Saturday, 07 August 2010

• Versos de RMR

  Caos/Cascade
  
  Come back tomorrow for a better draft--why do 
  the mistakes only stick out when you think you're done.
  
  ¡No sirvo para nada...! ¿Senor, por que me creaste?
  En vano, entre tus obras, inquiero la mision
  que a mis ociosas manos, que a mis errentes pasos,
  tu eterna providencia secreta encomendo...
  
  ¿Es un juego mi vida? !es tan solo un sainete? 
  una simple apariencia, una vana ficcion?
  a simple appearance, a vain fiction?
  
  A que obedece, entonces mi imperativo anhelo
  To what do you yield, then, my imperitive angel.
  
  ¿De hacer algo perenne...? es solo presuncion?
  
  Que huelgue o que trabaje, que goce o que me apene
  parece que a tus planes resulta todo igual...
  
  ¿Senor? ¿por que no me hablas? ¿por que, tal como a Saulo,
  no me hieres los ojos con un lampo fatal...?
  
  Tal vez si hasta la abeja, tal vez si hasta la hormiga,
  almacenando briznas o elaborando miel
  se sientan mas concientes de su eficaz rutina;
  se sepan mas precisas de lo que yo me se...
  
  Si hubiese yo nacido privada de tu gracia,
  ¡jamas pretenderia ser util ni feliz...!
  Pero mi fuiste prodigo...I al punto de que, acaso,
  trastorna tu largueza, Senor, mi porvenir...
  
  Pues todos tus favores, en mi, se nuetralizan:
  Soi demasiado artista para execrar el mal...
  I demasiado honrada para burlar la vida,
  i demasiado altiva para poderla amar...
  
  ¡Senor, quiero una norma! ¡Senor, quiero una ruta!
  Enfrename que, a oscuras, me siento tambalear...
  Aclarame tus leyes, que apenas deletreo...
  ¡Enciendeme una estrella para leer i andar...!
  
  Caos/Cascade
  
  I am good for nothing, Senor, why did you create me?
  Vainly, among your creatura, I ask, what is my mission...?
  What use for idle hands, staggering steps, 
  An Eternal Secret this, entrusted by Providence...
  
  Mi vida, is it only a game? A Vapid farce?
  A mere apparition, perhaps an empty tale?
  To what do you yeild, my imperitive angel? 
  
  That which rests or works, evokes delight or pain
  Obeys the compulsion to accomplish? 
  Seeking something perennial? more than presumption?
  
  Resting, working, savouring, grieving, 
  Your plan is so monotonous... Senor, speak! 
  Why not, like Saul, blind me with incandescence, 
  an illuminating flash of light?
  
  Perhaps the Bee making honey, Perhaps 
  the Ant storing crumbs are more conscious 
  of an effective, useful routine; of your will,
  your intention for them, than I...of my purpose.
  It seems your plan is the same for all ...
  
  If born fouled by Providence, I would 
  never make pretence of usefulness, 
  or joy...! You were prodigal with me... 
  Destiny disrupted your generosity. 
  
  Senor, what of future things....? 
  Your favors are cancelled out in me:
  I'm too much of an artist to curse evil...
  too honorable to mock life, too haughty 
  to love it...Lord, please, just a normal life! 
  
  Lord, a purpose, a way, a path! 
  If bridled in the dark, there I'll totter. . .
  Explicate laws I can scarcely spell ...
  Find a guiding star, so I can read and walk...!
  
  Translator's Note--I am using cascade 
  in the medical sense, where it refers to protein 
  cascade. They use this term in my friends 
  Hematology class at the University of Florida 
  at Pensacola. When she was there we'd be 
  talking and she said "let me run down to the 
  car and get my notes. she used Protein Cascade 
  to refer to a breakdown of all the systems 
  of the body from various causes. It probably 
  was not have been used in Rosa's time. 
  It is a kind of entropic process now linked 
  to pathogens rather than say small demons.

  (Defoe, The Journal of the Plague Year.)

  I think this is what RMR meant by Chaos, 
  something like everything in the body 
  going wrong simultaneously, not mere
  mental chaos. Why do poets write so much
  about not being able to write.

   

  
  
  
  

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