invitación 2

aunque la selección de poemas del libro de Storner es nutrida (Adrienne Rich, Ezra Pound, Jorge Luis Borges, Wallace Stevens, W.H. Auden, etc.), aquí transcribo sólo uno más de los sugerentes hallazgos en esa caja de alegorías espaciales: The Tunnel (de Mark Strand), e invito, de nuevo, a que alguien proponga una traducción para los no anglo-parlantes,

 

 

 

A man has been standing

in front of my house

for days. I peek at him

from the living room

window and at night,

unable to sleep,

I shine my flashlight

down to the lawn.

He is always here.

 

After a while

I open the front door

just a crack and order

him out of my yard.

He narrows his eyes

and moans. I slam

the door and dash back

to the kitchen, then up

to the bedroom, then down.

 

I weep like a schoolgirl

and make obscene gestures

through the window. I

write large suicide notes

and place them so he

can read them easily.

I destroy the living

room furniture to prove

I own nothing of value.

 

When he seems unmoved

I decide to dig a tunnel

to a neighbouring yard.

I seal the basement off

from the upstairs with

a brick wall. I dig hard

and in no time the tunnel

is done. Leaving my pick

and shovel below,

 

I come out in front of a house

and stand there too tired to

move or even speak, hoping

someone will help me.

I feel I’m being watched

and sometimes I hear

a man’s voice,

but nothing is done

and I have been waiting for days.