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House by the Railroad, 1925
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Fantasiejo que la sort se'm posa
a l'abast. Ara bé: hi ha sorts diverses. Hi ha,
posem per cas, aquelles que apareixen ad hoc
i aquelles que es despleguen
a recules. Hi ha dèficits de sort i superàvits
de sort. D'igual manera, tenim la bona-sort,
la sort-del-dia-a-dia, la sort-sense-memòria
i la mala-sort, dita també malastrugança.
Hi ha sorts que són un peix que es porta l’oli i sorts
que són àspids, escórpores, porcs senglars i estornells.
Tinc una visió de vies mig cobertes
D'herba i rovell llançant-se,
com un traç tosc o un tall
amb irisacions que agafen per sorpresa,
contra un demà sense taló d’Aquil·les.
I m’imagino qui-sap-les planures
i serres lliures de la mà de l'home
i encara no impermeabilitzades
a la mercè del cerç, l’aiguat o la calor.
Però les fantasies no s’aturen aquí.
Com l’esqueix d'un record de la vida passada,
una altra fantasia que em sotraga la ment
és aquella en què em reconec en vetlla
dins una gran casa victoriana,
buida, feréstega, fantasmagòrica,
sense delir-me pel que no tindré
però desvinculat del món, suprem exemple
del candor primigeni. |
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Translation by Lawrence Venuti |
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I fantasize that luck is placed
within my reach. Of course, there's different kinds.
Take the kind that turns up ad hoc, for instance,
and the kind that unfolds
backwards. There are deficits and surpluses
of luck. By the same token, we have good luck,
everyday luck, luck-you-don't-remember,
and bad luck, a.k.a. misfortune.
Luck that puts us on easy street and luck
that’s an asp, a scorpion fish, a wild boar, a starling.
I have a vision of train tracks half covered
with grass and rust, hurling themselves
—like a jagged line or a blade
with an iridescence that catches you by surprise—
against a tomorrow without an Achilles’ heel.
And I imagine who-knows-what plains
and mountains untouched by human hand
and still not weatherproofed
at the mercy of nor’easters, downpours, and heat.
But the fantasies don't stop here.
Like the rip in a memory of a past life,
another jolts my mind:
I recognize myself holding vigil
inside a huge Victorian house,
vacant, foreboding, phantasmagorical,
without going crazy for what I can't possess
yet cut off from the world, supreme example
of original innocence. |
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House by the Railroad, 1925
Edward Hopper
Museum of Modern Art, New York
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