Mis capitanes tristes
Uno por uno, aparecen en
la oscuridad: un par de amigos, y un par con nombres
históricos. Tardan en brillar,
pero antes de apagarse, llenos de sí,
se yerguen, el pasado completo los abraza
como un manto de caos. Fueron hombres
que, según creía yo, sólo vivían para
renovar el derroche de fuerza que
hacían a cada convulsión frenética.
Ahora que están lejos, son un recordatorio.
Es verdad: todavía no descansan,
pero ahora que en efecto están
distantes, sacudidos de fracasos,
se retiran a su órbita
y giran con una energía dura,
indiferente, como las estrellas.
My Sad Captains
One by one they appear in
the darkness: a few friends, and
a few with historical
names. How late they start to shine!
but before they fade they stand
perfectly embodied, all
the past lapping them like a
cloak of chaos. They were men
who, I thought, lived only to
renew the wasteful force they
spent with each hot convulsion.
They remind me, distant now.
True, they are not at rest yet,
but now that they are indeed
apart, winnowed from failures,
they withdraw to an orbit
and turn with disinterested
hard energy, like the stars.
the darkness: a few friends, and
a few with historical
names. How late they start to shine!
but before they fade they stand
perfectly embodied, all
the past lapping them like a
cloak of chaos. They were men
who, I thought, lived only to
renew the wasteful force they
spent with each hot convulsion.
They remind me, distant now.
True, they are not at rest yet,
but now that they are indeed
apart, winnowed from failures,
they withdraw to an orbit
and turn with disinterested
hard energy, like the stars.
THOM GUNN ( 1929, Gravesand, Inglaterra, Reino Unido / 2004, San Francisco, California, Estados Unidos de Norteamérica
Traducción: Ezequiel Zaidenwerg
Imagen en Literary Ocean
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