Álvaro Cunqueiro / Ezra Pound

 

Loubanza de Isolda (fragmento)

Vanamente loitei
por ensiñar ó corazón a axoenllarse;
Vanamente lle dixen:
―Outros cantores hai meirandes que ti.
Pro a resposta xurde como o vento e a ladaíña,
como un vago laio na noite
que non me dá descanso e dice sempre:

―Un canto! Un canto!
Os seus ecos entrecrúzanse no crepúsculo
percurando sempre un canto.
Ai! Estou esposado
e o vagar polas moitas estradas fixeron dos meus ollos
roxos cercos escuros cheos de po.
E nembargantes me posúe no crepúsculo,
un tremor, e verbas roxas tolas berran: Un canto!
Verbas grises tolas berran por un canto.
Verbas folliñas mouras berran: Un canto!
Verbas folliñas verdes berran por un canto.

E non teño canto, eu.
Deica a alma non mandou unha dona coma o sol:
ouh si!, coma o sol chama á semente,
como a primavera sobre o ramo,
así vén ela, nai dos cantos,
a que ten verbas maravillosas nos ollos,
as verbas toliñas, verbas
que me invocan sempre:

Un canto! Un canto!
Vanamente loitei coa miña alma
pro, que alma se axoenlla
contigo no corazón?


Canto XLV

COA USURA

Coa usura non hai home que teña casa de boa pedra
cada pedra ben cortada e ben axustada
pra que o debuxo poida taparlles o rostro,
con usura
non hai home que teña un paraíso pintado no muro da súa eirexa
harpes et luthes
ou unha virxe reciba un mensaxe
e un halo baixe dende a incisión,
con usura
non olla tal Gonzaga os seus vástagos e concubinas
non se pinta un cadro pra que perdure e comparta vida,
senón pra vendelo, e vendelo de présa,
con usura, pecado contra natureza,
o teu pan xa son unhas migallas resésigas,
pan seco coma papel
non houbo fariña dura de trigo montañés
con usura o home non atopa lugar pra a súa casa
alónxase da pedra ó canteiro
ó tecedor do seu telar
CON USURA
non chega la ó mercado
nin dá ganancia a ovella.
Usura é unha plaga, usura
despunta a agulla nas mans da rapariga
e acaba coa arte da fiandeira. Pietro Lombardo
non veu pola usura
Duccio non veu pola usura
nin Piero della Francesca, Zuan Bellin pola usura
tampouco, nin se pintou "A calumnia”.
Non pola usura veu o Angélico, nin Ambrogio Praedis,
non houbo eirexa de pedra labrada firmada:
                                                                               Adamo me fecit.
Non pola usura St. Trophime
non pola usura St. Hilaire.
A usura enche de mofo os cinceis,
o arte e o artífice
gasta os fíos do tear,
ninguén aprende a urdir o ouro na peza.
Pola usura desfíase o cramoisi,
non atopa o color esmeralda ningún Memling
A usura mata o neno no ventre,
impídelle ó mozo ser galán,
a parálisis chega ó leito, xace
entre a xoven esposa e o esposo
                             CONTRA NATURA
infestaron a Eleusis de rameiras.
Hai un banquete de cadavres
por decreto da usura.

Traduccións de Álvaro Cunqueiro publicadas orixinalmente no Faro de Vigo e despois no libro Flor de diversos, editado por Galaxia en 1991.
[Praise of Ysolt // In vain have I striven,/ to teach my heart to bow;/ In vain have I said to him/ “There be many singers greater than thou”./ But his answer cometh, as winds and as litany,/ As a vague crying upon the night/ That leaveth me no rest, saying ever,/ “Song, a song”.// Their echoes play upon each other in the twilight/ Seeking ever a song./ Lo, I am worn with travail/ And the wandering of many roads hath made my eyes/ As dark red circles filled with dust./ Yet there is a trembling upon me in the twilight,/ And little red elf words crying “A song”,/ Little grey elf words crying for a song./ Little brown leaf words crying “A song”./ Little green leaf words crying for a song./ [The words are as leaves, old brown leaves in the spring time/ Blowing they know not whither, seeking a song.// White words as snowflakes but they are cold,/ Moss words, lip words, words of slow streams.// In vain have I striven/ to teach my soul to bow,/ In vain have I pled with him:/ “There be greater souls than thou”.// For in the morn of my years there came a woman/ Aa moonlight calling,/ As the moon calleth the tides,/ “Song, a song”./ Wherefore I made her a song and she went from me/ As the moon doth from the sea,/ But still came the leaf words, little brown elf words/ Saying “The soul sendeth us.”/ “A song, a song!”/ And in vain I cried unto them “I have no song/ For she I sang of hath gone from me”.// But my soul sent a woman, a woraan of the wonder-folk,/ A woman as fire upon the pine woods/ crying, “Song, a song.”/ As the flame crieth unto the sap./ My song was ablaze with her and she went from me/ As flame leaveth the embers so went she unto new forests/ And the words were with me/ crying ever “Song, a song.”]// And I “I have no song”,/ Till my soul sent a woman as the sun:/ Yea as the sun calleth to the seed,/ As the spring upon the bough/ So is she that cometh, the mother of songs,/ She that holdeth the wonder words within her eyes/ The words, little elf words/ that call ever unto me,// “Song, a song”./ In vain have I striven with my soul/ to teach my soul to bow./ What soul boweth/ while in his heart art thou?
Canto XLV // WITH USURA // With usura hath no man a house of good stone/ each block cut smooth and well fitting/ that design might cover their face,/ with usura/ hath no man a painted paradise on his church wall/ harpes et luthes/ or where virgin receiveth message/ and halo projects from incision,/ with usura/ seeth no man Gonzaga his heirs and his concubines/ no picture is made to endure nor to live with/ but it is made to sell and sell quickly/ with usura, sin against nature,/ is thy bread ever more of stale rags/ is thy bread dry as paper,/ with no mountain wheat, no strong flour/ with usura [the line grows thick/ with usura is no clear demarcation/ and] no man can find site for his dwelling./ Stonecutter is kept from his tone/ weaver is kept from his loom/ WITH USURA/ wool comes not to market/ sheep bringeth no gain with usura/ Usura is a murrain, usura/ blunteth the needle in the maid’s hand/ and stoppeth the spinner’s cunning. Pietro Lombardo/ came not by usura/ Duccio came not by usura/ nor Pier della Francesca; Zuan Bellin’ not by usura/ nor was ‘La Calunnia’ painted./ Came not by usura Angelico; came not Ambrogio Praedis,/ Came no church of cut stone signed:/ Adamo me fecit./ Not by usura St. Trophime/ Not by usura Saint Hilaire,/ Usura rusteth the chisel/ It rusteth the craft and the craftsman/ It gnaweth the thread in the loom/ None learneth to weave gold in her pattern;/ [Azure hath a canker] by usura; cramoisi is unbroidered/ Emerald findeth no Memling/ Usura slayeth the child in the womb/ It stayeth the young man’s courting/ It hath brought palsey to bed, lyeth/ between the young bride and her bridegroom/ CONTRA NATURAM/ They have brought whores for Eleusis/ Corpses are set to banquet/ at behest of usura.]

  Centenario Cunqueiro 1911·2011