St.
Roach
Como
nunca te conocí, sólo aprendí a temerte,
como
nunca te toqué, me dijeron que eras sucio,
con
cada acción me enseñaron a despreciar tu especie;
como
vi a mi pueblo haciéndote la guerra,
no
pude apartarte, verte por separado,
porque
en mi infancia viví en lugares donde no estabas,
porque
toda la gente que conocí te conoció
aplastándote,
pateándote hasta la muerte, te volcaron agua hirviendo, te tiraron a las
cloacas,
y
yo no podía distinguir uno de otro,
apenas
que eras negro, rápido corriendo y delgado. No como yo.
Como
no conocí ninguno de tus poemas
y
ninguno de tus dichos
y
como no puedo ni hablar ni leer tu lengua
ni
cantar tus canciones
y
como no le enseño a nuestros chicos
a comer tu comida
o conocer tus poemas
o cantar tus canciones
sólo les decimos que estás ensuciando nuestra comida
y
que no te conocemos en absoluto.
Ayer
vi a uno de ustedes por primera vez.
Tenías
un color más claro que los otros, eso no era ni bueno ni malo.
Yo
estaba mirando de verdad por primera vez.
Parecías
preocupado e ingenioso.
Hoy
toqué a uno de ustedes por primera vez.
Te
sobresaltaste, corriste, huiste
rápido
como un bailarín, ligero, extraño y amoroso al tacto.
Me
estiro, toco, empiezo a conocerte.
Versión
de Tom Maver
ººººººººººººººººººººººººººººººº
ST.
ROACH
For
that I never knew you, I only learned to dread you,
for
that I never touched you, they told me you are filth,
they
showed me by every action to despise your kind;
for
that I saw my people making war on you,
I
could not tell you apart, one from another,
for
that in childhood I lived in places clear of you,
for
that all the people I knew met you by
crushing
you, stamping you to death, they poured boiling
water on you, they flushed you down,
for
that I could not tell one from another
only
that you were dark, fast on your feet, and slender.
Not like me.
For
that I did not know your poems
And
that I do not know any of your sayings
And
that I cannot speak or read your language
And
that I do not sing your songs
And
that I do not teach our children
to eat your food
or know your poems
or sing your songs
But
that we say you are filthing our food
But
that we know you not at all.
Yesterday
I looked at one of you for the first time.
You
were lighter than the others in color, that was
neither good nor bad.
I
was really looking for the first time.
You
seemed troubled and witty.
Today
I touched one of you for the first time.
You
were startled, you ran, you fled away
Fast
as a dancer, light, strange and lovely to the touch.
I
reach, I touch, I begin to know you.
from The
Collected Poems of Muriel Rukeyser. McGraw-Hill
Book Company,
