregnacy
that bodes the storm
Unsensed of foregrounds
«oil upon the sea»
If here the water and the
tranquil folk.
See not the lowered West, his threatening,
Can these things be
But play of shade and web of line to me?
When tou knowst all that these my hues strive say,
Then shalt thou know some whit the pain
That gnaws, then shalt tou
know some whit the strain
That spite the palate
eats the heart away.
Aug. 7 S. Trovaso
And from death's isle they on returning way
As shadows blotted out against far cloud
Hasten for folly or with sloth delay.
When thou knowst all that these my hues strive say
Then shalt thou know the pain that eats my heart.
Some see but color and commanding sway
Of shore line, bridge line, or how are composed
The white of sheep clouds ere the wolf of storm
That lurks behind the hills
shall snap wind's leash
And hurl tumultuous on the peace before.
But I see more.
Some as I say
See but the hues that gainst more hues laugh gay
And weave bright lyric of such interplay
As Monet claims is all the soul of art.
But I see more.
If this isle to North
shall I not know
How death’s own isle doth in
some wise partake
Of all the reek and mystery of braggart death?
And if the hoard returns
Tis as one saith,
«That boasted door not every
way concluyes.»
What—if? This out of death we come
And not thereto as every old wive’s saw
Worn toothless saith.
This thither thither wafts the
life-wind’s breath.
And to the West that pregnacy
that bodes the storm
Unsensed of foregrounds
«oil upon the sea»
If here the water and the
tranquil folk.
See not the lowered West, his threatening,
Can these things be
But play of shade and web of line to me?
When tou knowst all that these my hues strive say,
Then shalt thou know some whit the pain
That gnaws, then shalt tou
know some whit the strain
That spite the palate
eats the heart away.
Aug. 7 S. Trovaso
5
10
15
20
25
30
35
40
45
PER ITALICO BRASS |
|
De barca a barca el pont fa llarga la passera
i des de l’illa de la mort els que en tornen
com ombres borroses damunt núvol llunyà
s’apressen amb rauxa o amb el retard mandrós.
Quan sàpigues tot el que aquests tons meus malden per dir
llavors sabràs el dolor que devora el meu cor.
Alguns només hi veuen el color i el vaivé imperant
de la costa, del pont, o com és feta la composició
del blanc dels ramats de núvols fins que el llop de la tempesta
que aguaita darrere els turons
trenqui la corretja del vent
i s’abraoni tumultuosament damunt la pau que hi regnava.
Jo hi veig més, però.
Alguns com deia
només veuen tons que contra més tons riuen alegres
i teixeixen un fort lirisme amb aquesta relació
que com diu Monet és l’ànima sencera de l’art.
Jo hi veig més, però.
i des de l’illa de la mort els que en tornen
com ombres borroses damunt núvol llunyà
s’apressen amb rauxa o amb el retard mandrós.
Quan sàpigues tot el que aquests tons meus malden per dir
llavors sabràs el dolor que devora el meu cor.
Alguns només hi veuen el color i el vaivé imperant
de la costa, del pont, o com és feta la composició
del blanc dels ramats de núvols fins que el llop de la tempesta
que aguaita darrere els turons
trenqui la corretja del vent
i s’abraoni tumultuosament damunt la pau que hi regnava.
Jo hi veig més, però.
Alguns com deia
només veuen tons que contra més tons riuen alegres
i teixeixen un fort lirisme amb aquesta relació
que com diu Monet és l’ànima sencera de l’art.
Jo hi veig més, però.
5
10
15
El pont de San Michele — Tamborinada, 1909 Italico Brass Galleria Nazionale d'Arte Moderna, Roma |
||
§ Polsi la imatge per ampliar-la |
(Or) Ezra POUND, Collected Early Poems of Ezra Pound, editat per Michael John KING amb una introducció de Louis L. MARTZ, New York: New Directions, 1976. |
||
Ezra Pound (1885-1972). A collection of critical, historical and biographical information at the Modern American Poetry Site. Compiled and prepared by Mary Nelson. |
||
Ezra Pound at the Electronic Poetry Center (State University of New York at Buffalo). |
ALTRES POEMES D'EZRA POUND EN TRADUCCIÓ DE FRANCESC PARCERISAS | OTHER POEMS BY EZRA POUND TRANSLATED BY FRANCESC PARCERISAS |
|
A Whistler, americà |
||
