LO QUE LOS GITANOS LE DIJERON A MI ABUELA
CUANDO TODAVÍA ERA UN NIÑA PEQUEÑA
Vas a ser la nieta preferida de la guerra, la enfermedad y
el hambre.
Vas a ser una persona ciega mirando una película muda.
Vas a poner cebollas picadas y pedazos de tu corazón
en la misma sartén
caliente.
Tus hijos van a dormir en una valija atada con sogas.
Tu marido va a besar tus pechos cada noche
como si fueran dos
lápidas.
Ya los cuervos se están preparando
para vos y tu
gente.
Tu hijo mayor va a estar acostado con moscas en los labios
sin sonreír o
levantar la mano.
Vas a envidiar cada hormiga que encuentres en la vida
y cada hierba
junto a las rutas.
Tu cuerpo y tu alma se van a sentar en diferentes peldaños
masticando el
mismo chicle.
Pequeña, tesorito, ¿estás a la venta?, va a decir el
demonio.
El dueño de la funeraria va a comprar un juguete para tu
nieto.
Tu mente va a ser un nido de avispas incluso
en tu lecho de
muerte.
Le vas a rezar a Dios pero Dios va a poner el cartel
de No molestar.
No preguntes más, es todo lo que sé.
Versión de Tom Maver
de la Antología: The voice at 3.00 a.m. Selected late and new poems
°°°°°°°
What
the Gypsies Told my Grandmother
while She was Still a Young Girl
War, illness and famine will make you their favorite grandchild.
You'll be like a blind person watching a silent movie.
You'll chop onions and pieces of your heart
into the same hot skillet.
Your children will sleep in a suitcase tied with a rope.
Your husband will kiss your breasts every night
as if they were two gravestones.
Already the crows are grooming themselves
for you and your people.
Your oldest son will lie with flies on his hips
without smiling or lifting his hand.
You'll envy every ant you meet in your life
and every roadside weed.
Your body and soul will sit on separate stoops
chewing the same piece of gum.
Little cutie, are you for sale? the devil will say.
The undertaker will buy a toy for your grandson.
Your mind will be a hornet's nest even on your
deathbed.
You will pray to God but God will hang a sign
that He's not to be disturbed.
Question no further, that's all I know.
War, illness and famine will make you their favorite grandchild.
You'll be like a blind person watching a silent movie.
You'll chop onions and pieces of your heart
into the same hot skillet.
Your children will sleep in a suitcase tied with a rope.
Your husband will kiss your breasts every night
as if they were two gravestones.
Already the crows are grooming themselves
for you and your people.
Your oldest son will lie with flies on his hips
without smiling or lifting his hand.
You'll envy every ant you meet in your life
and every roadside weed.
Your body and soul will sit on separate stoops
chewing the same piece of gum.
Little cutie, are you for sale? the devil will say.
The undertaker will buy a toy for your grandson.
Your mind will be a hornet's nest even on your
deathbed.
You will pray to God but God will hang a sign
that He's not to be disturbed.
Question no further, that's all I know.
Charles Simic, "Walking the Black Cat," copyright 1996 by Charles Simic. Harcourt Brace & Company.
