Edward Hirsch

regis

[Edward Hirsch]

A Partial History of My Stupidity

Traffic was heavy coming off the bridge,
and I took the road to the right, the wrong one,
and got stuck in the car for hours.

Most nights I rushed out into the evening
without paying attention to the trees,
whose name I didn’t know,
or the birds, which flew heedlessly on.

I couldn’t relinquish my desires
or accept them, and so I strolled along
like a tiger that wanted to spring
but was still afraid of the wildness within.

The iron bars seemed invisible to others,
but I carried a cage around inside me.

I cared too much what other people thought
and made remarks I shouldn’t have made.
I was silent when I should have spoken.

Forgive me, philosophers,
I read the Stoics but never understood them.

I felt that I was living the wrong life,
spiritually speaking,
while halfway around the world
thousands of people were being slaughtered,
some of them by my countrymen.

So I walked on—distracted, lost in thought—
and forgot to attend to those who suffered
far way, nearby.

Forgive me, faith, for never having any.

I did not believe in God,
who eluded me.

[Història parcial de la meva estupidesa

A la sortida del pont el trànsit era intens,

i vaig girar a la dreta, pel trencall equivocat,

i m’hi vaig quedar encallat durant hores.

Tot sovint em precipitava en la nit
sense parar esment en els arbres,

els noms dels quals desconeixia,

o en els ocells, que seguien volant com si res.

No podia renunciar als meus desitjos

ni acceptar-los, simplement feia camí

com un tigre impacient per saltar

però que encara té por de la seva ferocitat.

Els barrots semblaven invisibles als altres,

però jo traginava la gàbia dins meu.

M’importava massa el que pensava la gent,

i feia comentaris que no hauria d’haver fet.

Callava quan hauria d’haver parlat.

Perdoneu-me, filòsofs,

vaig llegir els estoics però mai no els vaig entendre.

Sentia que vivia una vida equivocada,
espiritualment parlant,

mentre a l’altra part del món
milers de persones eren massacrades,

algunes d’elles per compatriotes meus.

I així anava fent —badant, encaparrat—

i m’oblidava de vetllar pels que patien

lluny, a prop.

Perdona’m, fe, per no haver-te tingut mai.

No creia en Déu,
que m’evitava.

[Història parcial de la meva estupidesa i altres poemes.

Traducció d’Ernest Farrés i Gemma Gorga.

Edicions de 1984, 2017]