Recobrament
És un nou món o una altra
vida?
Ja és meva l’hora dels prodigis rars;
però en el goig la por trepida
palpant un aire de fredors lunars.
Ja és meva l’hora dels prodigis rars;
però en el goig la por trepida
palpant un aire de fredors lunars.
Por ja de perdre aquesta
gràcia?
No és delectança la frisor imminent
que en la tristesa violàcia
un oneig viu d’emocions estén.
No és delectança la frisor imminent
que en la tristesa violàcia
un oneig viu d’emocions estén.
Ara em tortura la
tendresa,
com si cada àtom inquiet del cor
volgués encendre en l’abstractesa
del meu esguard noves esferes d’or.
com si cada àtom inquiet del cor
volgués encendre en l’abstractesa
del meu esguard noves esferes d’or.
Extasiat, aboco els dies
al mirador d’un súbit univers,
voraç de tantes llunyanies
que desdibuixen l’horitzó dispers.
A poc a poc torna, incorrupte,
tot el que he vist i el que he donat, més viu.
més meu. I l’òrbita del dubte
en una imatge de desig s’inscriu.
al mirador d’un súbit univers,
voraç de tantes llunyanies
que desdibuixen l’horitzó dispers.
A poc a poc torna, incorrupte,
tot el que he vist i el que he donat, més viu.
més meu. I l’òrbita del dubte
en una imatge de desig s’inscriu.
Tot jo en l’angoixa que
em recrea
sóc un anhel desconectat del món.
No sé si el cor o si una idea
com un gran vent m’han assotat el front!
sóc un anhel desconectat del món.
No sé si el cor o si una idea
com un gran vent m’han assotat el front!
Miquel Dolç
Del poemari “Flama”
(1962)
Recovering
Is it a new
world or another life?
Already it’s mine, the hour of rare prodigies;
but midst the joy the vibrant fear
sensing an air of lunar chills.
Already it’s mine, the hour of rare prodigies;
but midst the joy the vibrant fear
sensing an air of lunar chills.
Fear yet to
lose this grace?
No, it is not taking pleasure, the imminent urge
that in the sadness a violet colored
wave, alive with emotions, spreads.
No, it is not taking pleasure, the imminent urge
that in the sadness a violet colored
wave, alive with emotions, spreads.
Now I am
tortured by tenderness,
as if each nervous atom of the heart
would like to ignite in the abstractness
of my gaze new spheres of gold.
as if each nervous atom of the heart
would like to ignite in the abstractness
of my gaze new spheres of gold.
Ecstatic, I
pour the days
onto the balcony of a sudden universe,
voracious of such spans of remoteness
that keep blurring the scattered horizon.
Slowly but surely it comes back, unscathed,
all that I’ve seen and all that I’ve given, more alive.
more me. And the sphere of doubt
inscribes itself in an image of desire.
onto the balcony of a sudden universe,
voracious of such spans of remoteness
that keep blurring the scattered horizon.
Slowly but surely it comes back, unscathed,
all that I’ve seen and all that I’ve given, more alive.
more me. And the sphere of doubt
inscribes itself in an image of desire.
Even though,
I, in the anguish that delights me,
I am a yearning, disconnected from the world.
I do not know if it was the heart or an idea
that whipped my forehead like a big gust of wind!
I am a yearning, disconnected from the world.
I do not know if it was the heart or an idea
that whipped my forehead like a big gust of wind!
Miquel Dolç
From his
poetry book “Flama” (1962)
Joia
Si vull joia, és la joia
que penetra
fins l’arrel de l’ànima, vibrant,
irrevocable, com si un bronze atònit
sonés en mi: joia de fibra i sang.
fins l’arrel de l’ànima, vibrant,
irrevocable, com si un bronze atònit
sonés en mi: joia de fibra i sang.
Arribaré al confí de
l’ombra tèbia,
a les darreres planes dels meus anys,
galopant de la joia en l’euga invicta:
i en els meus ulls tot s’il·luminarà.
a les darreres planes dels meus anys,
galopant de la joia en l’euga invicta:
i en els meus ulls tot s’il·luminarà.
Joia de Tu: dins
l’estupor que et vela
em lliuro tot, em banyo en el teu mar.
Vida a vida, integrals, sense intersticis
de records freds, posseirem l’espai.
em lliuro tot, em banyo en el teu mar.
Vida a vida, integrals, sense intersticis
de records freds, posseirem l’espai.
Miquel Dolç
Del poemari “Flama” (1962)
Joy
If I want joy, it’s the joy that penetrates
till the root of the soul, vibrant,
irrevocable, as if a surprised bronze
would sound in me: joy of the fiber and blood.
I will arrive
at the tepid shadow’s limit,
on the last sheets of my years,
galloping with joy on the mare, unconquered:
and everything will light up in my eyes.
on the last sheets of my years,
galloping with joy on the mare, unconquered:
and everything will light up in my eyes.
Joy from
You: in the amazement that veils you
I free myself of everything, I bathe myself in your sea.
Life to life, complete, without interstice
of cold memories, we will possess the space.
I free myself of everything, I bathe myself in your sea.
Life to life, complete, without interstice
of cold memories, we will possess the space.
Metall
Voldria ésser metall, i
que els teus dits
em cisellessin, hàbils, exquisits,
com una flor o una ala.
Oh, quin plaer aquest de veure al cor
una mà que tortura, afina, iguala,
com un burí o una llanceta d’or!
em cisellessin, hàbils, exquisits,
com una flor o una ala.
Oh, quin plaer aquest de veure al cor
una mà que tortura, afina, iguala,
com un burí o una llanceta d’or!
Jo seria perfum, i no
sabria
si m’havies de prendre o d’olorar:
mira com, renaixent, la gelosia
enlaire fa estremir la teva mà!
Plomissol jo seria
per al contacte del teu gest,
quan el dibuix et sapigués rosada
i sentissis, al fons de la mirada,
de troncs i fulles un sabor agrest.
si m’havies de prendre o d’olorar:
mira com, renaixent, la gelosia
enlaire fa estremir la teva mà!
Plomissol jo seria
per al contacte del teu gest,
quan el dibuix et sapigués rosada
i sentissis, al fons de la mirada,
de troncs i fulles un sabor agrest.
Ales i flors et porto,
dolça orfebre,
ales i flors com un abril:
oh, tot el somni que has sabut concebre
oscillarà en cada pistil
i cada ploma, amb un batec de flama!
Tot jo seré una rama
per al teu front gentil.
ales i flors com un abril:
oh, tot el somni que has sabut concebre
oscillarà en cada pistil
i cada ploma, amb un batec de flama!
Tot jo seré una rama
per al teu front gentil.
Metal
I would
like to be metal, and that your fingers
would chisel me, skilful, exquisite,
like a flower or a wing.
Oh, what pleasure to see this at heart
a hand that tortures, refines, levels,
like a burin or a golden lancet!
would chisel me, skilful, exquisite,
like a flower or a wing.
Oh, what pleasure to see this at heart
a hand that tortures, refines, levels,
like a burin or a golden lancet!
I would be perfume,
and not know
if you’d have to take me or to sense me:
look how, newborn the jealousy
up in the air it makes your hand tremble!
down and feathers I’d be
for the contact of your gesture,
when the etching would know you were dewy
and you’d feel, at the bottom of the glance,
of logs and leaves, a country flavor.
if you’d have to take me or to sense me:
look how, newborn the jealousy
up in the air it makes your hand tremble!
down and feathers I’d be
for the contact of your gesture,
when the etching would know you were dewy
and you’d feel, at the bottom of the glance,
of logs and leaves, a country flavor.
Wings and
flowers is what I bring you, sweet goldsmith,
wings and flowers like an April:
oh, the whole dream which you were able to conceive
will oscillate in each pistil
and each feather, with a flaming beat!
All of me will be a branch
for your gentle face.
wings and flowers like an April:
oh, the whole dream which you were able to conceive
will oscillate in each pistil
and each feather, with a flaming beat!
All of me will be a branch
for your gentle face.
Miquel Dolç
Taken from “Flama” (1962)
Cap comentari:
Publica un comentari a l'entrada