THE POEM I DIDN’T WRITE, Raymond Carver

 

          Here is the poem I was going to write

          earlier, but didn’t

          because I heard you stirring.

          I was thinking again

          about that first morning in Zurich.

          How we woke up before sunrise.

          Disoriented for a minute. But going

          out onto the balcony that looked down

          over the river, and the old of this city.

          And simply standing there, speechless.

          Nude. Watching the sky lighten.

          So thrilled and happy. As if

          we’d been put there

          just at that moment.

 

          (The Poem I Didn’t Write, Raymond Carver, Where Water Comes Together With Other Water, 1985)

 

 

          Heus aquí el poema que anava a escriure

          abans, però que he deixat

          perquè he sentit que et llevaves.

          Pensava altre cop

          en aquell primer matí a Zurich.

          Ens vam llevar abans que sortís el sol.

          Desorientats durant un minut. Vam sortir

          al balcó que mirava

          cap al riu i el barri vell de la ciutat.

          Érem allà, simplement, estupefactes.

          Nus. Mirant com el cel s’il·luminava.

          Commoguts i feliços. Talment

          ens haguessin col·locat allà

          en aquell precís moment.

 

          (l’assaig de traducció és de La mirada de Tirèsies)